The way men view women in movies is so funny because Rey with the Force shouldn’t be able to do all that and Carol Danvers with Superpowers shouldn’t be able to do all that but Singular Cop Dude with No Powers Trapped In A Building can take down 20 genius terrorists Alone (Die Hard)
Look, this is my litmus test: I pretend I am the original Earl of Sandwich. I have asked for non-bread foods to be brought to me inside bread, that I might more easily consume them one-handed while gambling.
This does not enable my wretched regency habits. This is not what I asked for. I do not deign to grace it with the name of my house.
ok I’m back you and your boyfriend and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your dog and your djinn can go
synopsis: A dumb bet with your best friend turns into Suguru Geto teasing you with a vibrator before fucking you stupid.
cw: explicit smut, first time vibrator use, orgasm denial, degradation + praise, creampie. it’s kinktober sluts!
You’d never thought of yourself as the type to let someone dominate your brain and body completely—until Suguru Geto made a bet with you. You were screwed—literally—and you had no one to blame but yourself.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never used one.” Suguru lounges on your bed, long legs crossed, black hair spilling over his shoulders. “What era are you living in, princess? The dark ages?”
You cross your arms over your chest, cheeks burning. “I just—never got around to it, okay? Not all of us have overflowing sex toy drawers like you.”
“And you just told me that like it was nothing.”
You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Because I didn’t think you’d turn it into—” You gesture wildly at the bed, the box, the smug look on his face. “—whatever this is!”
Your pulse spikes when he wraps his hand around your waist, bringing you closer to him. He’s still dressed—black sweats hanging low, t-shirt stretching over his broad chest—but you’re practically naked, heat crawling up your neck. This was Suguru. Your best friend. The guy who split fries with you at 2 a.m., who held your hair when you got drunk, who once threatened to beat up your ex for making you cry.
You sigh exasperated, “You’re really gonna make me—”
“—Let me? Yeah.” He tilts his head, voice dropping low. “Unless you’re scared.” God, he’s insufferable. He knows exactly how to push your buttons. You bite your lip, heat pooling between your legs despite yourself. “Fine,” you mutter, lying back on his pillows like you’re about to regret every decision you’ve ever made.
“Good girl.”
His hand presses to your knee, spreading your legs slowly, deliberately. “You sure about this?” he asks, and for a second his teasing fades, replaced with something protective.
You nod, throat dry. “Yeah.”
“Then be a good girl and keep those legs open for me.”
The first press of the vibrator against your panties makes you jolt, a shocked gasp ripping from your throat. Suguru laughs softly, eyes locked on your face like he wants to memorize every twitch, every sound.
“Sensitive, huh?” His tone is all velvet sin as he drags it in slow circles over the dampening fabric. “Haven’t even touched your pussy yet, and you’re already shaking.”
“Suguru—” Your voice breaks into a whimper when he presses harder, the hum deep and insistent against your clit. He groans under his breath, like your sounds are unraveling him.
“Fuck, you’re cute like this,” he mutters, pushing your panties aside with maddening ease. The vibrator kisses your bare clit, and you cry out, hips jerking, but his other hand is on your thigh, pinning you down.
“Y-you’re such an asshole—” Your insult dies in a moan when he presses harder, letting the toy glide over your slick folds now. The hum vibrates right through you, like your nerves are sparking out of control.
“Say that again when you’re not dripping on my sheets,” he shoots back. You choke on a moan, fingers clutching his wrist as if that’ll give you any control here. Spoiler: it doesn’t. Suguru’s stronger, steadier—completely in control while you’re squirming like some porn cliché on his bed.
You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to answer—but the way your hips rock helplessly against the toy gives you away. “Fuck,” he groans under his breath, like he’s the one unraveling now. “You’re killing me, you know that?” He kisses your jaw without thinking, like it’s second nature, and your stomach flips violently.
“I hate you,” you pant, even as your hips arch toward the toy.
“Liar.” He moves the vibrator down, pressing it right against your clit now, and the sound you make—oh, it’s obscene. “God, listen to yourself. All those times we joked about who you’d let fuck you first? Should’ve put money on me.”
“Shut—ah—shut up—”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He leans in, lips brushing your jaw. Your nails dig into his forearm when the toy pulses against your clit, your thighs snapping shut on instinct. He doesn’t let you, hand firm between your knees, spreading you wide. “Keep ‘em open,” he warns, tone like molten steel—hot, dangerous, making you wetter than the toy already has. “You wanna make me stop?”
You shake your head violently. “No—no, don’t—”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Sounding real sweet for someone who swore they weren’t into me,” he murmurs, lips grazing your skin. Your breath stutters, chest heaving as you try to form a retort—fail miserably, because the toy shifts just right and your moan breaks embarrassingly loud. “You’re—god—such an dick!” you pant, clutching the sheets like a lifeline.
“Sure. But you’re the one about to come all over my hand because of it,” he shoots back smoothly.
The toy shifts again, circling your clit in devastating little patterns that have your thighs trembling. You’re right there—right on the edge—when he suddenly pulls the vibrator away. Your eyes fly open, a strangled noise ripping from your throat. “Suguru, what the fuck—”
He just grins, tossing the toy aside like it’s nothing. “You didn’t think I was gonna let that finish you, did you?” His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back so you’re forced to look at him.
“You’re gonna come,” he says, voice low, deliberate, “but you’re gonna do it on my cock. Not some fucking toy.”
You can’t breathe. “Suguru—”
“Yeah, baby?” His mouth curves in a wicked grin as he strips his shirt off in one smooth motion, muscles rippling under the soft light of your room. He doesn’t stop there—sweats and boxers gone in seconds, and your brain fully short-circuits because—holy shit. He’s big. So big.
Your best friend, the guy who once wore a dumb Pikachu onesie to make you laugh on your birthday, is kneeling between your legs with the kind of cock that ruins lives.
He sees the way you stare—doesn’t even bother hiding his satisfaction. “Scared?” he teases, stroking himself slowly, letting you see every inch.
You swallow hard, but your voice betrays you with a shaky, “No.”
“Good,” he murmurs, he drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, and you moan so loud you swear the neighbors heard.
“Fuck—Suguru—”
“That’s right.” He lines up, and when he pushes in—slow, steady, stretching you open inch by inch—you forget how to breathe. Your nails claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. “Oh my god—”
“Yeah,” he groans, dropping his forehead to yours, his breath hot and shaky. “Fuck, you feel better than I ever fucking imagined.” Your brain is gone—just gone—because he’s so deep, so thick, and he keeps pushing until he’s fully seated inside you, filling you in a way you didn’t think was possible.
“God, you’re tight,” he groans against your neck, the sound deep, hungry, like he’s losing his mind. “Like your pussy was made for me.”
You make a choked noise that’s absolutely ruined by the moan that follows it. “Shut up—don’t say—shit like that—”
“Oh, you love it,” he smirks, snapping his hips forward, your body jolting under his weight. “Best friends, huh? You should’ve told me sooner you wanted my cock this bad.”
“I didn’t!” you try, but the words break off into another shameless moan when he angles his hips just right.
“Didn’t?” He kisses you then—messy, hot, nothing like the careful pecks of friendship you’d given him over the years. The vibrator had nothing on this. Nothing on the drag of him inside you, the way he filled every inch that had you on the edge of your orgasm faster than you thought possible.
“Fuck, that’s it—good girl, squeeze me just like that—” he groans, hips stuttering as he slams into you, chasing his own release. You’re still trembling when he spills inside you, a broken growl escaping him as his forehead drops to yours.
Silence stretches for a beat, just your panting breaths tangled together, and that’s when the absurdity of it all hits you. Your best friend. Suguru fucking Geto. You just let him blow your mind with a vibrator and then ruin you with his cock, and the man is still smug enough to be grinning at you. You groan, burying your face in his chest. “I am never making a bet with you again.”
He laughs, low and satisfied, kissing the top of your head like he hasn’t just rearranged your entire life. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say.”
And you realize two things in that moment:
1. You are never making a bet with Suguru Geto again.
2. You might actually die tonight—and love every second of it.
i got these knockoff boots online and instead of the brand name on the tag they have the name of an apparently nonexistent martin scorsese movie??? what the fuck
this post led to a series of events that had martin scorsese himself reacting to his alleged movie goncharov and it has less than 400k notes almost 3 years later?
Synopsis: Nanami agreed to take a half-day for once. You used it to wear a tiny sundress and test his patience. You weren’t wearing panties—and he figures that out very quickly.
cw: Explicit sexual content (18+). Public sex/semi-public setting (car, risk of being seen). No panties/exhibitionism. Dom/sub. Light choking. Spanking. Rough sex/overstimulation. Dirty talk. Creampie. Slight possessiveness & authority play. m.list
You knew exactly what you were doing when you slipped into that little floral sundress.
It was barely August and the heat was already sticky, clinging, but you weren’t wearing it for the weather. You wore it because you liked the way it made Nanami look at you—like he was seconds away from throwing all his rules out the window and bending you over the nearest surface.
Thin, white, soft against your skin. Light enough to move with the breeze, short enough to show off your ass. No bra. No panties.
And Kento Nanami—your very overworked, very tightly wound boyfriend—had no idea what kind of day you had planned for him. At least, not when he picked you up that morning.
His jaw clenched the moment he saw you. He was in his usual three-piece suit, meticulous and pressed, glasses perched on his nose and a to-go coffee in his hand. His eyes skimmed down your body with that cold, unreadable look he got when he was trying very hard not to react. You smiled, all sweet. “Morning.”
“You’re not wearing a coat,” he said flatly.
“It’s warm out.” You leaned into his car, lips pouting as you walked to your side of the car. “Isn’t this dress cute?”
“Mhm,” he murmured as he was helping you into his car, gentlemanly as ever—palm on the small of your back, leaning close, murmuring something soft about dinner reservations and time windows—until his hand dipped a little lower. Until your leg shifted to get in and that dress rode up.
Until he felt bare skin under his palm. His voice dropped immediately. “You forgot something.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“You’re not wearing any panties.”
“And?”
The passenger door slammed. Hard. You bit back a grin as he rounded the car and got in, jaw tight, one big hand gripping the steering wheel, the other flexing slow on his thigh. He didn’t say anything for five minutes. Not until you crossed your legs sweetly and whispered, “Are you mad?”
Nanami didn’t look at you. “Mad isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Oh?” You reached over, letting your fingers trace the seam of his trousers, right along the thick line of his cock already pushing against the fabric. “What word would you use?”
His hand caught your wrist so fast you gasped, he was furious. “Stop it,” he said sharply. “Sit still and be quiet.”
You smiled, wicked and teasing. “That doesn’t sound like a thank you for the little surprise I planned.”
His eyes cut to you, cold and sharp. “I should pull this car over right now. Stop. It.”
You didn’t stop. You never did. Not when he warned you. Not when he glared at you with that tightly-reined restraint that made your thighs press together in the seat. Not even when he muttered a final, sharp “Enough” through gritted teeth, gripping the wheel so tight the leather creaked. He had to recite tax brackets in his head just to keep from wrecking the car.
Instead, you ran your palm slowly over his thigh, higher and higher until you reached the aching, hard line of his cock straining against his slacks. You gave him a playful little squeeze, and in the same motion, reached into your bag.
“Cupcake?” you asked, all innocent as you unwrapped the little thing you picked up from the bakery. Vanilla bean. A stupid, soft little snack. “I brought one just for you.”
“Don't,” he muttered under his breath. He watched you tear the wrapper with one dainty hand, shimmying in the seat like your bare cunt wasn’t already sticking to the leather.
“Kento,” you murmured, licking a streak of frosting off your thumb, “you want a bite?” You moaned—loud—when your tongue dragged over the tip of your finger, eyes fluttering shut like the taste was orgasmic. Then you bit into it slow, messy, frosting smearing the corner of your mouth. You licked that too. Sucked it off your finger like it was his cock.
“This frosting is so good,” you said, eyes flicking to him while your other hand trailed up his thigh. “C’mon just one bite?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, snatched the half-bitten cupcake out of your mouth without warning, threw it straight out the open window—“Kento!”—frosting streaking his knuckles from the force. He didn’t even blink.
Your lips parted like you might whine, but all that came out was a breathy sound as he raised his frosting-coated fingers to inspect the mess he'd made. Creamy, sticky, speckled with crumbs. His other hand never left the wheel, eyes forward as you—incorrigible, needy—snatched his hand and dragged it to your mouth.
You looked up at him through your lashes as you licked slowly from his knuckle to fingertip.
“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath—but you caught the twitch of his jaw.
“You’re so mean to me, baby,” you whispered against his knuckles. “You didn’t even want a taste?”
His voice was deadpan. “You’re going to cry later. I hope you know that.”
Your thighs clenched again—god, you were already so fucking wet, sticky between your legs from nothing but teasing him. His fingers were still in your mouth. You made a soft little mmph sound like a slut trying to apologize.
He made a sharp turn off the main road—too fast—and pulled the car into the back lot of a quiet rest stop. You barely had time to react before the engine cut off, the brake engaged.
And then the car was dead silent. You watched him unbuckle his belt with controlled precision. He wasn’t rushing. Nanami never rushed.
You gulped. “Kento—”
“Get on my lap.”
The words hit like a slap. You blinked. “What—”
“You wanted attention. You want to tease me? Fine. Get on my lap. I’ll let you fuck yourself on my cock in broad daylight. No window tints. No privacy. Go ahead. Let’s see how long that attitude lasts.”
“…someone could see—”
He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you forward, his mouth was right at your ear, voice low. “Get. On. My. Lap.”
He released you just as fast. Sat back. Opened his slacks with one sharp motion and freed his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking, slapping against his stomach with a quiet, heavy thud.
“Take your time,” he said coldly. “You love putting on a show, right?”
You were already crawling into his lap, straddling him, the sticky heat of your cunt dragging over his length as you settled against him. You were so wet he didn’t even need to guide himself in—just one slow press of your hips and he slid inside, inch by inch, deliciously deep.
You gasped as he hissed. His head dropped back against the headrest. “Fuck. Of course you’re this wet.”
You bit your lip, hips trembling. “It’s your fault…” you whined, high-pitched and breathless. He gripped your throat with one hand. “Don’t fucking start,” he snapped. “You’re lucky I’m letting you cum at all.”
You could barely breathe. Not just because of the thick weight of his cock pulsing inside you—but because of the way Kento fucking looked at you. One arm slung across the back of the seat, the other still gripping your throat, palm hot and broad. His glasses had slid down just slightly, exposing the sharp glint of his eyes as he watched you tremble in his lap like some fucked-out little plaything.
“You don’t get to be shy now,” he muttered. “Ride me.”
You whimpered and gripped the collar of his shirt as your hips began to move. Slow at first. Up. Down. Just enough to feel that stretch all over again. Every time you sank down, it felt like too much—too deep. But his grip tightened when you tried to stop. His brows drew together like he was annoyed you weren’t using him properly.
“You tease me all fucking morning,” he growled, “and this is how you ride cock?”
“I’m—” you gasped, “I’m trying—”
“Try harder.”
The slap to your ass was loud and immediate—his palm cracked sharp against the curve of it and you yelped, tightening around him. His cock twitched in response. You barely managed another rise and fall of your hips before your rhythm broke, thighs shaking.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
He grabbed your hips with both hands and then slammed you down onto his cock so hard you choked on your own breath. “Oh my god—Kento!”
His hips snapped into yours, cock stretching you wide, his hands bruising your waist. He grunted with each thrust, every stroke a punishment.
“This—” thrust.
“—is—” thrust.
“—what happens—” thrust.
“—when you pull that shit with me.” Your eyes were glassy, mouth parted around panting little moans as he forced you to take his cock over and over, faster now, harder—bucking you against him with brute, punishing strength. The squelch of your cunt sucking him back in was filthy.
He sat back, legs planted, hands locked on your hips, and fucked up into you so hard you saw stars. Your entire body bounced with every brutal thrust—his cock punching against your cervix, the fat head dragging over that swollen, needy spot inside you again and again until your back arched and your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.
Your orgasm crashed over you so violently your body locked up, cunt clamping down around him like a vice. You cried out—high, loud, broken—and Nanami bit your lip as he grunted, hips jerking up once, twice, before he stilled. His cock throbbed deep inside you, spilling hot cum into your pulsing cunt, so much it dripped out the second he pulled you off him.
You collapsed against him, panting, shaking, your sundress hiked up around your waist, legs splayed open across his thighs.
Just your heavy breaths and his low, even ones. His hand stroked your back, then slid lower—over your ass, to your slick thighs, to where his cum was starting to drip onto the seat.
“You made a mess,” he muttered. You mumbled something incoherent against his chest. He sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
You giggled, barely able to lift your head. “Told you the dress was worth it.”
He shifted, tucking himself back into his slacks with practiced ease, then grabbed a handkerchief from the glovebox and slipped it between your legs.
“Clean up.” You mewled, lifting your hips weakly so he could wipe the mess from your thighs.
“You know,” you whispered, lazy smile spreading over your face, “we never made it to lunch.”
He glanced down at you. “You're not getting anything sweet for the rest of the day.”
You smirked. “Except you.”
His palm landed on your ass again—lighter this time. A warning. “Behave.”
“No promises.”
He closed his eyes like he was praying for strength. “Next time,” he said, voice low, “I’m tying your hands before we get in the car.”
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