I have dark thoughts n fantasies, so there will be possibly triggering content so please see tags below to block them
18+ hornyposting & smutty content of Evan Peters' characters, including but not limited to:
Pics/gifs/vids
Smutty fanfic from wonderful writers on her
Reblogs from other peeps of the aforementioned content :)
* PLS NOTE - I wholeheartedly respect Evan as a human being and genuinely wish him true love and happiness [even if he decides to start a harem and not include me (ب_ب) ]
I am going to keep this content/blog out of the Evan tags as to not expose those unwilling/unfit to view the nastiness lol
Trigger tags to block:
#TMIasher - lewd comments about myself/my thoughts
#tw rape/noncon (for any implied or explicit fictional nonconsensual activity)
#dahmer (content from Monster: The Jeffery Dahmer Story)
#Tw violence (for anything violent, like killing, stabbing, punching etc)
Let me know if there are any others you'd like me to tag!!!
About me- HELLO I'm Asher/Ash!! 32, she/her bigender & bisexual/pansexual
╰┈➤ pairing: James Patrick March x fem!reader
╰┈➤ word count: 2K
╰┈➤ summary: Aunt Flo comes unexpectedly. James doesn't care, despite your insecurities. He is, after all, who he is.
╰┈➤ w a r n i n g s: 18+, SMUT, female reader, no use of y/n, assumed established relationship, kissing, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), period sex, period cunnilingus/James consumes your period blood, blood kink, blood as lube, come as lube, mentions of murder/gore/etc., reader has awareness and is okay with??? the fact that James is a serial killer.
╰┈➤ a/n: requested by my beloved @bohnerrific69!! banners by @/bronzewasp, @/saradika-graphics. i'm rusty waaah. hopefully it doesn't show too much! on a side note, i'm really sorry for not posting as frequently as i usually do, writer's block is whooping my ass regularly.
↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!
The city of Los Angeles bustles outside the many windows of the Hotel Cortez. Even as the hours drag into the evening, the world out there thrums with life. The room you're in is mostly quiet and dim, lit only by the yellowish glow of the wall sconces. The shadows outline everything, submerging half of you in darkness. Miss Evers is nowhere to be seen; James shooed her out hours ago. The rest of the hotel and what the occupants are doing are of no concern to you, not with where your attention has been for the past few hours.
James is on top of you, the coolness of his body permeating through the white dress shirt he wears. You've been kissing and grinding your hips against him for the better part of an hour, and despite the chill he always brings, the fire between your legs grows hotter and hotter with each passing second. He's intoxicating, in every way you can think of. His smell alone is enough to send you to the heavens, but the way he moves his body against yours, the way his hands grip and knead at your flesh, the way he kisses…
His tongue dances in your mouth, claiming every inch of it with an almost-unsettling dominance. He kisses like he's trying to consume, and nothing short of that. A moan is carried on a breath into his mouth, and he swallows it happily, delighted by the audible pleasure that his mere kisses bring.
It's not enough, however, and he craves more. His long, lithe fingers ghost over your stomach and press down into the flesh just above your pubic bone, allowing him access to her. You're soaked. Really soaked. James hums in approval at the discovery and delves his middle finger into her. The intrusion brings a filthy moan from your mouth, and James flattens his palm against her, almost gripping the rest of her as he curls his finger inside you.
"Fuck," you breathe.
To him, still. Not enough. Never enough.
The barrage of sensations disappears as James sinks between your legs wordlessly; his hands trail along the length of your torso reverently, and your silken nightgown ends just past the hips, providing no resistance for his hands as they caress your sides. His large, pale hands sweep along the outsides of your thighs before his fingers slither to the crease of them as they press together. He carefully, but firmly, separates them, exposing the delicate pattern of your lace underwear. He slots himself between your legs, his shoulders forcing them apart.
His tongue traces the seam of your panties, a tantalizing stripe along the damp fabric. You feel the strength of the muscle, pushing against your already aching center and keen, arching your hips up into his mouth. He leans into it, presses himself against you, and inhales deeply, savoring the sweet, heady scent of your arousal. He looks up at you with those two obsidian black eyes of his as he hooks his finger around the side of your panties and tugs them gently over the swell of your hips, tossing them carelessly behind him for Miss Evers to pick up later.
You're leaking. Unsurprisingly. James unleashes a series of kisses over your sensitive folds, paying attention to every inch. He does this with an almost religious reverence—despite his hatred for all things religion. When it came to your body, however, he was an undeniably devout man.
With his thumb and pointer finger, he spreads you open like the petals of a delicate flower, revealing the glistening, warm flesh to his hungry mouth. He leans in, flattening his tongue broadly against your clit. It takes him all of a few seconds to find an Earth-shattering rhythm with his flicks, torturing you in a way that immediately makes your leg muscles shake deeply. He alternates between pointed, firm attention to your clit, and lapping at you in wet, filthy circles, which has you panting and choking out pathetic whimpers with every pass. He presses his chin into you, forcing more pressure against your cunt.
The combination of fluids continues to leak from your cunt onto the silk sheets below you; you can feel the growing wet spot beneath your ass as he doubles down on his efforts, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit.
"James… fuck, 'm gonna'…" You hoist your leg over his shoulder and press into his back, bringing him closer to you, as if any space is offensive to you. His hand clamps onto your thigh, denting the soft flesh there. He pulls away from your cunt and breathes in as he trails a line of kisses along your inner thigh before he returns to your center again.
"J-James! FUCK!"
A few seconds pass before he answers, almost laboriously. He pulls free just before the wave washes over you. He enjoys the torturous aspect of edging and does it whenever he can.
"So soon? My, my." His voice is molasses, coming out in a sultry growl—almost lost against her, his words mere vibrations against the most sensitive nerves you have. He knows why you're teetering on the edge after minutes, but you don't. Not yet.
He pushes himself up and away from her, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the mess you've made. Mortification glazes your features. Instead of a slick, clear coating on his chin, there's something else. Shimmering against the pale skin of his face, red streaks the clear. "…oh my god…"
You clamp your hand over your mouth and hurriedly scoot away from his hungry tasting. In response, he straightens up, looking down at you with a deep expression, one that very nearly conveys disappointment. He expectantly quirks one of his dark brows, like he's offended you interrupted his dinner.
Your head was spinning. While you hadn't experienced the dreaded cramps yet, you had been unusually moody today, which is why James had showered you in affection to silence your incessant complaints. But… you weren't expecting this.
"James, I—wait. We can't do this right now. You should—"
"Nonsense. We can, and we will!" He reaches up to wipe the pink-streaked slick from his chin as casually as if it were only saliva, not a hesitation in sight. Your mind was racing. He must've tasted that heady, iron taste of your blood, felt the viscous thickness of it. He, however, seems unaffected. He continues to speak as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, one by one. "Despite the untapped pleasure of it all, fornication during menstruation is… indeed taboo to the common man. Be that as it may, I am not the common man. Nor do I shy from the taboo. You know this, don't you, my dear?"
As true as it was, you say nothing, still too horrified to speak a single word.
He pauses, looking at you pointedly. "Ah. Your apprehension moves me, but not enough to stop. Fret not, my little pet." He tugs the dress shirt off his shoulders, revealing pale skin beneath. "I think you'll find the sensations... divine."
Breaking eye contact only to pull the undershirt up over his head, he makes quick work of his dress slacks and undergarments, letting them fall to his ankles before he gracefully steps out of them. Seeing him naked always ignites little embers of arousal in your lower stomach; the way he stands so proudly, cock out, not an ounce of shame, ready to fuck you until you see stars. Still, your insecurity roils in your stomach like rotten food, souring your lustful euphoria with its sickly, sludgy fingers.
"I know you like blood… But James," you protest. "It's different. It's… got tissue and stuff in it."
"Indeed," he says, matter-of-factly. "And, I've been elbow deep in a man's intestines on more than one occasion! I can assure you… Your menstruation does not scare me."
You couldn't argue with that. He had. He'd probably seen every kind of tissue and fluid that the human body produced, and yet, here you were, shying away from sex because of your own humiliation.
"My god," you groan, covering your face with your hands for a moment before slapping them back down on the silk sheets. "Can you stop calling it menstruation? You're so clinical."
James mm-hm's as he climbs over you, slotting his hands on either side of your head. His cockhead nudges your entrance, hot and leaking, begging for relief. He bucks his hips forward once, forcing the head in between your folds. You gasp, clenching tightly around the ridge of his head, pulling him in further.
"Mm, yes." The tone of his voice is euphoric, and he lowers himself to his forearms, bringing his mouth a hair's breadth away from yours. A single kiss is pressed against your lips, before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. "Sublime," he says. You let his lip snap back against his teeth.
He tests your willingness briefly, pressing himself deeper inside of you. You respond by lifting your hips up and giving him a devious look that feels like a lightning stike to his chest. His urges become too much, nearly strangling him, and he bottoms out, slamming his cock deep inside your cunt with a slop sound. And you… Any thought of shame? Embarrassment? Gone with the feeling he provides. Perverse, wet sounds fill the room as he slams his pelvis against yours in a determined pace, drawing his veiny cock in and out in deliberate strokes, making sure you feel everything intensely.
He hadn't been wrong. The sensations were divine—in fact, they were mind-blowing. There was a new level of slickness that made his thrusts even more effortless, and the gentle pressure against your insides was particularly tantalizing. He stays like that for a minute or so, pressed tightly atop of you, reveling in the closeness.
"Deeper," you whimper. "Deeper. Please. Fuck me deeper…!"
He snarls, nips at the air in front of your face, and hurriedly obeys; he was nothing if not obedient when it came to your lustful demands. As a man who prided himself on control—devastating perfection, and control—your volatile, needy nature during sex always aroused him. Quickly, he straightens up and scoops underneath the curve of your rear, hoisting it up enough to plunge himself deeper into you. His cock hits your cervix, and your eyes roll back in your head, losing all sense of your surroundings as his thrusts bully your cunt. Eventually, everyone loses their footing, no matter how strong. And yours, he watches as it disappears, as your expression goes lazy, fucked out. Your jaw hangs slack, and your lids are heavy, and James revels in it.
White, hot pleasure tightens in your core, like a coil being tightened around itself over and over again. James feels the tension and picks up his pace, knowing that the tidal wave nears. His does, too, undeniably. The tightness thrums in his cock, and with a few more devastatingly heavy pumps, he seizes up and crushes his hips against yours, letting the orgasm wash over him.
The pressure sends you over the edge, too. Everything goes fuzzy as your orgasm claims your senses. You hear James growl, pleased above you as you quiver and tremble beneath him, panting as if you've just run a mile. He loves to see you this way; unmade and fucked beyond your wildest dreams.
After he's fully spent, he withdraws his cock from you and falls heavily onto the mattress next to you, chest heaving with exertion. You hurry to scoot closer and snuggle up next to him, tucking yourself underneath his arm. You fit so perfectly there. One arm splays over his torso, drawing circles on the cool, taut flesh.
"My darling, you are exquisite. Every time."
You nuzzle into his shoulder. "Mm. Thank you... but I'm going to get blood on your sheets if I don't move soon…"
He chuckles through closed lips, resting his head atop yours with a doting tenderness. "You already have. Miss Evers has cleaned blood from these sheets many times… she'll do it again."
husband!james patrick march x wife!reader.
🍵 ‼️: 1.1k+ words. 18+. p in v. perverted husband!james. mention of murder. a bit of knife play.
a/n: i got the energy to make smut with 1k+ words whaaaat
📖 summary: after james' murderous activities, he came home to his wife seducing him and he obeys with no hesitation.
James wraps up another midnight murder with practiced ease; A call to Ms. Evers for cleanup, a cold shower to freshen up, then return to his sleeping beloved in his suite who’s untouched by the horrors of his evening.
He enters the suite quietly and calmly, expecting that his beloved wife is already deep in her slumber as usual. The familiarity of the suite he shares with you welcomes him as he further walks inside, retrieving his pistol and the sheathed blade hidden inside his suit. He was about to put them aside on the nightstand beside your shared bed. He just took a quick glance at you, but then his head snapped back for another look because of a beautiful unexpected sight that greeted him.
You. sitting on the bed, your short nightgown hiking up your thighs and the dim light of the lamp casting a warm soft glow against your body. He paused. Eyes glued on you as a smirk slowly starts to form on his lips.
“My.. my.. What a sight for sore eyes..” He purrs, walking towards the bed. His eyes remain glued on you as he places his pistol and knife sheath on the nightstand. “Couldn’t sleep, James.” You whisper with a small cheeky smile playing on your lips. You moved a bit, the new position making your nightgown reveal more. You gave him just enough of a view to see your panties underneath your nightgown.
You saw the way your lovingly perverted husband’s head tilt to get a better view of your panties underneath your nightgown. “So you waited for me, little dove?” He asks as he reaches for his sheathed knife that he placed on the nightstand earlier. You let out a soft “Mhm.” at that. He felt his cock twitch in his trousers.
He thought a kill would be enough to satisfy him for the night as usual. Yet it seemed that his wife had more in store for him tonight.
He then spreads your thighs gently and pulls out his knife from its sheath. He hooks the sharp tip of the knife on the fabric of your panties, using it to push your panties aside, revealing your wet folds. His favorite view.
The moment he pushed your panties aside using his knife? It made your mind go blank. Your pupils dilate. The further plans in your mind on how to seduce him further tonight disappeared so quickly. Now, all you know is that you badly want him to now take the lead and take. you. right. now.
He hums with a satisfied smile on his lips as he continues to take a good view.
“My, you waited for me very eagerly, it seems..”
“Yes love..” You breathlessly spoke. He unhooks the tip of his knife from the fabric of your panties, slowly sliding it up to your chest and back down, the tip of the knife freezing on your abdomen as you breathe out:
“Tear it open, James.”
James’ eyebrows shot up at your breathless suggestion; telling him to tear open your nightgown. “Tsk tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Not tonight, my love. I would prefer to do that on our anniversary.” You let out a low flattered chuckle at that. You watch him toss the knife carelessly on the nightstand, his hands then making their way to the button and zipper of his trousers and then undoing them. You continued watching as your breath hitches. You’ve been patiently waiting for this since earlier.
The moment you felt his tip nudge your folds, you hips bucks a bit. He smirks once again at the eagerness of his beloved wife. He finally guides his cock to your entrance, his lips pressing against each other, forming a thin line as he pushes in your warmth. Finally, the empty and needy feeling you feel down there is now being taken care of, making a pleasurable gasp escape those lips of yours.
“Is this what you’ve been waiting for, dearest?” He grunts as he starts to thrust. He wants his thrusts to immediately hit deep. And when it did, you loved it. It’s exactly what you needed. You nodded eagerly, one of your hands making its way to grip the side of the pillow that your head is resting on. James’ other hand shoots out to grab your wrist and pins it hard on the mattress as he leans down his body a bit to thrust deeper. “Mmh.. so deep, James.” You whimper, making him growl in response.
You love how he’s so good at making sounds during sex, it makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. Feeling butterflies in your stomach while he’s deep inside of you is a deadly combo. It makes you clench tighter around him.
James felt that. He groans your name as his hand that was holding your hip moves to crumple and grip on the fabric of your nightgown that was resting on your lower stomach. He straightens up, making him pull your hips up with him. He also slowly drags his hand away from the wrist of yours that he had been pinning on the mattress earlier. This brings a new angle of his thrusts that makes your head spin in pleasure. You want to close your eyes tightly due to so much pleasure. But god.. The view of him in his new position is unfairly attractive.
The way he looks right now is majestic. Him holding your hips up to meet his thrust by only gripping the fabric on your nightgown on your lower stomach part makes the veins on his forearm bulge + how the dim lighting falls on him from your perspective? He’s like a damn majestic being sexing you so good. Each thrust was aimed straight for the center of your pleasure.
James then feels that you’re close, your walls are clenching and throbbing. His grunts turn into those pathetic, visceral moans and gasps along with him twitching and throbbing inside you as well. His muscles then locked tight, and there it goes. The warm liquid that you’ve been waiting to fill you up. You threw your head back as you felt your body shudder, a groan of pleasure escaping your lips. You can feel the mixed juices overflowing. James lets out a last grunt and gives you a final hard thrust before you both collapse on the bed.
You ended up panting heavily underneath him, but very satisfied. James lets out a slow chuckle before lifting his head to look at you, his black hair falling on his forehead.
“You know, darling.. I could grow terribly accustomed to this sort of welcome after my murderous evenings.” He teases you as he reaches to open the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. You rolled your eyes playfully. "It's actually a reminder that you have a wife waiting for you while you occupy yourself with killing.”
James casually laughs it off before gently placing a cigarette between your lips and lights it for you.
likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated! 🫶
🍵 taglist : @bohnerrific69 @sempiternalbeauty (lmk if anyone else wants to be added!)
game on! ꒱ peter maximoff x gf!reader ⁞⁞ 18+ ; mdni
↳ sex bets, bjs, banter, little bit of hair-pulling ⁞⁞ wc: 0.5k ⁞⁞ a/n: reqs open for a bit!
okay. fine. so you were skeptical. if anything, your cynicism was indicative of how well you knew him, which was a nice way to spin it. and peter was kind of a slut. especially when it came to you.
so signs certainly weren’t pointing in his direction. in fact, the bet was so unfavorable to him that you could barely believe he’d been the one to make it.
“if you can make me cum before i beat a level, i’ll do the dishes all month,” he’d said some twenty minutes earlier, apropos of literally nothing, turning over his shoulder from where he sat at the foot of the bed.
now, though, he was singing a different tune. he had one hand fisted in your hair, one gripping the controller equally as tight. the game’s background music and soundtrack were interspersed by peter’s choked little grunts and gasps. “mm,” he grit out. “hah. this is—fuck—really easy, baby, you should—ah!”
you hummed around him, giving his ass a squeeze. his legs closed around your head, thighs pressing you even further down on his cock. your eyelashes caught in his pubic hair when they fluttered closed. you gagged intentionally and drew back, spitting the accumulated saliva onto his dick before resuming your task with exponential vigor. you didn’t want to wash the fucking dishes.
he shuddered and cleared his throat, muttering something about ‘sniping the fucking guy,’ even as his grip on your hair tightened and his hips jerked forward slightly, clearly resisting the urge to drop the controller and fuck into your mouth. he wasn’t slick.
on your next pullback, you glanced up at him through your lashes. his face was flushed, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the screen in front of him. “easy?” you taunted, not giving any time to respond before diving back in.
“yeah. shit, this is…fucking easy, m’ clearing them all out…” he said, voice shaking. his hips jittered again and you felt the muscles in his thighs contract. “are you even doing anyth—ohholyfuckbabe—”
you grin, laving your tongue up the length of him and then sucking hard. behind you, the controller clatters to the hardwood floor and another hand grips your hair. fuck yeah. winner.
his quips quickly dissolve into nonsensical gasps as he hooks his legs over your shoulders and begins face-fucking you in earnest. if not for his heavy thighs keeping you in place, you’d be multiple feet across the room, probably embedded in the screen now displaying red GAME OVER text. what can you say? peter’s got one hell of a thrust.
his cock fills your mouth, warm and a little salty; mostly just tasting like skin and peter. it’s heavy on your tongue, but you can breathe ever-so-slightly easier when he cums, spilling down your throat. dutifully, you swallow, mostly because you don’t feel like dealing with the mess that’d happen if you didn’t, then sit back on your knees and rest your head against his thigh.
his grip on your hair eases and his posture goes lax as his breathing evens out. he glances down at you, hazy-eyed and pink-cheeked, looking a little sheepish. one of his hands pets your hair, the other moving to the back of his neck where he rubs nervously. “...best out of three?”
here's my ahs fan fic smut story starring kai! enjoy (I hope) you cool feisty freaky chick! even if you don't like the story keep on hornyposting, girl!!
"I entered the hotel timidly. Afraid, shaking, yet strangely excited as well, my shaved pussy already moistening. I was wearing my sexiest, sluttiest outfit, lacy black stockings, short black dress, pushed up tits, perfect makeup and hair. Dressed to impress and fuck to the nines.
It was first time working as a call girl. My first client Kai and I had agreed to meet at the hotel room since he was promising a healthy sum.
Kai was sitting in a chair in the darkened hotel room. Looking sinister and cocksure, like a confident domme. He was dressed in a form fitting gray suit. His dyed blue hair styled perfectly in a man bun. His physique fit and muscular.
I nodded hello to him politely and he slid the fat envelope of cash across the small hotel room table he was sitting next to.
I took the envelope expectantly and gazed in awe at the thick wad of cash inside it.
"Please. Sit," said Kai. I sat demurely on the edge of the bed.
"Now, Wendy, you know I am paying you to pretend you're enjoying this?"
I nodded in agreement. Kai then stood and walked toward me, an already sizable bulge protruding from his trousers.
He got closer to me and gently unzipped his fly. His throbbing cock becoming visible.
"You know what to do," Kai said. I reached inside his pants pulled out his rock hard cock, a pearl drop of pre-cum glistening like a pearl on the uncircumcised head.
I opened my mouth and deep throated his cock. Slobbering on it like a big, meaty lollipop, slathering it with spit and wiggling my long, strong, soft pink tongue around it, hungrily swallowing his pre-cum.
Kai grabbed the back of my head and began hungrily fucking my mouth and face. I gagged with every one of his thrusts, feeling his cock penetrate my mouth deeper and deeper. Till it felt like it his cock was touching the back of my throat.
Kai seemed on the verge of cumming when he suddenly stopped and pulled me off the edge of the bed and manhandled me into the bathroom.
Kai then whipped out a crimson red silk blindfold and wrapped it around my baby blue eyes. He tied the blindfold tight yet not too tight and while blindfolded I felt him quickly pull down my dress and jet black silken panties.
Then, blindfolded, I felt Kai bending me over with my shapely naked ass up in the air over the the porcelain toilet.
I then heard and then felt like he was snapping a pair of handcuffs over my wrists and literally handcuffing me to the behind the talk of the toilet. I was utterly helpless.
I was scared, shocked, yet excited, lavender pussy puffing up with excitement and wetness.
I then felt and heard what seemed like Kai dropping to his knees behind me and shooting his tongue up my ass, rimming me thirstily, his tongue driving itself deep into my pink asshole.
I heard then stand up felt him pressing his rock hard uncircumcised cock inside my asshole.
"Christ!," I thought. He's fucking me up the ass! "Well, my pride isn't ruined, just my rectum," I thought.
Kai fucked ass furiously, balls deep, viscously slapping my ass repeatedly and penetrating me anally deeper and deeper.
I felt violated, angry, enraged, excited, it was a volatile mix of pain and pleasure.
I screamed out as Kai fucked and hammered my virgin asshole, "Goddamn it! You fucking, motherfucking son of a bitch, piece of shit, motherfucker!"
My dirty talk seemed to take Kai over the top and he came like a freight train, unloading a massive jolt of hot semen deep into my rectum. Kai then screamed out, insanely turned on, "Oh, fuck! Yes! I love dirty talk!"
I then heard Kai panting for several moment after climaxing. He then un-cuffed me, gently me led me still blindfolded to the bed and I laid down as Kai removed the blindfold.
I was exhausted, spent. Feeling violated yet strangely well fucked.
Kai then bent to me and kissed me deeply on the mouth, our wet tongues swirling around in a sensuous dance.
Kai looked down at me panting and exhausted on the bed and slyly smiled and said, "Hope to see you again."
Kai then turned and walked out the hotel room door.
Exhausted, feeling thick droplets of his pearl colored come seeping out of my ass, I passed out and fell into a deep and blissful sleep."
pairing : colin zabel x gf!reader info : vignette, fluff word count : 1.4k
It was a Friday night (pasta night, specifically) after one too many glasses of wine when you decided to pose the question to your poor boyfriend. It wasn’t a drunk question either, just a spur of the moment softened around the edges, relaxed in the comfortable intimacy that had settled into your relationship over the past few months. The spaghetti dishes had long since been abandoned in the sink, music playing low from your speakers while the two of you lounged across the couch, Colin’s arm stretched behind you.
You were curled against his side, lazily scrolling through your phone when you suddenly laughed, piquing Colin’s interest as he set down the remote control, gaze drifting from the late night cooking show he was previously paying attention to.
“What?” he asked, already smiling just because you were.
You turned the screen toward him. “Somebody online asked their boyfriend: ‘Boobs, ass, or thighs?’ and apparently it started a war in the comments.”
Colin immediately looked wary, as if he could tell he sealed his fate by asking the question. “Okay…”
You grinned slowly, leaning on his shoulder and looking up at him like a sly cat. “So… Colin Zabel.”
“Oh no.”
“Boobs, ass, or thighs?”
He stared at you like you’d just placed him under interrogation, nervous chuckle let out with his dimples as he looked down to shake his head. For a moment, he genuinely tried to dodge it. “I feel like there’s no right answer here.”
“There isn’t,” you said cheerfully. “It’s a matter of opinion.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, already blushing. “Can I plead the fifth?”
“Nope.”
You shifted so you could see him better, chin propped on your hand, thoroughly entertained now. Colin groaned quietly, head tipping back against the couch as his girlfriend indulged in his dilemma.
“This feels like a trap, babe,” he muttered.
“It’s not a trap,” you said. “I’m literally just asking your preference.”
You laughed and he looked at you for a second too long, fond despite himself and completely doomed. He knew you weren’t actually judging him, which almost made it harder. There was no escape hatch of irony or embarrassment to hide behind.
“Okay,” he said finally, sitting up a little straighter like he was preparing to testify in court. “Can I explain my answer first?”
Your eyes widened in delight. “Oh my god, yes.”
He pointed at you accusingly, already melting under your watchful gaze. “See? This is exactly why I’m nervous.”
“You’re adorable. Continue.”
Colin exhaled deeply, visibly gathering courage for what was objectively a harmless conversation but somehow felt monumental anyway. “I feel like… okay… uhm… personality matters, definitely.”
This makes you burst out laughing, lightly hitting his shoulder. “Colin!”
“No, I’m serious!” he insisted, flushed already. “I’m saying context matters. It’s not like I’m walking around categorizing women based on their body-”
“Detective,” you interrupted gently, holding his chin, “...answer the question.”
He looked at the ceiling briefly, then back at you with the expression of a man accepting his fate.
“…Boobs. Uhm, yours, specifically.”
The word came out quiet and respectful, somehow… like he was trying not to offend the concept of breasts, even taking the time to correct himself and defend that yours were the only pair he ever would revere. You stared at him for half a second before laughing so hard you nearly slid off the couch. This makes Colin immediately defensive.
“Why are you laughing?!”
“Because you said it like you were embarrassed of it!”
“I kind of feel like I am!”
Still laughing, you grabbed his arm and leaned against him again. He was red all the way up to his ears now, but smiling too, unable to help it when you looked this entertained.
“So… you’re a boobs guy.” you teased.
He groaned softly into his hand. “Please never say it like that again.”
“I will.”
Colin shook his head, but after a moment his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer almost unconsciously. His voice dropped quieter then, sincerity slipping back in despite the embarrassment.
“I just think they’re…” He paused, immediately regretting continuing when you catch his gaze drift down to your chest.
You looked up at him expectantly. “They’re what?”
He glanced at you, then away again with a shy smile. “Nice.” That only made you laugh harder.
But a few minutes later, when the teasing had died down and the room had settled soft and warm around you again, Colin leaned down to kiss you with lingering affection, and you noticed the faint, stubborn flush still coloring his cheeks the entire time.
“You know,” you said after the laughter finally settled, “that answer actually raises more questions.”
Colin immediately narrowed his eyes, not wanting to add to his embarrassment. “No.”
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
He was already smiling despite himself, slouched deeper into the couch while you turned toward him fully now, knees tucked under you. The wine had left him warm and loose enough to stay instead of retreating, even though he could already tell where this was going.
“You can’t just say ‘boobs’ in the shyest voice imaginable and then leave it there.”
“I think I can.”
“Nope.” You poked his side lightly. “Explain yourself.”
Colin covered part of his face with one hand, groaning softly. “Why are you interrogating me like this?”
“Because you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
You were smiling too brightly for him to have any real defense against it. He looked at you for a long moment, clearly debating whether he could survive refusing, then he sighed the sigh of a man accepting inevitable defeat.
“Okay, but you’re making this weird.”
“I haven’t even started making it weird.”
“That sentence alone made it weird.”
You laughed again, and Colin felt his chest tighten with affection so sudden it nearly distracted him from his own embarrassment. God, he liked you. Too much, probably.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’re just… comforting.”
You blinked, surprised into softness. “Comforting?”
“Yeah.” His voice got quieter, more thoughtful now that he was actually trying to articulate it. “Not in a creepy way, more emotionally.”
“I didn’t say creepy.”
“I know, but I needed to establish that for my own dignity.”
You grinned. “Go on, Detective.”
Colin huffed out a laugh and looked down at his hands before continuing. “I think it’s because they feel…” He paused again, searching. “Warm and safe, maybe.” He looked up at you cautiously, gauging your reaction. “Like if someone lets you be close to them like that, it’s because they trust you to be close to their heart.”
Your teasing expression softened almost immediately at the answer, just wanting to kiss his stupid again the more you listened to your man talk.
“And,” he added quickly, flustered by your sudden sincerity, “I mean, obviously they’re attractive too. I’m not pretending this is entirely philosophical.”
“Obviously.”
“But I don’t know.” He shrugged helplessly. “It’s not even really about looks half the time. It’s just intimate to be closer to them. It’s not my fault that your boobs are right in front of your heart.”
You stared at him for a second, visibly trying not to melt. “Oh my god,” you murmured. “That’s the most Colin answer you could’ve possibly given.”
His face flushed deeper. “Is that bad?”
“No,” you said immediately, moving closer until your leg draped over his. “It’s really sweet.”
He groaned quietly, dropping his head back against the couch. “I should’ve lied. I should’ve said thighs and moved on with my life.”
“But then I wouldn’t have learned you associate boobs with emotional vulnerability.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It kind of is.”
Colin laughed despite himself, shoulders shaking slightly as he looked over at you again. You were watching him with such obvious affection now that it made him bashful in a completely different way.
“You know what the worst part is?” he admitted.
“What?”
“I really thought I was going to sound suave somehow.”
You burst out laughing, leaning forward to kiss him before he could hide behind the embarrassment again. Colin kissed you back immediately, smiling into it, one hand settling warmly at your waist. When you pulled away, still grinning, you brushed your thumb against his cheek.
“For the record?”
“Mm?” his eyes were half-lidded when he gazed at you.
“I think your answer was perfect.”
a/n : i got too excited with this one lmfaoooo my baby is a boob guy and i will die on this hill. maybe this will develop into a mommy kink wink wonk
so do you have any fave type or types of smut ahs fan fic?
Depends on what I'm in the mood for at that moment...extreme violence and death? March. Manipulative abuse? Kai. Bitchboi stalker? Tate. Etc etc. Obviously there are also fics that break the typical character moulds and those are awesome too :>
𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 positions. missionary? sixty-nine? piledriver? cowgirl? doggy? don't be afraid to experiment. finding something new and exciting for you and your partner can make all the difference.
colin zabel x wife!reader | nsfw 18+ | pegging, dom!reader, secretly really tender
“jesus fucking christ,” colin pants, trembling beneath you. his skin is shiny with sweat, glistening over the knobs of his spine. the muscles on his toned back contract as he clutches at a pillow with both arms. you can’t quite make it out, but you think the pillowcase might be dotted with tears.
“are you okay?” you ask, slowing down, reaching up to thread your fingers through his short-cropped hair and press a kiss to the back of his neck. you try to catch your breath, chest heaving, breasts peaked. “all good?”
some of the tension in his back releases as he takes a deep breath, nodding and turning his head to catch your eye, smashing his cheek into the—now you can see—wet pillow. “yeah. shit. embarrassing,” he manages, sniffling.
“not embarrassing.” you lean down to kiss him again, momentarily forgetting that you’re attached to six inches of silicone currently buried inside him, and jolting when he keens. you get the kiss, though, but at this angle is more of a messy smear, before pulling back and readjusting your hips. “shit—sorry.”
he huffs a laugh but his shoulders tighten and his hips make the tiniest roll backwards. “fuck, babe. please—”
well damn. who are you to deny him? having your husband beneath you like this, pleading, is such a fucking power high you don’t know how you’ll be able to function normally after tonight. you tilt your pelvis, drawing back and then slamming forward again, fingernails digging into his hips.
the pair of you had decided on this position—him on his stomach, you on your knees behind him—out of practicality, but now you wish you’d been selfish and fucked him on his back, because his muffled cries and tense muscles aren’t enough at all. you want to flip him over and finish the job that way, want to be able to butterfly kisses all over his face and watch his jaw go slack as he cums.
but you don’t have the time, nor the skill for that kind of move. you think colin is close, and besides, he’s too heavy to maneuver that way. you kind of like that this is one-sided. there’d been options for strap-ons that had instruments on your end, but you’d opted for the simplest kind because you wanted to be extra sure that it’d be good for him. you knew it made him nervous, even if he didn’t say it outright, just let his eyebrows go tense when you’d joked and said ‘oh, so you can dish it but you can’t take it?’
your name passes his lips in a punched-out breath and then his body is stuttering and he’s going limp. in the silence left by the absence of his moans, you swear you can hear his racing heart in sync with yours.
you give his thigh what you hope is a comforting squeeze and pull out slowly, rolling over and folding your hands beneath your cheek as you face him, studying his expression. he’s just about as ruined as you’d assumed, all flushed and teary.
“good?” you ask him softly. his skin seems to radiate heat opposite you.
“good,” he echoes. “intense.”
you grin, petting his hair. “knew i’d be good at fucking you.”
his eyes widen a little and he laughs, mirroring your movement and placing one heavy hand over the side of your head. his irises flick back and forth over your face. “you’ll have to do it again sometime.”
guys i dont even know . this is going to get 1 like. sorry, i know this one is kind of tonally different than the others in this series. i needed him to cry and whimper ok!!!!!
tags: @nephilamb @bohnerrific69 @xichronosxi @colinzabelswife @xrag-dollx @zoebensonsitonmyface @mysticsandmagic05 @ev3n0tx @ravioli-isgood @kylesdove @posiebb @star-rey-night @ethereallmonkey @witchyta lmk if you'd like to be added, removed, or if i've messed up somehow!! please include the character(s) you'd like to be tagged in! love ya
pls reblog or comment if you enjoyed! lmk what you thought!
sweetest dreams ꒱ kai anderson x cult member!f!reader ⁞⁞ 18+ ; mdni
↳ manipulation, fingering, wet dreams ⁞⁞ wc: 1k ⁞⁞ a/n: hi i am back :p
you feel his hands on you before you fully acclimate to wakefulness. one of them is on the inside of your thigh, thumb stroking over the sensitive skin; the other rests on your throat, big and heavy—not enough to constrict your breathing, but heavy enough to remind you that he could, if he wanted to. does he want to?
The second thing you feel is the ache between your legs. Your eyelids are heavy, and behind them you catch flashes of an imagined, blurry reality: a glimpse of Kai’s open mouth skimming over one of your breasts, a flash of his head wedged between your thighs. Your eyes flick open, and all of a sudden, your heart is racing. You shouldn’t be imagining him that way.
Being in Kai’s bed is a privilege most of the group don’t get. It isn’t usually one you’re allowed, but you’d done particularly well last night, driving your ice pick through the mayor’s eye, twisting and pulling it back out, bloodied. So you’d been invited upstairs. And fuck, the scent of him and the thick floral perfume from the hallway had made for a heady combination.
You turn to meet his gaze, the covers pooling around your waist. At the sight of his face, another wave of inconvenient desire crashes over you. “Divine Ruler,” you say softly, eyes darting down to your lap, then to his.
Kai pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face upwards, his expression halfway between dark lust and disapproval. “You know better than to let yourself fall victim to primal urges.”
You nod, your heart beating faster. “I’m sorry,” you breathe. “It was a dream.”
“Dreams kill the mind,” Kai says. “Dream while you’re awake. Don’t waste ideals.”
“I don’t,” you say. You shift upward, leaning against his headboard. His hand falls, skimming over your breasts, your stomach. “You know that.”
You watch him swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes dance across your skin. “What were you dreaming about?” he asks. The way he speaks keeps his lips close together, and when his sentence finishes, you’re left wondering whether or not he spoke at all. His fingers dig into the meat of your inner thigh, making your breath catch in your throat, your problem growing.
“You,” you admit. There’s no point in lying to him; he’ll know. And either way, your dynamic doesn’t work if it’s impeded by dishonesty. Your thighs clench together when his blunt fingertips skim over the front of your underpants, heart speeding up as you try to keep yourself from rocking against him.
His gaze doesn’t break from your eyes, his stare penetrative and all-seeing. He’s always been able to see all of you, hasn’t he? Recently, there’s been a new blankness to his expressions. The layers are gone now that he’s achieved his foremost goal—followers; people at his beck and call; a small, devout, suburban army.
You don’t look away either, just shift your hips, nudging his fingers harder against your damp underwear. There’s something about this. It’s an absurd power rush. Here you are, in Kai’s bed, using Kai’s fingers to stroke your clit through your clothes. And he’s still looking at you. Through your skull, into your mind, unspooling and dissecting every thought that’s ever passed behind your eyes.
His breathing is rough, his eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, like he’s high on you. Nobody else gets this. None of the men sleeping on top of each other in the basement, coming down from last night’s celebrations. Not the handful of women in the living room. You.
Something snaps between you and he rolls over, covering your body with the shadow of his, his head eclipsing the light streaming in from the window on the opposite wall, morning haloing him. His hands are rough on your hips, the pads of his fingers dragging over your skin, slipping beneath your underwear. “Are you that weak?” he asks you, hooking his forefinger in the elastic waistband, pulling them down and off, making you keen. “I thought you were stronger.”
“I am strong,” you protest, rolling your hips into his, trying to stave off the feeling of the cold air on your wet cunt. “Desire isn’t indicative of—oh…Kai—mental delicacy—”
“But you are delicate,” Kai says, cupping the space between your thighs, not quite touching. “So delicate that you let your subconscious control you.” His voice is low. You always fight like this. In some ways, you’re grateful. You’re worth his time, his arguments. If you weren’t, you’d be dead instead of just at odds.
“The unconscious mind handles primal desires. Id. My ego can’t work while I’m asleep—” You whine slightly when he dips his middle finger into you, thumb brushing your clit. “Freud.”
“Freud,” he echoes, mocking.
“It’s not all Oedipus,” you say, arching your back when he adds another finger, curling them both and gripping your side with his free hand, keeping you down. “Fuck…”
Kai nods, the tiniest iota of praise at your display of pleasure, bowing his head and sucking a dark bruise onto your jaw. He never could let you go unmarred. “You’re my favorite,” he says. “The others, they don’t make me feel this way.”
Bright, fiery pride blooms in your chest, settling above the mounting pressure in your abdomen. You make him feel something special. You keen, letting out another high-pitched noise, chasing both the sensations he was eliciting in your body and in your mind. He could pull anything out of you.
His teeth sink shallowly into the curve of your neck. His canines are sharp, and your muscles scream under them. You hope they draw blood. You want to paint yourself in vulnerability, open yourself up to him. Your thighs clench around his wrist.
“Come,” he demands, and who are you to deny him?
Your orgasm shudders over you, the pleasure crescendoing in a wave that makes your thighs and shoulders shake, makes tears bead on your lower eyelashes. “Kai—” you cry, “Divine Ruler.”
“Kai,” he corrects. He pets your hair. Pushes it behind your ear. “You’ve earned that much.”
cliche as it sounds, kyle spencer is genuinely not like the other frat boys, which is probably the highest praise you could give someone in a house full of performative machismo. the one who stays relatively sober at parties, sacrificing his own fun to make sure no one ends up in the back of a squad car or worse.
that selfless vigilance carries over behind closed doors. even though you’ve given him the green light twice and have him locked in place with your thighs (not to mention the fact that he’s balls deep inside you) he’s still panting “this okay?” and “tell me if it hurts, baby,” against the shell of your ear. he needs to hear you confirm it because, for kyle, the physicality means nothing if you aren’t entirely present with him.
bathing in the post-coital haze, there’s no awkward reach for a phone or a sudden need to escape once he’s tied off the bulging, slimy rubber sheath of milky cum and tossed it aside. instead, kyle keeps you tucked against him, planting idle kisses over your salt-filmed skin. he fills the silence with dorky, self-deprecating jokes that make the circumstances feel so domestic that, in lieu of the usual post-hookup emptiness, you swear you can see a shared future in soft focus.
you’ve almost entirely decided it’s not just wishful thinking when he sits up behind you to help clip your bra, working the small hooks with a focus so sincere it feels more intimate than the act of sex itself. then he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back into his chest. you almost want to ask him with a laugh if he always acts like this, but the words die in your throat because, somehow, you already know the answer—like those moments when you miraculously predict the next song on the radio. he rests his chin on your shoulder and mumbles a question into the crook of your neck: if there’s any chance you’d want to have a proper date with him.
under the sodium bulb in one of the supply closets at the gas station he works for, kit walker’s bare chest looks even more obscene than usual. his jumpsuit hangs around his waist, shoved down past his hips. his mouth is open, lips pink from your teeth and shiny from the saliva welling atop his tongue.
your skirt is bunched up, legs wrapped around his middle, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you, making the shelf you’re pressed against rattle. your nose is smashed into his shoulder, eyelashes tickling his neck. “kit,” you gasp, fingernails biting into the stretch of his trapezius. your lipstick must be leaving carmine smears over his pale skin.
his hand splays over the back of your neck, holding you tightly against him. “stay with me, babydoll,” he murmurs, planting a messy kiss on your jaw as he struggles to land it; utterly unwilling to slow his pace. “fuck, m’glad you’re here.”
you’d shown up at the gas station some ten minutes prior, skirt swishing around your knees and face made up. the look on his face when he’d caught your eye—upside down, since he’d been barely poking out from beneath a impala, flat on his back on a creeper—had been enough to let you know that he knew why you were there.
“god, so perfect,” he grits out, his grip on your hip with his free hand tightening. you let out a lascivious moan and he gives you another squeeze, kissing you on the mouth and swallowing the sound. “shh. don’t let ‘em hear—those sounds are all f’me, yeah?”
you nod, tears welling on your lash line as you try to bite back another cry. shocks of pleasure shoot up your limbs and settle in your extremities, compounding into something nearly unbearable, a frayed rope held together by a single thread, holding your crescendo at bay. “kit,” you breathe. “kit—please—”
he kisses you again, lips butterflying over your nose, cheeks, eyes. you take it as permission, and let go; thighs shaking and breath catching in your throat as your orgasm washes over you.
kit follows, his thrusts turning shallow and then stopping, hips stuttering as he spills into you. after taking a moment to regain his composure, the kisses resume, tenderer than before, now that they’re unhindered by lust. “glad to see you,” he murmurs. “miss you all the time.”
after you’re both dressed again and the sweat is absorbed back into your hairline, the two of you file out of the closet. you wave goodbye to him as he returns to the shop area, nodding at his coworkers. beneath the chiffon layers of your skirt, you can still feel him in your underwear.
your chin is hooked over his shoulder, one leg thrown haplessly over his hip. sunlight meanders in through the chiffon curtains that ripple softly in the morning breeze, collecting in caustic puddles on the hardwood floor. kit is warm, his body solid against yours, one of his arms a pleasant, soothing weight on your side.
You come to slowly, eased into wakefulness by the sun on your face and the feeling of your husband against you. For a few moments, you don’t move at all, just stare down the expanse of his back, admiring the way his muscles shift as he follows you lazily into the day.
Kit groans and stretches, mattress springs creaking beneath his weight as he turns. Even before he’s fully awake, his lips find the curve of your shoulder, skimming over your collarbone, leaving feather-light, barely-there kisses over your neck and jaw. “There y’are,” he murmurs, eyelids finally fluttering open, his pupils blown as he looks down at you through his lower lashes.
You smile and hold him a little bit tighter, nuzzling even closer. He smells a little bit like sawdust, but also something warmer and a little sweeter. Your cheek brushes his jaw, where two-day stubble roughs up your skin. He’s invigorating. Exhaustion seeps from your bones and fizzles into the still air. “Good morning,” you whisper. “Hi.”
His hand finds the back of your head, fingers burying clumsily into your hair.
It’s almost an hour until the pair of you manage to climb out of bed. Rarely do you have that luxury, though, so it’s hard to blame yourselves for indulging sloth.
You sit at the dining table, nursing a cup of coffee as Kit moves around the kitchen. He’s in his underpants, his hair mussed and eyes still a little bleary. You think he looks like home and heaven all wrapped up in one man, but you don’t say anything, because, well. He already knows.
He slides into the seat beside you, smacking a kiss on your cheek before settling. Quiet fills the space between you, broken up only by the birdsong outside and the faint rattling of the radiator. It may be spring, but the cold of winter hasn’t completely dissipated yet. “You know, we have all day,” Kit ponders, looking at you through the corner of his eye as he pretends to remain fixated on his coffee. His voice is a little bit rough, and it makes the hair on your bare legs stand up.
“Do we?” You feign ignorance, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know…I’ve got a brunch with one of the new ladies in my bookclub…”
Kit scoffs and scoots closer to you, the shitty chair he’s sitting on squeaking under the solidity of him. His arm wraps around your shoulders and he presses another kiss to your hair. “All mornin’, then, babydoll. Plenty of time.”
You snort and feel your face heat up. “Mm. For what?” you ask, hiding your pseudo-nervousness behind your coffee cup. Secretly, you want another kiss.
“Oh, y’know,” Kit murmurs, turning to face you, a smile tugging at his lips. “Lovin’ on my wife.”
So, twenty minutes later, you’re spread-eagled on the bed again, panting and a little sweaty, oversensitive from the orgasm Kit drew out of you with his mouth and fingers, trying not to scream as he thrusts into you.
“Ah, no, sweetheart. Lemme hear,” Kit murmurs, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head so that you’re facing him and not the bedpost. He smiles, then bows his head and kisses you.
You aren’t quite sure how to articulate that the concept of ‘speaking up’ in bed feels impossibly overwhelming at the moment. Too vulnerable, maybe. And you love him, you do, and he’d seen you in situations where you were, arguably, more exposed. But…you just can’t. Instead of explaining this and obliterating the mood, you whine out, “S’embarrassing…ngh, Kit…”
“They let me know whether or not m’ doing a good job, doll. Am I doing a good job?” he asks, lips skimming over your jaw as he continues rocking his hips against yours at an agonizingly lazy pace.
“Kit…don’ make me, I don’ wanna…” you whisper, squirming.
His hand moves from your face to your side, palm flat over your ribs. “Okay, babe. Alright. Just feel it, then. Okay, hon? S’all you gotta do. Can you do that for me?”
You nod slowly, head bobbing up and down as you close your eyes and swallow the sob of frustration that had built up. Feeling it wouldn’t be hard at all. Sometimes Kit was mean and wouldn’t move unless you vocalized more, but most of the time he was completely satisfied with your small, throaty gasps. A performance, you both agreed, diluted the honesty of what you were doing.
Despite being his wife, you still never know what to do with your hands while Kit fucks you. Sometimes you wish that you don’t have hands at all, so you don’t have to worry about them. The only benefit of keeping your arms attached to your body was that if you flexed your palm the right way and laid it open on the mattress, Kit would reach up and interlace his fingers with yours, stroking his thumb over yours while he pounded into you. He’s good like that.
His hips punch little “ah, ah, ah”s out of you, and he still seems barely winded. It’s fucking unfair, really. Maybe you should work at a gas station if it means that you’ll be built like Adonis. He’s so pretty, you want to cry.
All of a sudden—you are crying. Tears dribble from your eyes and track down your neck to the hollow of your throat, where they pool. Half of it is the feelings Kit is eliciting in your body—the drag of his cock inside you overwhelming; pleasure building and building—and the sheer notion that you’ve got him. That he’s yours.
His movements slow, but don’t cease, and the hand that isn’t in yours moves up to cup your cheek. “Fuck, y’okay, sweetheart?” he pants, swallowing hard as he catches his breath.
“Yeah. I—I just…l-love you, I guess,” you finish lamely, feeling stupid. You swipe at your eyes with the heel of your hand, turning to look at the wall instead of at him.
He grins, but tries to suppress it, and slowly speeds up his thrusts as he peppers kisses all over your face.
All at once, you’ve reached the peak, and crescendo rumbles through you, making your thighs shake and forcing more tears from your closed eyes. A soft sob escapes you and you loop your arms around Kit, holding on tight. You don’t even want him to pull out. You want to be in his arms forever.
Which is reasonable.
Kit follows shortly after, hips stuttering as he spills into you. You neglected the condom. But who cares. You want more of him, anyway. He laughs hoarsely and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “M’not goin’ anywhere,” he whispers.
“Better not be,” you retort, still sniffly, and mouth at his jaw. You’d eat him if you could.
Maybe you both fall asleep again. Maybe you not-so-accidentally blow off bookclub. It doesn’t matter, not really. All the ladies remark that it’s a wonder you get out of the house at all, with a husband like yours.
tags: @z0mbie-unic0rn @star-rey-night @ethereallmonkey @bohnerrific69
i fucked up my taglist badly so this is mostly by memory - sorry for the ping if you're not supposed to here!! please lmk so i can correct it (or lmk if you'd like to be added!)
takin' a short break. will prob be back w/ smth 4 colin or kai :p
a little help from my friend - malcolm gallant x f!reader
smut. dubcon (sorta..). reluctant assisted masturbation. thigh riding. every day I mourn that Malcolm is gay but not gay for me.
“no. nope. No fucking way.” Malcom’s lip curls into a disgusted sneer as he stares at you. “I shouldn’t even be here— fuck.”
“Please! Dammit, malcolm, I’ll do anything,” you beg, standing up from the bed. He walked in on you desperately trying to get yourself off on your fingers, tension built up from months without real sex. Worse, the most embarrassing thing was that you were still entirely horny even after being caught. “You don’t have to fuck me, just— help. Please.” You notice his breath hitch and you add, “it’s not like we can get in trouble for jerking off down here, those bitches in charge probably do it too.”
malcolm blinks. his eyes are so big and dark and glittery. and so fucking hot, but he’s been your gay best friend since childhood, it wasn’t like he was about to throw away his whole sexuality to get you off. ‘As a friend.’
But maybe he could do a little. To help. As a friend.
it’s clear he’s fighting himself when he finally drops his arms and kicks the door shut behind him with a sigh. “Fuck you,” he says softly, a tone that’s actually much kinder than it sounds because you know him so well. he’s happy to help. despite acting like a bitch about it. he takes off his jacket and makes triple sure the door is locked before he jerks his head sideways, saying, “I need to be in the chair, take your pants off.”
you don’t need to be told twice. you leap up from the bed and rush to take your pants off, panties soaked from your earlier coaxing, and you’re tempted to take them off too, but you don’t know what Malcolm even has planned. You look at him with those pleading eyes and he rolls his own, groaning. “fuck, you are always so needy. Take ‘em off and get the fuck over here already.”
you obey without question, watching him fiddle with his trouser buttons, and his eyes fall onto you, half lidded in clear annoyance. “I only do this shit for you, ya know,” he snaps. “also I am not letting you stain my designer pair of these.”
You beam at him, heart racing while your core heats up being half nude in front of your friend. he smiles smally and lets his pants drop to his knees before he sits down and pats his lap twice. “C’mon,” he urges. “I’m not your hooker, hurry up.”
you close the space between you and confusedly stand still in front of him, yelping in surprise when he grumbles and yanks you forward by the hips until your straddling his thigh, then pushes you to sit on it. “maybe you should be paying me by the hour…” he jokes quietly, his hands firm on your body.
you barely hear him, still trying to process the fact that you’re riding your best friend’s naked thigh. the heat of his skin against your slick cunt after literal months of zero sexual contact with anyone is indescribable. you hand instantly finds his shoulder to steady yourself, and he looks up at you with a smirk, like this is the most normal thing in the world for a couple of friends to do. “okay,” he starts, lifting his leg and you gasp sharply as you feel his muscular thigh flex against your spread cunt. “grind on me.”
“what?” you’re already breathless, dammit. Malcolm rolls his eyes again, letting out a low moan of irritation that only manages to make you wetter. he bounces his leg under you and you feel a flutter in your walls, trying to clench down around nothing.
“are you stupid, bitch?” he huffs. “I’m helping you. would you rather go fuck yourself on a pillow? grind. on. me.”
it’s crazy, and maybe this is why you’ve stayed friends with such an asshole all these years, but the sound of him berating you is like music. his voice is so buttery, so warm and sweet and laced with a poisonous edge you want to just drink it up.
so after just a second more of surprised hesitation, you obey. Hands on his shoulders to keep balance, you move backward before slowly pushing forward again, dragging your open cunt over the expanse of his lap. his thigh flexes beneath you, a firm and steady base to balance on, and you suck in a breath as you start a rhythm fucking yourself on his leg. you feel like a dog in heat, humping Malcolm with abandon while he rolls his eyes and tries to ignore your tiny sounds.
“Oh my GAWD, you’re obnoxious, you probably got no dick even before we ended up here, huh?” he teases you, only half serious. your hips stutter as you glare at him and he quirks a brow. “damn, okay, defiant, too. y’know what, honey? I don’t have time for this, so—”
“no, Malcolm, I’m sorry, don’t—!” you stammer to try and convince him to stay, but he’s not getting up. instead, your whole body arches as you feel his bejeweled hands come up to rest on your bare ass, gripping the flesh and yanking your forward. you gasp as your pussy slides across his flexed leg, making an audible slick sound, and your palm smacks over your gaping mouth as he fucks you on his thigh. his hands are strong, and so fucking soft, the cold metal of his rings digging brutally into your skin as he moves you up and down across his leg. you let out a little moan against your skin as the pressure starts to build in your core, heat flooding your womb.
“there ya go, bitch,” he smirks as you start to lose it, head falling back and hips moving with his urging hands. your cunt pulses and clenches down around nothing as you pick up speed, panting as you fuck yourself hard on his thigh. his muscle flexes again, knee lifting to grind up into your pussy and you keen at the sensation. your orgasm is a throbbing, messy crest of pleasure as you cry into your own palm and Malcolm shushes you in a hushed tone. you wish he’d praise you instead of telling you to shut the fuck up, but you’re desperate and you’ll take what you can get.
when you finally let him stand, still reeling from your release, he wipes his leg clean with a wet wipe and scolds you, “next time do it yourself like a man.”
you resist the urge to reach down and start trying for another one right now with the thought of what he just did for you… “I could suck you off in exchange,” you offer bluntly.
Malcolm stops before leaving, turning to face you and you think you may have convinced him with a fair trade. but he squints in disbelief and scoffs, “suck me off? oh honey, you wish.”
