Call me Briar | she/they | 26 | Minors and dd/lg dni | Minors and ageless bios will be blocked | Teratophilia/Exophilia, 18+ content, general kinkery. Might write something, Idk
—summary: The summer heat has you slipping between sleep and reality. Something not-so corporeal helps you cool off.
—warnings: ghost x human, monsterfucking, piv sex, mirror sex (technically), creampie, dubcon/somnophilia.
—word count: 1,3k
—a/n: no thoughts just horny. also on AO3
The best thing about living alone, you’ve come to realize, is the privacy. You’re free to do whatever: take your time in the bathroom in the morning or whenever you want, spend an eternity soaking in the claw-footed tub this house came with, walk around your home in the skimpiest clothing imaginable (not only does it help to beat the summer heat, it also (technically) leaves you less laundry to do), splay out on your king-sized bed in a starfish position, limbs akimbo, drag the full-length mirror in your bedroom in front of your bed and stare at the way any dildos you own get swallowed up by your greedy cunt.
No point in wondering why the last owner was in such a rush to get rid of it; so much so that he accepted well below market price for a freshly renovated, fully-furnished house with a moderate backyard in a relatively safe neighborhood.
The longer this heatwave lasts, the skimpier your clothes get. There’s barely any fabric to cling to your constantly sweat-slick skin by this point, just a tiny skirt hiked so far up your bare skin touches the wooden chairs when you sit and a shirt that’s more spaghetti straps than torso. The huge, double-door fridge is a reprieve, cool air billowing out and caressing your heated skin. It almost feels like a genuine caress, like someone’s cool hands sliding down your body.
Seriously, you need to get out of the house and meet people instead of fantasizing about the cool touch of your fridge. But the outside is infinitely hotter than the inside.
You kick the bedsheet away from your body, grumbling at the lingering day heat. You’d stripped the sheet from the duvet the moment spring chill had plunged into summer heat and stuffed the latter into the closet until fall. Even then, you tend to wake up without the sheet in the morning, finding it crumbled on the floor. Yesterday was another sweltering day. It has left the air stuffy and the fans only push the warm, stale heat around without providing any relief. You unplug them in a fit of frustration and cringe at the feeling of moisture when you lay against your pillow again.
Sleep doesn’t completely evade you but you’re not fully asleep, either. You think so, at least. There are moments of brief blackouts, where you open your eyes and turn to look at the time only to find not even an hour has passed. Your eyelids feel heavy.
Then, there are the hands on your body. Caressing, petting, groping. They’ve been there for some time now, just touching, feeling. They’re not cold, just cool enough to feel pleasant against your heated skin and inject some relief into your sluggish thoughts of sun and heat. A sigh escapes your lips at the sensation. Fingertips trance the expanse of your skin, draw constellations between your moles and freckles. The other hand moves to rest on your breast. It kneads the soft flesh, gently pinches your nipple between its fingers, runs a thumb over it.
You inhale sharply, heart thrumming in your chest, pressing your thighs together. It does little to quell the desire for friction, or touch. The hand tracing its fingertips down your body reaches your hip, then skirts across your flesh to rest on the inside of your thigh. You blink languidly; the heat is stifling, your head feels thick.
Cool fingers dip between your legs, press against your clit like — like they’re what? Testing the waters. You stifle the half-baked moan in the back of your throat.
The hands leave you all at once and you croak out a sound that doesn’t even sound like you, desperate and needy. They’re back not even a moment later, though, heavy on your hips as if they’re trying to guide you. You reach for a pillow and prop it under yourself. It’s a nice dream, you don’t need it to end because it forces you into an uncomfortable position that drives home the realization that it’s a dream. Because then you’ll wake up, alone again.
Something thick and heavy rests on your pelvis. Maybe this makes you a bad sex partner in this brief dream but you don’t want to reach out and touch it, guide it. If it’s your dream, your partner should know the where and how. The cool hands planted firmly on your hips pull you forward just slightly and the weight from your pelvis disappears. It rests against your entrance, but doesn’t push forward just yet. One hand leaves you and the tip of its cock drags through your slick folds, bumps against your clit.
“Please,” you croak, staring at the ceiling. Your throat is dry.
The stranger’s cock angles itself against your entrance and pushes in carefully. You take a slow, deep breath in, try to relax around the pleasant intrusion. The hands — under your knees now, guiding your legs apart. A body presses against your thighs. Whoever it is, stops, pauses for a moment. You clench around the cock buried in your cunt. A cold, shuddering breath hits you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. The hands push your knees further apart until there’s an ache in your muscles, and then they depart, one finding a spot on your waist, the other your breast.
It moves, then. The cock nestled deep within you sharply pulls back and thrusts in again. You scramble for anchor, to grab onto something but all you come up with is sheet that tugs loose. Their pace is dizzying, thighs slapping against yours, cock plunging into your wet cunt. The sound is so wet and lewd and goddamned loud in the still silence of your home. You go to stifle the half-moan half-groan in your throat but— wait, it’s your house, your dream, who gives a fuck about the neighbors? The cock in your cunt pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts in again and hits that spot, so good, dragging against your slick walls and you swear you feel every groove and dip, every goddamn vein. Your moan slips out involuntarily, and whoever it is here with you, seems invigorated.
The hand on your breast leaves, a forearm rests around your thigh, pulling it up and — fuck, their cock drives in so incredibly deep you nearly choke on your own spit. You scramble upwards, resting your weight on your elbows to look at your partner —
There’s no one there. Your bedroom is empty. But there’s a hand on your torso, cool fingers digging into your flesh and a forearm supporting your thigh and the shape of someone’s shoulder against your Achilles’ tendon. There’s a cock plunging into your cunt and you hear someone’s labored breathing.
The full-length mirror skids across the laminated floor and stops in front of your bed. Something invisible is thrusting into your pussy, gaping back at you in the reflection. Your face burns — your whole body burns. You can’t look away from the debauchery staring back at you. Whoever — whatever — it is, thrusts harshly, cold hands pulling you against their body. Your thighs are wet and sticky, slamming against theirs, your hole gaping back at you, being abused by something you can’t see. It sends you hurtling over the edge.
You come around the phantom cock with something reminiscent of a shriek and a moan and terror and pleasure all combined. Your cunt clenches around the thing your muscles sore and sweat beading on your skin. The cock plunges into you again and again and again and you blink back the tears and the fear and the overwhelming pleasure. The fingers on your body dig into your flesh and the cock nestled in you buries deep, thighs pressing against your own, and spills. It’s so warm, so pleasant. The mirror skids closer, right until it touches the edge of the bed.
Your cunt is forced wide open. Stuffed. The pearlescent cum coats your walls, oozes out from inside you, dribbles onto your bedsheets. The cock in you stays there but the body moves.
A small fogged patch, like warm breath, appears on the mirror, and then, letters.
Bout to be real gay on here, but I saw some post by this dude that was like "Aren't y'all tired of seeing Megan Thee Stallion twerk?"
No. Nope. I sure as fuck am not because I forget how goddamn gorgeous this woman is until I see her somewhere online. I go "damn" every time I see her shake some ass. Are you gonna take that from the masses, dude?
Now, this isn't something I usually post about from my silly goofy k1nk account (reminder to minors to not follow or scroll this acount).
But I have more followers on here than main, and this is extremely important. Like, scary shit.
This applies to everyone. If you're reading this? It's going to effect you.
I'm sure perhaps some of you have seen around about a this thing going around... KOSA, is one of the ways it's being referred to.
If this shit passes, lemme tell you...
LGBTQ+ adults and minors seeking help and community,
people looking for abortions,
people organizing protests,
anyone using their free speech to voice concerns about injustices,
even FAN ARTISTS...
Even people reading fan fiction...
And for the purposes of where I'm posting from... people sharing and enjoying their k1nks, wanting to post things with safety and privacy... smut artists and writers, people even LOOKING for smut...
It's all gone. No privacy.
They'll have your face, your name, your age, where you live.
You'll need an ID to use any US-based platform, even if you're NOT in the United States.
Instead of dooming, here's what you can do to stop this shit in it's tracks 👍
Here is a website where you can sign a letter just by filling out a form, (it takes less than 30 seconds) and where you can call reps.
I HIGHLY suggest leaving calls if you're able, and if you have phone shyness, do this after 6pm, since it will leave messages instead.
I'm shy, but I did it!
Here's another letter to sign, takes less than 20 seconds.
Here is a form you can fill out sharing how the social media has POSITIVELY effected you.
Share all of this with as many people as you can. Our safety, freedom, joy, and protection online is at risk more than ever.
(Here is the thread where I found all of this information.)
The woodland fae you stumbled upon while exploring the forest had tricked you out of your name. It made you pledge yourself to serve it for a year and a day. You never expected that by "serve" it meant to steal you away from your bed every night to spend hours in debauchery before sending you home covered in bite marks and scratches. Your thighs sticky with its seed.
i think we, as a collective, could stand to talk more about the breathy almost incomprehensible moans of, “thank you for using me thank you for using me thank you for using your toy” that stream out of a pretty things mouth while it gets railed.
Love the way it slides over my fingers, that obscene texture I can't describe. The velvety softness inside, the way it feels when I push just a little further inside. Love the warmth that seeps into my hand
I want to drag my fingertips over your inner walls, want to ghost over that lovely spot that makes you scream, want to slowly rub my thumb over your clit while I finger you into oblivion
I want to coax you to your brink, want to hold down your hips and squeeze and grasp all the softest parts of you that I can reach. I want to hear how your breath hitches, how that stuttered moan leaves your lips, I want to see and feel you squirm beneath me. I want to hear you beg me for mercy because god you want it, you need it, please please please yes
I think horror directors need to realize they’ll never make vampires truly scary. you make the most disgusting, grotesque vampire and there will always be at least one person out there that will find that vampire fuckable
it's actually so funny how challenging it is to write bona fide graphic, horny smut. like people don't give smut writers enough credit. you are constantly running out of words to describe the same 2-4 body parts and same 4-6 motions. you are constantly attempting to do interesting and dynamic things in the prose with this extremely limited set of words. you are looking at your prose for the nastier bits and wondering if it actually sounds hot or if it just sounds goofy. you are then toning down your prose and then wondering if it now sounds tasteful or if it's just boring. you do ctrl+F for the word "cock" and there are 37 instances of it in the doc but you hate the 1-2 acceptable synonyms so there's nothing much you can do about it
Doms should be expressive and emotive while fucking someone, they should moan and whimper and growl and make whatever noises of pleasure they like, reblog if you agree
i NEED to make out with a woman while i sit in her lap and let her grope me and tug on my panties until i’m whimpering and there’s spit stringing between us
I need me some more alien/ human lady smut thats not oviposition. Like this is not telling enybody what to do. I love you all. But like pregnancy is such a like not hot thing to me. And also I then have to learn that the sexy alien Ive been railing just wants me for my womb like that hurts my feelings.
This is not about Subnautica btw. Theres exactly zero oviposition in those fics and its great. This also dosent really apply to full things with plots and stuff. Im talking about full oneshot pornography.
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