Woogity

24! :)

[mckitterick]

[rip-quizilla]

[otakufilms]

‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓶𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰…‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀

here, bunny bunny. eren.

𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—7.6K, kinktober!, halloween theme!, onlyfans!contentcreatorcouple!, mask kink!, ghostface!mask, originalblackfem!reader, boyfriend!erenyeager, gymrat!eren, gymrat!femreader, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!eren, aggressive!eren, dominant!eren, gruff!eren, sweet!eren, submissive!eren, bubblyslightlybimbo!femreader, size kink!, pet names!baby!bunny!, pussy eating!, face slapping, slightly aggressive sex!, bondage!, dick sucking!, riding!, doggystyle! spitting in mouth!, squirting!, creaming, condomless sex, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི

メモ。—now, this is my kinktober fic. that’s it, that’s all. ain’t gon’ say too much. love y’all. pt two of nana. part one, here.

૮₍ ៸៸ ᵜ ก ₎ა piscesbimbobunny is online…

GHOSTS, GOBLINS, AND GHOULS FLURRY PAST YOUR MIDNIGHT CURLS, HAIR SLIPPING BEHIND YOUR SHOULDERS THAT TENSE FROM THE FEET OF HASTE CHILDREN SCURRYING PAST. What was scarier than children? You weren’t sure—but maybe shopping a day before Halloween within one of its busiest stores might’ve come close. 

It’s pure chaos—screaming kids dart between aisles like sugar crazed gremlins, their sticky fingers grabbing at plastic pumpkins and rubber bats. Fake cobwebs cling to every surface, and the overwhelming scent of synthetic latex fills the air. 

You weave through it all with your boyfriend in tow, his massive frame towering over the crowd—but his patience visibly thinning by the second.  

Every time you stop to examine another costume—lingering on a lacy witch outfit or stroking your fingers over some fake blood stained vampire cape—his jaw ticks just a little tighter. But when you glance back at him with those big eyes? He schools his expression into something softer, even though he’d rather be anywhere else right now.  

“That one’s cute,” you muse, holding up a skimpy devil ensemble against your body.  

“You like it, baby?” 

Eren grunts in response. It sounds like agreement but mostly resignation, adjusting the weight of shopping bags already stuffed with accessories you insisted were necessary. His free hand rubs along your lower back absently as if silently urging, hurry up.

Your lips push into an exaggerated pout as you lower the outfit in your hands, letting it dangle limply at your side. 

"You aren’t gonna be able to find anything with that attitude,” you huff, tilting your head up at him pointedly—“We promised to film something today, remember?”

Eren exhales sharply through his nose—the closest he’ll get to an I know without fully admitting defeat. Then comes the muttered follow up, “I also told you we shoulda’ looked for shit days before.”

You sigh dramatically—but then your expression melts into something softer, sweeter as you lean into him slightly. 

"Don’t you just love the excitement though? Baby…”

Your voice lilts while nudging his ribs gently with an elbow, “You love Halloween.” 

His scowl deepens on instinct—but it doesn't stop that telltale flush creeping up his neck when he realizes you know. Of course he loves Halloween. 

Instead of admitting it? Eren looks away while grumbling under his breath, “‘Never said that.” 

Eren moves ahead of you, his broad shoulders cutting effortlessly through the crowded aisles like a silent shield. His olive tan skin glows under the harsh fluorescent lights—freckles and moles hidden beneath his clothes, little secrets only you know by heart. His deep brown hair—so dark it’s almost black in certain lighting—is pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, loose strands framing his sharp jawline. And then there’s deep pink lips, slightly parted as if he’s about to say something scathing or sinful, paired with those piercing green eyes that seem to dissect everything around him without effort.  

His sheer size makes him impossible to ignore—a wall of muscle wrapped in a fitted black tee that clings stubbornly to every ridge of his torso, exposing full-sleeve tattoos snaking down both arms and curling behind his neck like ink-stained vines. Dark-washed jeans hang low on narrow hips, straining slightly over powerful thighs with every step he takes in thick-soled boots.  

You bite back a smile as you pull out your phone discreetly, angling it toward him from afar before murmuring into the mic—“He's a lil' grumpy today 'cause we're shopping..."  

Eren doesn’t even turn fully when he catches you recording from across the aisle —but one corner of that mouth quirks up anyway before he throws you a wink over one shoulder. Of course, it makes you giggle.

At first, it was just Eren—stoic, brutally efficient gym content. Short clips of him deadlifting with veins popping along his forearms. Protein-heavy meal prep vids where he never spoke, just let the sizzle of chicken on a skillet and the ripple of his abs under a sweat drenched tank do all the talking. His brand was raw masculinity—no nonsense, no fluff. A dominant presence even through a screen.  

But then… people noticed you. 

Not your face at first—just flashes of caramel skin in the background when Eren filmed at home; delicate hands sneaking into frame to steal bites of food before he swatted them away—only to pull you back by the waist for a rough kiss seconds later. The way you’d glide past him during workouts, earning yourself an aggressive ass smack that made his followers lose their minds in the comments—“Who is she?” 

It wasn’t long before Eren leaned into it; letting glimpses of you become intentional parts of his videos. He caught how flustered you got whenever fans obsessed over your fingers tracing his abs mid-cooking sesh, or how perfectly round your ass looked in leggings when you trained together. He didn’t miss how you lingered closer to camera angles after that—or how red your cheeks would go reading thirsty DM’s about you and your own boyfriend.

But then it turned into… more. 

At first, it was just playful—you hopping into frame during his Twitch streams, giggling as you perched on his lap while he played games fans requested. Then came the couples content—meal prepping high-protein dinners together, gym shopping sprees where he’d lift you onto equipment like a trophy, date nights where even your little arguments went viral because of how obviously whipped he was for you.  

Eren noticed the shift before either of you acknowledged it out loud—how your breath hitched when he kissed you too roughly on camera, how your legs squeezed around him when fans commented about his hands spanning your waist in videos.

Then it happened—the second fans commented that they’d pay to watch him wreck you? You didn’t recoil—your face just burned darker under his stare.  

It happened one night after filming a dinner tutorial. 

The camera was still rolling when Eren pinned you against the counter with that look—the one that meant no take-backs. 

Your whimpers were perfect for audio as he stuffed your mouth with his cock first—his subs lost their damn minds over those wet little gagging sounds—then he fucked every ounce of shyness out of you right there in their full view later, gripping bruises into your hips while growling something about, "Makin' sure they see who owns this fuckin’ pussy.” 

And somehow? You were hotter on camera than off—arching and mewling like a dream beneath him until even he forgot this wasn't private anymore—until comments flooded in, demanding full videos. 

That's how an OnlyFans got made overnight—top zero percentile within weeks, obviously. Turns out people would pay stupid money to watch authentic Dom/sub chemistry without cringe acting, especially from two gym rats who clearly adored each other between filthy moments. His natural dominance paired too well with how perfectly bratty yet submissive you got under pressure, and nobody filmed sex quite like a possessive boyfriend with his shy girlfriend. You were everyone’s fantasy come to life.

The camera flips to face you—dark curls bouncing playfully behind a brown headband, edges laid to silken perfection. Doe eyes blink prettily under fluttery anime-style lashes, freckles like spilled cinnamon dusting your cheeks as deep pink lips stretch into the sweetest smile—dimples peeking through as you tilt your head beneath the frame. 

“Hiiii,” you coo at the lens, propping the phone carefully in the shopping basket to show off your outfit—a brown mini halter dress, golden sandals paired with French-tipped toes.  

Then? A little spin—fabric flaring just enough for fans to catch a glimpse of heavy tits straining against thin material; nipples peaked visibly beneath it all as you chirped, “Got the dress you guys recommended. ‘Hope you love it as much as I do!"

This aisle is quieter than most in Halloween chaos… until Eren slinks up from behind like some feral shadow unleashed. His mouth lands on your throat first—sucking a rough kiss that makes you squeak before ducking lower to bite at one nipple through fabric— you squirm with giggled protests, “Eren, Stooop!"

“Look too fuckin' good right now.”

His growl then rumbles out, “Y'all wanted me actin’ up in public? Congrats."

You cup his face gently, pressing a tender kiss to his jaw—a silent be good that makes his scowl soften just a fraction. Turning back to the camera with an easy grin, you adjust the basket holding your phone and cheerfully announce—

"Okay! I asked you guys for Halloween costume ideas, and everyone left some super cute recommendations—so that’s what we’re hunting for today! Despite all of his complaining, me an’ ‘Ren have this big party tomorrow night—" 

“Ain’t nobody complainin’, Bunny.” 

He clarifies, “Just hate last minute shit."

You roll your eyes, "Anyway," you continue sweetly, "We’re at the biggest Halloween store right now—so fingers crossed we find exactly what we need!" 

Your time in the store grows sweeter as Eren finally gets into it, holding up costumes he actually likes—testing the fit of things against his massive frame while you coo over him on camera.  

Mindlessly, your eyes somehow find the mask section. 

A Ghostface one stares back from its hook—blank white face, hollow black eyes. Suddenly your mind floods with those videos—men in masks fucking their women  senseless, faceless except for that eerie plastic grin. Then your brain replaces them with Eren—tattooed and bare-chested, thighs spread heavy as he lazily grips his dick beneath Ghostface’s soulless stare before dragging you onto his lap. 

"Ready?” 

Eren’s voice snaps you out of it. He’s already pulling cash from his pocket, impatient but softened by how involved he got picking costumes last minute.

You blink up at him through the camera lens before flashing a little smile—“Mhm.” 

Later at a dimly lit ramen spot, Eren slurps noodles aggressively straight from the bowl while you giggle behind your hands like it's the funniest thing ever, sake loosening both of you up enough for silliness.

The ride home is slow; streetlights blurring past as tipsy fingers trace patterns along Eren's thigh, creeping higher to palm firmly over denim where he’s already thickening under your touch.

“Behave,” he murmurs, a muse within the depth of his grunt.

Your shared home is big and cozy—the LED lights cast a deep purple glow across the spacious living room, illuminating lush green plants that cascade from shelves and corners, softening the space into something dreamy and serene. The low hum of music curls through the air—something sultry with a slow bassline—and at the center of it all sits an oversized black beanbag chair, plush enough to swallow whoever sinks into it.  

You perch your camera on a nearby bookshelf, angling it just right before bending forward into the frame with a slow smirk—curves on full display as your dress dips dangerously low. 

”We made it home, babies.”

The chat floods instantly—

OMG, THEY’RE LIVE!

THE DRESS? THE TITS? HELLO?

EREN LURKING IN THE BACKGROUND LOOKING FINE AS HELL, PER USUAL! 

You giggle at the comments, “Hi, loves. ‘Missed y’all earlier."

Behind you, Eren sprawls across that massive beanbag like he owns it—one thick arm draped over its side while legs fall open in effortless manspreading dominance. His eyes track every move you make for their entertainment; fingers twitching against his thigh, watching.

“Look what we got!" you sing, flashing a playful grin at the live chat before turning to Eren—  

“You ready to show ‘em, baby?"

He huffs from the beanbag—but there’s that barely there smirk curling his lips as he murmurs low, “Mhm. ‘Been waitin’ all day for this shit.”

You roll your eyes, “Look, now he's happy.”

Slipping your straps off freckled shoulders, you shimmy it down until it pools at your feet. The full glory of your body is revealed now—heavy tits that spill lush against your torso, nipples pert from anticipation; tiny waist cinched in by nature’s unfair favor; hips wide enough to make grown men weep into their screens—your doll like proportions were brought to life under purple LED glow.

But then? You lean forward over Eren's lap, spreading yourself shamelessly toward the lens with a giggly whisper—“Got my first wax today, doesn't it look pretty?"

Your pussy glistens bare under studio lighting—plump lips parted just slightly—and then? The chat goes crazy. 

EREN, YOU LUCKY BASTARD. 

Eren doesn't let them savor peace for long though–his tattooed hand grips one ass cheek firmly before roughly spreading you wider, growling something about, “Show ‘em properly, girl.” 

Two sharp spanks follow—your squeak nearly making the chat combust—his fingers lingering possessively where pink skin flushes hottest beneath palm marks.

Giggling, you sway your hips teasingly between Eren's palms, the plush rounds of your ass bouncing playfully under his grip before he delivers a few more sharp spanks—each one making you yelp and squirm. The live chat is in chaos, more comments pouring in. 

SHE’S WILD TONIGHT! 

Eren looks like he’s about to snatch her up, omfg. 

Costume reveal, NOWWW. 

With a growl, Eren leans toward the camera—his dominant presence looming even through the screen—“‘She keep doin’ all that,” he rumbles with mock warning, “‘Y’all ain't gettin' no damn costume haul.” 

The fans don't hesitate to clown on him.

Awe, let her be cute!

Eren’s definitely gonna wreck her after this stream, lmao. 

You bat your lashes innocently at the camera before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh, “Fine!” 

You dive into the first shopping bag with exaggerated enthusiasm. First pull? A sexy Little Bo Peep ensemble for yourself—fluffy short skirt, thigh-high lace-up stockings. Then comes Eren's part of the duo—holding up a classic Woody costume, complete with vest and cowboy hat.

You slip into your first costume—soft pink silk clinging to every curve, a dainty bow tied snugly between your heavy tits, while the fluffy skirt swishes playfully over your thick hips, barely covering the roundness of your ass.  

“It’s a little smaller than I hoped for—even with it being a size large!” 

You twirl for the camera to show off the fit, trying to explain sizing details through breathy giggles—through all of that, Eren’s hands keep wandering. His fingers slide along your waist before dipping dangerously low under your skirt, teasing at the edge of your panties until you let out a whimpery laugh.  

"’Ren!” 

You swat his wrist before rubbing his biceps soothingly, leaning back against him with puppy-dog eyes—“Baby… try on your costume, please?”  

He relents. Tugging on Woody’s vest—which barely buttons over his broad chest—he tips the cowboy hat just right, his tattoos flexing beneath dim purple lighting as he angles himself toward the camera like he knows exactly what it does to people watching. Of course, the comments lose it immediately. 

EREN IN A COWBOY HAT? WE DIDN'T KNOW WE NEEDED THIS. 

The way he just knows how sexy that shit is. 

You coo sweetly at chat—“Y’all love him too much!”, smacking Eren's arm once more when you catch him grinning smugly at all their simping messages in real time.

Eren adjusts himself with a low chuckle, the outline of his hardened dick straining against his jeans as he rolls his shoulders—muscles flexing beneath taut olive skin. He throws back his head with a playful howl toward the ceiling, then drops into a deep, exaggerated cowboy drawl—“There’s a snake in my boot… and it ain't the one y’all thinkin' ‘bout."

The live chat erupts. 

You bite your lip hard enough to feel your own heartbeat between your thighs—watching him like this, all dark dominance barely contained under cheap costume fabric? Yeah. Problem. 

Then he leans toward camera—reading aloud in that gravel-deep voice, “Somebody askin’ what size I got—” 

But before he can answer properly? Your tongue drags slow and wet along the zipper of his jeans, dropping to your knees without warning. Eren groans but doesn’t stop you—fingers tangling possessively in your curls instead as he glances down with amused eyes.  

“‘Thought you wanted me tryin' on costumes?” 

“‘M sorry baby… you just look too good.”

He huffs but lets you go, watching as you scramble back up to grab the next set of shopping bags—a tiny cheerleader outfit for yourself and fitted football jersey for him.

You shimmy into the outfit—the top barely containing your full tits, threatening to spill over with every little movement. The short pleated skirt hugs your waist before flaring out just enough to leave your plush ass on full display as you bounce around. Your dark curls swing wildly as you shake the pom-poms with exaggerated enthusiasm, giggling like this is the most fun you’ve ever had.  

Eren yanks on his football jersey—sleeves stretching tight around his biceps as he adjusts the low bun at the nape of his neck. Without warning, you dart over and tug up his jersey yourself, showing off all that chiseled muscle to

the amount of people begging to see all parts of him. 

“Y’all see this shit?” Eren grunts cockily, flexing hard enough for veins to pop under ink-stained skin— “‘Been tryna’ lean my body into full fuckin' muscle.”

You dissolve into giggles against him—”He’s been on this strict chicken and keto diet,” adding in a whisper toward chat, “I sneak rice when he's not looking.” 

Then—just because you can't help it—you leap straight into his arms like some overly enthusiastic groupie, pom-poms waving dramatically while squealing—

“GIVE IT UP FOR MY MAAAAAN!” 

The energy between you two crackles as you become more playful for the camera. Eren, still in his football jersey, effortlessly lifts you into the air—muscles flexing as he hoists your legs over his shoulders like you weigh nothing. When he suddenly drops you mid-air onto his waiting dick—already fully hard beneath those jeans—your squeals of surprise and laughter flood the live chat. The donations explode, hearts and fire emojis spamming the screen.

Still giggling and flushed, you turn toward the camera—spreading your knees slightly before making that famous ass clap on command—even throwing in a playful self-spank that sends viewers into a frenzy. 

Between breathless laughs, you announce—

“Okay guys! Final costumes.” 

Eren’s brow quirks as he folds those massive arms—“Bunny, we only bought two.”  

You shush him with a devious grin, shoving him backward onto the beanbag—“It’s a little surprise for you too.”

You vanish down the hall, leaving him with that. Eren distracts the chat by half-heartedly thanking subs between confused glances toward where you disappeared.

But then? 

You reappear in an obscenely sexy fit—a shimmering pink bikini barely clinging to tits paired with fluffy white bottoms so short they might as well be lace wishes; every bounce of your steps makes that little cotton tail wiggle tauntingly above heart-shaped cheeks dusted in freckles. 

The ears match perfectly atop of curls, framing doe-eyed innocence despite everything else screaming sin.

“See? I'm Bunny! Like, literally.”

Then, turning shy but sultry towards him, “Im'your bunny now…you like it?"  

His growl could’ve shaken the walls. 

“C’mere.” 

With a sultry sway of your hips, you crawl towards him like a kitten stalking its prey—eyes locked onto the camera with a devilish smirk.  

“‘Wanted to give you guys a little treat… since you’ve been so sweet.”

A tiny “Hi,” then escapes your lips—soft, playful—before pressing featherlight pecks against his mouth like he’s something fragile.  

And then?  

Your tongue slips past his lips in one smooth slide, tugging back slowly before diving in again—savoring him like candy melting on your taste buds. The kiss deepens quickly— loud, filthy, slurping sounds filling the room as your tongues stroke and tangle wetly together between gasps for air.

But he wants more.

Grunting, “Put that shit in my mouth," he orders lowly, lolling out his own tongue as an offering beneath yours. You obey instantly—leaning down until glossy strands drip from your parted lips straight into his waiting mouth. His groan rumbles as you reconnect roughly; saliva smearing across flushed skin while the chat erupts into complete chaos.

Eren grips your waist, hoisting you higher until your thighs straddle his chest—your round ass now positioned perfectly for the camera’s hungry gaze. His large palms knead the plush curves before pulling back and delivering a series of even more harsh spanks, each sharp crack echoing through the room.  

Your giggles dissolve into weak little gasps with every smack—red handprints blooming across caramel skin as he growls up at you, “Tryna’ piss me off, huh?” 

You tremble—caught between laughter and pleasured shivers—then, you’re tugging those tiny shorts aside with shaky fingers, letting swollen folds peek out for him…for the chat…for whoever wants to look. 

Then? He shakes his head slow—tongue lolling out before pressing forward with a groan that vibrates straight into dripping heat. You jolt as soon as he drags through slick folds; head thrown back so hard curls spill down bare shoulders while sweet whimpers spill past bitten lips—“Oooh, baby.” 

One hand flies behind yourself blindly, spanking one cheek roughly mid-ride on his tongue—“That feels so good!” Voice pitching higher each time hips grind harder against his mouth, tracing every inch of your clit like a starved man.

“M'your lil’ bunny," you slur between breathless moans, fingers gripping the back of his head to grind harder.  

His groan vibrates through your pussy when you say it—filthy bastard that he is—before sealing those full lips around your clit with a suck so vicious it makes your thighs shake. His tongue flicks the swollen bud rapidly before dragging back up to tug it between his teeth in a rhythm that has you full on whimpering, nails biting into his scalp.  

Then? You peek over your shoulder just in time to see him yank his cock free from those tight jeans—thick and already glistening at the tip from how turned on he is tasting you. The sight makes you mewl even louder, bouncing on his mouth like a needy little thing as the chat nearly implodes. 

Giggles mixture with whines as you peek at camera again mid-ride—”Look at how big it's getting, guys…”

Your voice drips southern sweet despite the wrecked tone—“‘S so pretty… gonna’ look even prettier stuffed down my throat.”

Eren’s mouth works over you with a possessive, violent kind of hunger—no finesse, just raw dominance as he devours you like you owe him every drop. His growls vibrate straight into your clit—“Mhm," rough and approving, every time you whimper or try to squirm away. Your thighs tremble as you struggle to keep them spread for the camera, fingers shaking where they grip the back of his head.  

And then?  

You cream right on his tongue—a broken little “Ooh,” slipping past your lips before it turns into a full-on moan—your orgasm spilling messily against his chin. He doesn’t let up though; if anything, he doubles down, licking deeper until you’re gasping and jerking in oversensitivity.  

When he finally pulls back just enough to smirk at the camera—his tongue lazily drags along his swollen lower lip to catch every last bit of your taste—voice nothing but gravel, “‘Fuckin' naughty ass bunny." 

You slide down with a shivery groan, crashing mouths together in a kiss that’s all spit and slick arousal before tugging away breathless—cheeks flushed dark under those freckles even more than usual. 

“I got somethin' else for you, ‘Ren.” 

“You’re too fuckin’ good to me.”

The rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but giggle in response, nipping at his bottom playfully before pulling back.  

With a devilish grin, you reach behind the bean bag—slowly revealing the Ghostface mask with dramatic flair. Your free palm slides up Eren's stomach as you lean back into him for another messy kiss, tongue curling against his while murmuring—  

“‘Want you to fuck me in it…” 

A dark chuckle vibrates through his chest. He catches your chin between two fingers, “Put on a lil' show for 'em," he grunts, voice dripping with promise as he nips at your swollen lower lip one last time, “I'll be back."

And just like that—he tugs away from you with that infuriating smirk and disappears down the hallway, leaving the live chat in absolute shambles while anticipation coils hot in your belly.

Your fingers fiddle with the fuzzy bunny ears as you glance at the live chat—comments flooding in fast.  

OMGGGGG.

‘Need my shit ate like that, my god.

Giggling, you tug the pink bikini top down just enough to free your tits—full and heavy as they spill into your palms. You give them a teasing squeeze, whining softly for the camera—“Can’t wait for him to come back…”  

Then—footsteps.  

You don’t even have to look before your body reacts, thighs pressing together instinctively when Eren steps back into frame. The sight of him like this? Naked. Muscles carved deep under ink, his thick cock hanging heavy between powerful thighs—but it’s that mask that sends electricity straight through you. Ghostface stares back with eerie silence, belt coiled loosely in one hand. 

This. This was always the fantasy playing behind your eyelids. You sink further on your knees against the beanbag, doe-eyed and waiting.

Large fingers suddenly knot into your curls—yanking sharply until tears prick at lash lines, but all that escapes is a shaky giggle of pure want as his grip drags you forward.

"Lemme’ suck it, baby..." 

The mask offers no answer. Only the sharp tug of his grip on your curls as he drags you forward again, forcing that as an answer. Your fingers scramble against his thighs as you part your lips —trying and failing to wrap around his fat tip, swelling impossibly wider in your mouth second by second. 

A soft whine vibrates around him when all you can do is take it, sloppy slurps filling the air as spit drips down your chin. The way those wet noises mix with his harsh breathing—mask amplifying every ragged inhale—makes your pussy clench around nothing.

You steal glances between bobs—the black voids of that mask staring down like something out of a filthy nightmare, drool pooling under your trembling lips each time he thrusts deeper.

And then? When hollowed cheeks suck harder on reflex?

That's when Eren finally growls above—voice muffled but wrecked—“Fuck. That’s right...swallow that shit.”

Your eyes roll back the moment his cock hits the back of your throat—stretching it wide as he forces himself deeper with a brutal shove. The mask tilts up slightly as his head lolls back in pleasure, groans muffled but no less feral when you choke around him, spit bubbling past stretched lips.  

He finally pulls out with a slick pop, leaving you gasping—chest heaving as drool drips down your chin and onto your trembling hands. Without hesitation, you spit messily against his shaft before wrapping both palms around what you can’t fit in your mouth, jerking him off desperately while whining—

“Face fuck me, baby… ‘m okay.” 

The mask shifts downward slightly—his breathing ragged beneath it before he growls low and grips either side of your head.

Then?  

No more mercy.

His hips snap forward in long, punishing thrusts—fucking into that tight heat of your throat over and over until tears streak through ruined mascara. Each sloppy gag only eggs him on harder; the wet slap of skin against lips mingling with choked moans that make the chat nearly explode. 

And all you can do is take it—fingers gripping his thighs for balance while he uses that pretty mouth like it was made just for him. Every choked noise punched from your chest just feeds his rhythm, gllrk, gllrk, gllrk.

This is worship. 

Your mouth works him in messy, filthy devotion—lips stretched around his girth as spit froths at the corners. Each time he thrusts in, you roll your head with him, hollowing your cheeks like you’re trying to siphon his soul straight from the root. And when he shoves deep enough to hit the back of your throat? You choke—gagging around him with a wet gurgle that only makes his hips stutter harder. Eren picks up one of the phones nearby, angling it down so the light catches every drool-slick detail—your doe eyes wide and glossy above stuffed lips, freckled cheeks hollowed as he fucks into you with nothing but slow, controlled rolls of his hips.  

When he pulls back abruptly—your body jerks forward greedily like you can’t stand losing even an inch of him. But then, fingers clamp under your jaw tight enough to make you whine as he forces your face toward camera view; spit-smeared and utterly wrecked before delivering another few sharp smacks to your flushed cheek.

"Look at this shit," comes that gravel-dark voice behind the mask —thumb swiping through ruined gloss just for it to smear all again, shoving himself past trembling lips once more. It’s not like you’d say no anyways.

The moment he erupts in your mouth, you choke loudly—thick, salty heat flooding your tongue as his hips jerk against your face. His palm lands a few more sharp smacks against your cheek for good measure, the sting only making you swallow harder around him with a muffled moan.  

Gentleness cuts through the filthy haze as Eren’s fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your face up slightly while his low voice rumbles beneath the mask—“You alright?” 

You nod quickly with a sweet little smile despite being absolutely wrecked, lips glossy and swollen. But he’s not done yet. The mask dips closer like he’s going to kiss you—only for you to dart forward and drag your tongue right up where his mouth would be beneath it, giggling filthily at his gruff exhale in response.

That playful energy doesn't last long though, because suddenly? Your arms are yanked tightly behind your back by one of his big palms, the other fishing for that belt nearby. 

You pout toward the camera view, “He knows I hate not being able to touch him.” 

Eren pulls you onto his lap effortlessly; your bare back pressed flush against that tattooed chest, thick thighs spreading yours wide open for the camera to see everything glistening between them.

His palms knead heavy over full tits next —bouncing them shamelessly before rolling stiff nipples between rough fingertips—you arch into every touch like a kitten chasing sunlight, wanting more, needing more.

His fingers trail down slowly, teasingly, until his thick calloused thumb finds your swollen clit—rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that make your breath hitch. Your head falls back against his shoulder with a soft gasp, lashes fluttering as you squirm against the belt binding your wrists. The restraint only makes everything feel hotter—frustration and pleasure twisting together when all you can do is writhe under his touch.  

Beneath the mask, Eren’s gruff voice rumbles darkly—“Gonna’ have bunny make a fuckin’ mess.”

Your eyes flicker down between fluttering lashes to watch his thick fingers glisten with your slick before you mewl—voice dripping with spoiled impatience—“Slide ‘em in…” lips puffing out in a pout that would’ve made him chuckle if he wasn’t so busy being mean.  

And then? No warning.  

Two digits plunge deep inside all at once—your gasp breaking into a weak moan as he immediately starts fucking them into you at a punishing pace, knuckles brushing against that spongy spot with every thrust until drool nearly drips from your parted lips.

“Ooooh my g—god,” you slur helplessly —back arching off his chest as legs fall open even further like some fucked-out puppet on strings—“F—Feels so good… ‘Ren.” 

Tears prick at lash lines when those fingers crook just right; hips stuttering mid-air like they don’t know whether to chase or run from overwhelming pleasure.

Your pussy clings to his fingers like it’s begging for more, sucking them in with greedy little flutters every time he pushes deep. But Eren? He’s a fucking tease. 

He drags those fingers out slow—just enough to make you whine and squirm—only to rub your throbbing clit in tight circles, the tips of his fingers occasionally brushing against your dripping opening without giving you what you really want.  

“Mmmph—nngh!” 

He sinks them back in with one smooth thrust before roughly pumping them inside you at a relentless pace. The sound is obscene; wet squelches filling the room as he fucks into you hard enough that your entire body jolts with each snap of his wrist.

Tears spill freely now—pout trembling between squeaky moans until suddenly? You break.  A high-pitched cry tears from your throat as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, thighs shaking violently while slick gushes messily onto his hand and down trembling thighs.

The masked bastard has the nerve to groan cockily above—“There it is.” 

His palm lands an approving smack against one twitching thigh just to watch you jump through aftershocks—“Good fuckin’ girl.”

His fingers plunge back in without mercy—frantic, deep thrusts coaxing out every last drop of your release as you gush messily around his hand for the camera. Your cries pitch higher, body seizing with overstimulated tremors while he works you through it, chasing those fluttering spasms like they’re his personal entertainment.  

One large palm suddenly grips your jaw, tilting your face toward the lens—mascara smudged, lips parted around silent gasps, tears streaking down freckled cheeks. The cold mask presses against your shoulder from behind as he smacks your flushed cheeks a few times more with that arrogant rhythm of his—like he’s reminding everyone who owns this pretty little mess of a bunny.  

But then?  

A whisper only for you—gruff and low beneath the mask, “You alright, baby? Talk to me.” 

Through whimpers and shuddering breaths, you nod eagerly even as fresh tears spill past puffy lashes. Because how could you not be? When he turns you into this. 

The chat explodes—comments and donations flooding in faster than you can blink.  

HOLY FUCK. 

THE WAY HE JUST OWNED HER. 

But Eren’s already moving, flipping you onto your stomach against the bean bag with a rough tug on your bound wrists, forcing your back into a deep arch. The camera catches it all—his massive, tattooed frame looming over you, the eerie mask staring down as he smacks his thick cock against your dripping folds just to hear you whimper.  

“Ain’t gonna’ run from me, huh?”

Your eyes flicker back at him over one shoulder before nodding softly, pouty lips parting around shaky breaths as you lower your hips just enough to show him what you want—what that greedy little body of yours has been craving this whole time.

With a grunt, he snatches up another phone —holding it above at an angle that makes everything look even filthier before pushing in. And god does it feel like he’s stuffing every inch of you open; veins pulsing against tender walls, his girth stretching impossibly deeper with each slow thrust until finally? Bottomed out.

You bury your face into the bean bag with a broken squeak—hips twitching involuntarily around him while knuckles turn white from gripping restraints too tight for words anymore.

The camera stays steady in his grip above, capturing every filthy detail—his thick cock glistening with each slow, deliberate thrust as he pulls halfway out before driving back in with nothing but the power of his hips. Your whines are soft and shaky beneath him, bunny ears shifting as you peer over your shoulder to lock eyes on that masked face looming behind you.

Eren’s fingers suddenly hook under your chin, twisting your face toward the lens. 

“Look at 'em," he murmurs darkly—thumb swiping away a tear just to smear it across freckled skin for the camera, “They love seein’ this pretty fuckin' face ruined." 

Then? He starts dropping you onto him—harder now—each bounce creating a lewd slap of skin against skin that echoes between heavy breaths. The new angle makes every brutal descent drag his balls tight against your swollen clit while the blunt head of his cock grinds right into that sweet spot inside.

One large hand wraps around your throat without warning—forcing those glossy eyes to stay locked on him even as pleasure burns through you like wildfire. The other grips the belt binding your wrists tighter, using it like a leash to yank you down onto each punishing thrust until tears spill freely again.

“Fuckkmmph…b—baby…”

You slur moans between gasps, voice cracking under sheer sensation when an especially rough snap of his hips punches out a wet squelch from dripping folds—

Then another—

And another—

Until all control shatters completely; vision whitening as your pussy farts violently around him with messy little spurts between thrusts while ass cheeks clap louder than ever against tattooed thighs. Eren’s watchful silence breaks only for ragged growls of, “Take it.”

A particularly vicious slam wrings out garbled nonsense from trembling lips, “’Mgoddd, fuck.” 

His thrusts turn feral—deep, aggressive pistons of his hips that make your ass applaud like rapid gunshots between the wet squelch of your pussy struggling to keep up. The rhythm is brutal—silence for half a second—just long enough to hear you whimper—then another sharp slap of skin on skin, followed by the obscene gurgle of your cunt being stretched beyond its limit.  

Eren’s palm smothers your moans as his other hand crashes down in a series of harsh smacks against your reddened ass. Your cries are muffled beneath rough fingers, thighs trembling violently as pleasure and pain twist together into something ruinous.

But then?  

He rips his hand off your mouth with a dark grunt of, “Pussy louder’ than that mouth. Lemme' hear you.”

And you break again, voice cracking around whimpered pleas—“…D—don’t stop… Daddy.” 

A title reserved only for when he fucks you stupid like this. His grip tightens on the belt binding your wrists before he yanks you down onto him again—this time slow but mercilessly deep, forcing every inch inside until tears spill over anew. The way his tip nudges that spongy spot has cream spilling out around him in thick ropes while hiccuped little "Ugh!”  sounds punch from your throat between thrusts.

But it's when glassy eyes finally lock onto the mask hovering above—despite being so wrecked, words barely form properly— shaky lips part around something softer than all this filth, “…Love y—you, ‘Ren.”

The mask tilts just slightly downward —a silent tell that he wants to kiss you senseless, but can’t through the damned obstruction covering his face.

Your voice slurs into the filthiest whimper—"Pound me…”—and Eren growls, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he gives you exactly what you’re begging for.  

His thrusts turn punishing—slow, but devastatingly deep—each one landing with a heavy grind that makes your toes curl. The sheer force of him pounding into you like this has high-pitched squeaks tumbling from your lips in senseless, sweet little babbles only he could snatch out of you. 

"Yes! Yes! T—That's sooo good! Fuck, yessss.”  

The praise only eggs him on harder. His rhythm stays relentless, driving into that spot until pressure coils tight in your belly—until suddenly?  

A gush of cream spills out around his cock with a shuddering cry from your lips; giggles and weak sobs mixing together as pleasure whites out every thought. Your body convulses around him helplessly, squirting messily onto his thighs while he fucks you straight through it—every slap of skin against skin wringing out another broken moan until drool drips onto the beanbag beneath.

Eren’s grip tightens possessively when your legs start trembling too hard to hold yourself up anymore—masked face tilting down to watch the absolute wreck he’s made of you with dark satisfaction.

His hands shift from punishing to protecting in an instant—one arm hooking under your trembling thighs to steady them while the other pulls you flush against his chest, palm cradling your throat gently as he murmurs low reassurances only for you. His masked face buries between your shoulders—hidden from the camera’s view—as his fingers trace soothing circles along the back of your thigh, urging you to relax through those shuddering little cries.  

For a single, stolen second? The mask lifts just enough for him to press a soft kiss against your swollen lips—a silent you okay? that makes you smile sweetly despite the mess he’s made of you. 

But then? It’s tugged back down abruptly as his voice roughened with dark intent—“Feel good enough t’ride me?”  

You nod eagerly with a tiny whimper of, “Please…” 

Eren unfastens the belt around your wrists with one sharp tug before grunting toward the camera like some possessive beast proud of his prey—“She did good. ‘Hands back.”  

The moment you’re free, shaky giggles spill out as you push him down onto the bean bag beneath, crawling into his lap like an eager kitten despite slick between trembling thighs.

 Your fingers brush over that masked face playfully before whispering—“Hi, ‘Ren.” 

And just like that? His aggression falters for half a heartbeat—mask tilting slightly when he rumbles back in a voice too warm for character—“Hey, baby.”

You tease him mercilessly, sliding his thick tip between your soaked folds with a sultry sway of hips—“You miss Bunny's little pussy, baby?” 

His hands grip your hips gently as he grunts in response—“You know I do. Drop that shit on me."

With a soft giggle, you grab the phone behind you—one hand angling it to capture the perfect shot of your round ass sinking down onto him, the other guiding his cock deeper with each whimpery, “Mmmph!" 

The camera shakes slightly in your grasp as you start rolling those sinful hips—slow at first, then faster when his groans rumble beneath like thunder. Your moans match every filthy grind; Eren’s head lazily thrown back against the beanbag as pleasure turns sweet and thick between you. His fingers dig into caramel thighs just for an excuse to feel more of this sinuous rhythm —his own sounds barely contained beneath dark fabric masking his face from view, but not from you. 

The phone wobbles in your shaky grip as you lift it higher, capturing every second of those desperate little bounces—your thighs trembling with effort while your face twists in overstimulated pleasure.  

“‘S splittin' me, baby…” 

Beneath the mask, Eren lets out a low moan, his hands sliding to grip your hips gently before shifting them just so—angling each descent to hit that perfect spot inside. The moment you feel it? Your giggles bubble up between moans as you clap your ass down even harder against him—deliberately showy for the camera now watching from behind.  

And when his head rolls back with a broken groan of "Oh fuck..." You can't help but grin wickedly through fluttering lashes—both at how wrecked he sounds, and how good that girth feels stretching you open on every rise and fall of needy hips.

Dammit. He was supposed to be mean right now.

You drop the phone onto the beanbag beside him, letting it capture everything—the wild bounce of your curls, the sinful arch of your back as you ride him hard, and that fat ass clapping down onto his lap with every eager drop. The wet slap of skin against skin echoes obscenely in the room.  

“M’your bunny, Daddy..." you repeat in a whimper between breathless giggles—voice sugar-sweet even as you take him rough. 

Eren's head is fully thrown back against the cushion now as he groans filthy things into empty air—fingers tightening just enough on your hips to bruise while pleasure wrings out each ragged moan of—

"Fuck—oh fuck, f—fuuuuck—” 

And for once? It’s him unraveling beneath you instead of the other way around.

Your palm smacks your own ass cheek hard, punctuating your breathless taunt—"That's a good fuckin' boy, baby.” 

Leaning against his chest, you roll and grind on him with filthy precision—eyes locked over your shoulder at the camera as you twerk atop his cock with giggly Mhm’s. Eren’s hands spank and grope your ass blindly between ragged moans—his usual control shredding down to nothing but primal sounds of pleasure.  

When you turn fully forward again? Your expression flips from sinful to angelic in half a second as you blink innocently—”Gonna’ cum in Bunny’s pussy, baby?” 

His grip on your hips turns vise-tight, slamming you down onto him as he whimpers out, “Shit…Y—Yeah… fuck, Bunny.” 

You hover inches from that masked face —giggling darkly while riding him through each shuddering thrust until hot breath ghosts against your lips through fabric. His release hits violently; thick spurts painting deep inside while you twist suddenly —tongue darting out playfully, just in time for those last messy ropes to splatter across it like some perfectly ruined dessert.

Eren goes utterly still when cool fingertips wrap around what’s left of his sensitivity—”‘Atta’ boy,” you mewl sweetly, licking sticky cum off deep pink lips without breaking eye contact once—“Did so good, baby.”

The moment the mask is lifted away, your mouth is all over him —giggling kisses against his sharp jawline until he grumbles with mock annoyance, "Need a real fuckin’ kiss,” before his mouth is crashing on yours.  

Your lips move against each other in the filthiest kiss yet, tongues swirling together like you’re both starved for contact. Your arms wrap tight around his neck as you tug him into the camera view with a breathless giggle—“Happy Halloween!” you sing happily into the lens.

Eren chuckles deeply—a rough, warm sound—as he hides his face in the crook of your shoulder, suddenly shy under the camera’s gaze. Meanwhile, you lean forward with a playful grin, scanning the comments as they flood in.  

“Awwww, thank you!" 

You coo at sweet messages before pausing at another question—“Oh! The costumes? We got them from that Spirit Halloween, it’s the one downtown near Bourbon Street!" 

You wiggle happily against his lap, Eren’s hands drifting along your waist with lazy affection, patience as he always had for you. 

But then? His voice rumbles low near your ear—just one word that seers finality, “Bunny." 

You sigh dramatically but melt all the same, turning back to the screen with a sugar-sweet smile.

“Okay guys, we’re gonna go. Love y'all!"

The chat erupts instantly—DON'T LEAVE!—but Eren's already reaching for the phone with a huff of amusement as he ends it on your giggle, tossing it aside and dragging you into him fully this time.

Stream ended.

[pueriled]

───⠀Pink pixel PNG Dump

sourced from pinterest don't credit me, free to use repost allowed, first 10 from moonbeamsx on pin

[itneverendshere]

BROTHER BSF!RAFE

pairing - kelce's sister x hockey!rafe

҉　 lucky strike ┊need your confession (+18) ⋆˚┊⋆˚ read between the lines ⋆˚┊wake up in the mornin' and to your smell (+18) ⋆˚┊in the alley, in the back, in the center of this room (+18) ⋆˚ ┊⋆˚ some fights you're never gon' win, just keep your eyes off him (+18)┊⋆˚ want your two hands on me like my life needs savin' (+18)┊⋆˚ is it cool if i hold your hand?┊⋆˚ it's my right to be hellish (+18) ┊⋆gimme a blonde that's six feet two┊⋆˚pleasure's a place only we know (+18) ┊⋆˚ break my heart and start a fire (+18)┊

¡!blurbs¡! - ⋆ the families (+18)┊⋆ safest in your arms ⋆˚┊soft skin & i perfumed it for ya (+18) ⋆˚┊good ol' nights ┊⋆ overachiever┊⋆ er visits

[classycookiexo]

THIS

Especially since so many of his victims consisted of black girls and women

[youareagoodperson]

thank you Canada 🇨🇦

[the-gimmick-hospital]

FUCK YEAH GO CANADA!!!

[yourboymolloy]

REBLOG TO LITERALLY SAVE A LIFE

[hello-therree]

yall how do i find someone to who does commissions for cosplays 🥲 i am struggling so bad to find anyone

[makingculturepop]

[dbaileyblog]

She can do no wrong

[tsunamiwavesurfing]

[starkeysbunny]

fashion killa

cause she a fashion killa, and i’m a trendy ….

pairing - drew x model!baddie!gf!reader

summary - when drew heads to coachella for the first time with his girl, who’d been many times due to her job. the it couple known for their fashion sense, dancing in tune to songs at the festival rials up both them, and the crowd.

warnings - sexual tension :p

⠀.ᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ೃ❀࿔˙ ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ೃ❀ᮬ࿔˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ॱ

the sun was beating down harshly, gusts of wind blowing dust all around. i felt drew’s arm pull me closer under his grasp. his strong bicep, wrapped around my shoulders.

“baby, ‘should pull the bandana up.” he says gently, his fingers reaching around by my neck to fiddle with the bandana wrapped around it.

“it’s too hot. i’ll get sweaty.” i mumble.

he sighs, his hand coming up to run through his hair. “but dust is gonna get all in your-“

“not happening.” i smile softly, turning my head to look up at him.

he chuckles, his hands lifting in mock surrender, his arm stays wrapped around my shoulder though. “alright, alright. i’ll stop.”

drew and i were at coachella. he’d never been before, and i go nearly every year. after the first two times, it wasn’t because i wanted to go anymore. it was because brands would hire me to go just so they could design my outfits for the three day festival in the palm springs dessert heat.

so naturally, drew and i being together for the past eight months, it was his turn to be dragged along to this event.

“i don’t get the hype. i mean, yeah, it’s fun, whatever. but like, why pay all this money to be severely dehydrated and covered in dust for three days?” he had told me earlier while we were ironically enough, in the encapsulated and air conditioned vip tent.

we were currently watching doja cat’s set. we stood in the vip section near the front, which was to the left side of the stage by the regular ga pit.

i was wearing a low rise denim skirt that barely held in my ass, a vintage chanel crop, paired with givenchy boots and my layers of gold jewelry. bangles on my wrists, a necklace, hoops, and many, many rings.

while drew, of course, wore his carhart brown work pants, and a loewe white tee, with a blue bandana wrapped around his head.

doja cat was currently playing, starting her song agora hills. i turn slightly to reach into my shoulder bag—which was on drew’s shoulder because why would i carry it when i had him? i grab a piece of gum, sticking it between my glossed lips.

i look up at drew to see him already grinning down at me. the slight scruff growing around his jaw and the mullet peeking out behind his neck making my stomach flutter. “want a piece?” i ask sweetly.

he shakes his head. “nah, thank you though, baby.”

i close up my purse and pat it gently as it rests comfortably, secure in drew’s bicep.

i turn back to face the stage, drew’s arm now fully wrapped around my chest, his hand grasping onto the opposite shoulder as he holds me close against his chest. i sway against him, my hips moving as i watch the performance. i chuckle when i hear a certain part of the song that i knew.

i look up at drew from my spot against his chest, a smug smile on my lips.

“rub it in their face,” i begin reciting the lyrics, my hand lightly tapping against his chest at each accent in the lyrics. “put a rock on her hand.” i raise my eyebrows, wiggling my left hand in his face teasingly.

he smirks, a small snicker escaping his lips. i turn back to the stage and i feel him lean down slightly, his lips snaking against my ear. “don’t worry, baby.” he whispers. “one day you’ll be walking down the runway with a rock on your hand. my little wifey.” he teases, gently biting down on my ear playfully.

i smile, feeling his arm pull me tighter into his chest. my manicured nails come up to hold onto his forearm against me. my eyes drift over to the ga side of the crowd, and see a huge majority of the audience’s phones no longer on doja—but pointed and zoomed in on drew and i’s interaction.

ever since drew and i started dating, the speculations and whispers were circling like wildfire. the it girl model with the new up and coming actor. who wouldn’t talk about it? but we had hoped to keep it private the first couple months—just us, no outside thoughts.

and we did, not officially confirming anything until about our fourth month in. even then, we didn’t actually confirm. our relationship is private, but not a secret. we don’t really post each other, maybe once or twice. but, drew and i couldn’t give two shits about any of it. we knew we were real, and that’s all that mattered.

“oh, they’re gonna eat that shit up, babe.” drew chuckles lowly, catching the same thing i saw.

i shrug. “let them. if all those girls that obsess over you think we’re married, maybe they’ll back off.” i joke with a smirk.

he scoffs. “you think those are your biggest problems? what about all the guys that have a subscription to vogue and cosmopolitan just to see you? i swear walkin’ in to this damn festival, why’d you think my hand was on your ass tryna hold down this little skirt, huh?”

i shake my head with a chuckle, smacking his chest playfully. “you love this skirt.” i turn slightly in his arms, my glossy lips pouting up at him.

he snuggly grins, his hands reaching around and squeezing my ass in the skirt, lifting me slightly with it to bring me closer to his lips. “hell yeah, i do, baby.”

-

it was now ten at night, the air simmering down to a much cooler temperature. drew and i were making our way back to the main stage for the headliner, asap rocky.

we were walking in tune, in the space between the barricade and the stage, security guiding us and trailing us. drew’s arm was lazily draped around my shoulders, my left hand holding his by neck. my bracelet jangle as we walk, my hips swaying in my skirt that had somehow gotten lower as the day went on. i think it was because drew kept pulling is down every chance he got…

my bandana was now wrapped around my head. as we were many drinks in at this point, earlier we were in the vip tent and i was slurring, all over drew as i rambled about how i wanted to match with him, so he helped me and tied my bandana around my head like his.

the crowd scrambled loudly when they noticed us walking by the barricade, screaming, clamoring, flashes from cameras. i grin, when i feel drew instinctively pull me closer into his side, my scantily clad body pulled tight into his warm frame.

“y/n! drew! oh my god!”

“y/n, give me a chance!”

“drew! drew! i love you!”

“you’re so hot, y/n!”

“marry me!”

i giggle under my breath and look up at drew, seeing him roll his eyes subtly at their comments. we finally make it over to the vip section. it was much more crowded now, and drew situated us so i was standing in front of him, pulled flush against his chest so i could watch the show and he could keep an eye on everything.

i hardly needed security when i had drew.

we waited patiently, quietly talking as we waited for the show to start

then, the lights went down, strobe lights flashing as the intro of fashion killa started.

i grin, turning in drew’s arms to face him. “it’s our song!”

he smiles. “it is,” he chuckles lowly.

my arms lace around his neck, his hands finding their home on my hips. i move to the music, a grin on my lips as i move my hips.

“cause she a fashion killa..” i giggle, my head plopping into drew’s chest.

“and i’m a trendy..” he trails off, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

the song continues and i look up at him, my gold jewelry blinging in the lights. he smirks with a chuckle, singing along to the lyrics.

“my bitch a fashion killa, she be..” his hand comes to my ass, tapping it at each beat. “busy,” .. tap. “poppin,” .. tap. “tags.” .. tap.

“she got a lotta prada,” he grabs my hands, extending his arms as he swings me out, then pulls me back in close to him. “that dolce and gabbana,” he chuckles as he bops his head.

i giggle, burying my head in the crook of his neck. he grabs my arms again, his hands sliding up from my forearms to my wrists as he lifts them above my head. “wearin’ all the cartier frames..” he chuckles as he sings with asap.

we continue to dance and i turn around for a part of the song, my back against drew’s chest. i reach into my purse on drew’s shoulder, pulling out my camcorder. i record part of asap singing the song before drew snatches the camera from my hands, making me turn around.

he starts to film me to the song and i chuckle, my hands sliding down my waist to my hips, rolling them, my jewelry dancing with my movements. he groans, throwing his head back. he stops the recording and stuffs the camera back in my bag, his hands quickly coming to my hips and pulling me back into him.

“fuck, baby…” he says under his breath. his hands come up to my cheeks, holding my face close to his. “baby, you and me…” he sings.

“me and you.” i finish with a grin, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug against his chest.

the song continued, drew and i playfully dancing around, singing, hands all over each other. the night went on, drew taking videos of me on the camcorder, me stealing it back taking videos of him. my ass against his front as he rolled my hips against him, drinks making us a bit bolder in public.

almost everyone in the regular ga, somewhere throughout the set, lost their attention off asap, us captivating their gaze instead.

there would be millions of videos online tomorrow of us—but we didn’t care anymore. it wasn’t a secret. it was just private. just us.

-

what i imagine the camcorder looks like at the end of the night… 😝

[nhy6ck-deactivated20260222]

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[hello-therree]

I need someone to write a jersey shore AU with outer banks and rafe as the love interest😔

[carmenberzattosgf]

Besties be careful about sending TikTok links! When you send the link it’ll show your account. It’ll also say that my account has viewed the link you shared. So in honor of us not doxing each other here’s how to fix that.

You can go to privacy in tiktok settings and turn off suggest your account from links but honestly I don’t think it works half the time. This is annoying to do but tiktok updated semi recently and really made the whole shared with you thing right in your face and lets people know if you’ve opened the link

[avoidthings]

kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot. 

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again. 

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten. 

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something. 

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier. 

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint. 

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight. 

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders. 

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight. 

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber. 

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.” 

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks. 

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth. 

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said. 

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly. 

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway. 

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips. 

“Open.” 

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest. 

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late. 

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view. 

“Terry--” 

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart. 

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh. 

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin. 

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties. 

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered. 

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long. 

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you. 

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth. 

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals. 

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh. 

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him. 

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal. 

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.” 

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy. 

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle. 

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display. 

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon. 

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. Promptly, he grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed the inside of your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax. 

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping the countertop behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you. 

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth clashed at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar. 

“‘Gonna make me cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen. 

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?” 

Ice cream.

--

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won. 

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

[2neaky]

🎥✨SOUL TIES🏝️🌺

Sunny beaches, relaxing by the poolside, and getting a chance to live with a bunch of hot singles for the next couple of weeks—life in the Love Island Villa sounds amazing. But, Sayori can’t find herself interested in any other guy. Onyankopon’s got her eyes.

LoveIsland Ony!xOriginal Character • MDNI | 3.9k explicit language, h*mping, f*ngering, p*ssy-job, accidental penetration & creamp*e (barely), squirting, dirty-talk, sneaking around, descriptive mentions of body parts & c*m | Boldened italics will be used for the cheeky narrator's voice in the show

Banners: @strangergraphics

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The sun is high in the sky—a typical occurrence on the island of Fiji. And its contestants are soaking it up. Especially the two love birds: 23-year-old Sayori and 25-year-old Onyankopon.

Y’know the saying goes: sun’s out, buns out. And it looks like Sayori’s taking it literally! Though, I don’t think Onyankopon minds all too much. Just look at the way he’s starin’ ‘er down!

Hidden away from the others, the two came up to one of the many balconies within the villa for a chance at a private chat since the newest bombshells joined the house—Soul Ties.

“I’m not … threatened or nothing,” Onyankopon had confessed. “We know what we got.”

The words had made her heart melt. But conversation all too quickly switched to another topic: sex in the villa.

Onyankopon wasn’t so eager on it, but it wasn’t a flat-out ‘no’ either. Sayori, however, had her reservations—the cameras everywhere and constantly rolling, the threat of the others walking in on them—

“So, you scared, is what you saying?”

A sly grin dances on his two-toned lips as he stares at the woman across from him.

SAYORI, 23

Sayori attempts to feign a suave, nonchalant sense of confidence as she flips 28 inches of Burmese curls over her shoulders.

The facade comes crashing down with a snicker, hidden behind her manicured hands.

“Oh. My. Gooosh!”

She’s beaming and it’s impossible to hide.

“Ugh, he just makes me so fucking nervous!”

Her declaration comes with a roll of the eyes.

“Like, I don’t want to move too fast with Ony, but—“ she sighs. “He’s just—it feels right, you know? And I don’t wanna deny myself of anything, then have regrets about it when this is all over.”

For a moment, her smile dims as she stares off.

“I just don’t want to mess up by giving him so much access to me, especially physically, only for him to end up with another girl in the villa.

She pouts, averting her gaze from the camera.

“And I know we’ve only been coupled up for two days, but—I don’t know! I just … really like him.”

A heavy sigh punctuates her confessional.

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Despite resting underneath the shade of the lounge area, his naturally low eyes squint as if trying to take in her beauty in small amounts.

“No,” Sayori playfully sneers. But it’s getting harder to wrestle an inevitable smile under control.

His scoff comes before he shakes his head. Silence slips between the two for a moment. In that time, all he does is watch her.

Beneath fluffy, 16 mm lashes, she looks into her lap as she fiddles with her personalized water bottle.

It’s cute, her shyness. But, he needs her to get out of that shell a bit. And as his mind turns, attempting to come up with a way to do so, his excitement builds.

Energy surges through him. He shifts to sit up higher against the pile of pillows behind him. As he leans back, throwing an arm behind his head, her honey brown eyes spot the flexed muscle. There’s ink decorating his dark skin.

Hmm, I wonder what Sayori’s thinking about.

“Yeah, you are.”

She blinks repeatedly—what were they talking about again? “I’m what?” Her eyes are wide with cluelessness, dark pink lips parted.

“Scared,” his smile grows.

She kisses her teeth. “No, I’m not.”

She might’s well have hearts in ‘er eyes.

Onyankopon’s legs seem to part just a smidge wider.

“Come over here then.”

ONYANKOPON, 25

“Nah, I like Sayori, like … a lot.”

He bursts out in laughter, almost doubling over. Call it nerves, as he’s admitting this all out loud to himself, a camera, and national television.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, dragging a hand over his face.

“No other girl in the villa ever made me feel this interested. Y’know, everybody in here good looking and shit, but—“ he shrugs. “She the one.”

The apples of his cheeks burn as his lips split open even wider for a bigger smile.

“With the, like … challenges and shit, y’know, you gotta get a lil’ raunchy—play into the sexy shit. But she’s … she the only girl I really felt myself … wanting to explore in that way.”

As he looks off in thought, no doubt about Sayori, he only feels his heart beat twice as fast.

“And it takes a lot for me to get there.” He shrugs. “I’on know, I’m just really excited to get to know her more now that we coupled up.”

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On the balcony’s daybed, there’s not much space. There’s just enough for her to sit on her knees with Ony’s spread legs.

And that’s the perfect position for him to see the fat of her hips and ass. His hand on his thigh clenches into a weak fist as he imagines feeling the soft flesh.

Looks like Onyankopon’s got hearts in ‘is eyes, too! Or he’s just noticing that his dental floss that went missing, is now on Sayori’s body.

She raises a brow in challenge. Onyankopon only remains stagnant in his disposition. That seems to be enough to sway her—not like she was putting up much of a fight, anyway.

A smile slowly spreads across her lips. Onyankopon’s competitive mask shatters as he mirrors her expression.

She makes a slow crawl towards him, careful not to step on any parts of his body that may be in the way. His hands start at her back the second she takes her seat on his lap, cradling her.

“I like you here better.”

She almost stutters.

Keep it cool, Sayori. Remember—English.

“S-sure,” she laughs.

The dazed and dreamy look in his eyes is enough to make her giggle harder. She tries to stop it with the kiss of her teeth, but of course it doesn’t work.

“Mmh,“ he hums.

“How are we?”

Smooth transition.

The gentle disruption of a wrinkle lies between his thick, perfect brows as he licks his lips. “I think we perfect.”

She hadn’t expected that. “Really?” she asks, her voice having grown soft.

“Course,” he mumbles, his gaze falling to her thighs on either side of his hips. “You don’t?”

As her brain conjures up a quick response, it’s just as quickly thrown away. His hands drop softly only her thighs to rub back and forth over them.

She would think that such hands—so big and heavy—would be able to ground her. Yet her senses run from her with every slow drag they make, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I do,” she replies—for lack of a better word—dumbly. Something about his touch is just draining her brain.

And if the unfocused look in her eyes is anything to go by, then he can definitely tell. When he smiles this time, his shallow dimples cave in and his perfect teeth are on full display.

That’s the first time I’ve ever seen Onyankopon smile that much. I usually give that look to a slice’a cheese cake from this one bakery down the road from me.

“Good.”

On a whim, Sayori leans forward and throws her arms over his shoulders. As much as she loves a good hug, she also loves that she’s able to hide her face in the crook of his neck.

“What’s the matter?” He asks after a minute, his soft voice obscured as their mics are muffled by the embrace.

Her lungs inflate and deflate with a gentle sigh. Thoughtlessly, he rakes his fingers back and forth over her spine.

“Nothing … just missed you after this morning.”

A soft chuckle shakes his chest. “Missed you, too.”

He seals the statement as he wraps his strong arms around her midsection to squeeze. The action pushes her up higher on his lap and her body closer to his.

Careful, Onyankopon, ya’ might break her.

He pulls back, if only to look up into her warm, brown eyes. Until his own drop to her lips.

“What?” She laughs.

And he can’t help but to smile. “Y’know what,” he mumbles, swiping at his bottom lip with his tongue.

She pushes it but an inch closer. “I don’t, tell me.”

There’s that burst of excitement again. “I wanna kiss you.”

‘So do it,’ she wants to say. But she’s smiling so hard her mouth can’t even form the words.

He gets the message anyway.

Their lips connect like opposing forces. Pillowy soft and full, both press and slide against each other with a slow firmness that only makes either want to push on.

They don’t hesitate to add tongue, they’ve gotten this far before. It’s nothing new for either of them, especially with the past challenges on the island.

However, this has got Sayori’s heart beating faster than any challenge or other guy on this island. And as this isn’t a game, there’s no need for Onyankopon to keep it cute for the audience.

His hands stretch and explore over the expanse of smooth, deep brown skin. Eyes closed, he doesn’t need to see to know where his hands are going.

A gasp, so tiny that it’s only picked up by their mics, slips from her. The gentle squeeze of her ass makes her pussy flutter in her bikini.

His tender touch is a quality Sayori found attractive since their first ever chat.

The soft, smacks of their wet kisses echo in the mics. Usually, she would pull back just to have a laugh at that, but they’re in too deep to stop now.

So deep, they don’t even acknowledge how their mics are also picking up the quiet moans sprinkled in there.

“Shit,” one of them whispers, neither of them can tell who it came from, minds hazy.

His sink deeper into the fat of her ass as he grasps tighter, unintentionally tugging her hips over his. The skimpy material of her bathing suit doesn’t ease the friction against her core at all.

She doesn’t want to think that he felt her clench, but she second-guesses the notion when he twitches beneath her.

Mindlessly, she grounds down against his growing hardness. His hips jump as he gasps against her lips, leaving her mouth free to venture elsewhere.

Elsewhere like down his neck. She kisses and laves at the warm, tattooed skin. One of her small, manicured hands slides up his stomach and chest to grip the side of his neck.

Relinquishing an ounce of self control, his hips stutter. He’s always liked a bit of choking with his kisses.

“Fuck … I wanna go to the beds right now.”

His breathless voice makes her pussy clench. It breaks her focus and she’s reminded that they’re out in the open.

Immediately, she tucks her face away to silence her own laughter. Ony throws his head back against the pillows with the release of a sigh.

After a couple of seconds, Sayori picks her head up to stare down at him, contemplating.

“Okay.”

The word is so soft-spoken, he almost doesn’t believe he really heard it. But once it clicks, he’s helping her to her feet while trying his best to adjust himself in his pool shorts.

Is it just me or has Onyankopon snuck a banana into his pants? Oh wait!

Stepping with caution and giggling like teenagers, Onyankopon and Sayori sneak around the villa to get to the bedroom unseen.

Mission successful.

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And when they get there, they’re careful to shut the door softly behind themselves so as to not alert any of the others. Slipping into bed is all too easy.

Well aren’t these islanders lucky.

Their mics pick up their quiet giggles just before they’re muted by more heavy kissing. With Sayori on top and Onyankopon beneath, they move with more confidence, riding and sliding against one another.

Two weeks on the island already, and she can’t deny that she’s been dying for some sort of release.

All the cameras around and this newfound experience of communal living has kept her from really enjoying herself like she typically would back at home—a relaxing DJ session after a hard day at work or something.

It’s been way too long since she’s gotten the chance to do that. Even longer since she’s had sex.

“Wait, wait, wait—Ony’!”

His body locks up as his eyes grow wide, bouncing back and forth between her own. “What happened? You good?”

“I … I don’t know if I really wanna go all the way just yet.” She’s chewing on her bottom lip, absolutely wrecking the skin there.

“That’s—okay, alright,” he nods, almost breathless from the non-stop kissing and heat around them. “You wanna stop?”

She shakes her head. “Let’s just … do something else?” she asks softly, voice almost cracking within the confines of a whisper.

“Alright … what you wanna do?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs, covering her mouth with a hand.

He echoes her laughter before calming down.

“I got something in mind.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The hitch in her breath is almost violent.

His tip, solid and pulsing with a rush of blood, nudges her swollen clit. It’s a pleasant pressure that has her tense muscles relaxing and a soft sigh brushing past her lips.

“Yeaaah,” he drags out, holding his dick at its base as he continues to rub his wide crown against her button. “You like that?”

His voice is soft and pliant.

A bead of his precum drips out onto her clit, which he spreads with his tip. As her clit brushes against his slit, his lower stomach swoops.

The tiny touch makes his dick jump slightly. The head of his dick knocks against her prominent bud.

“Shit,” Sayori huffs. She angles her head to be able to watch it all, even as she’s bent in half.

She keeps her hands hooked at the crooks of her knees, painted toes curled.

He lifts his dick just to see the way her pussy constantly puckers around nothing. Such movement pushes dribbles of her own natural lubricant to bubble to the surface and drizzle from her tight pinkness.

It’s a thick pearlescent goo that he only wants to continue pulling out of her.

“Mmh … pussy so needy,” he mumbles to himself. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Raising a hand, he comes smacking it back down on the underside of one of her thighs. A yelp, followed by a sweet giggle trickles out of her.

He smiles, lifting his dick and dropping it against her puffy lips.

Thwap … thwap … thwap.

The plump skin trembles every time.

“Shit so fat.”

Every time, clenches down at the weight of his dick and how it beats against her aching cunt.

“It’s so heavy, Ony,” she smiles dreamily at him.

Still holding onto himself at the base, he begins to drag his dick across her lips. Up, down. Up, down.

With every swipe, he presses his dick harder. Slowly, he sinks it between her deep, thick lips, just sliding back and forth, slowly. Tip always kissing her clit.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she almost whines. Adjusting her hold, she places her dainty hands on each ass cheek to spread them wider.

“You want this heavy dick?”

“Yeah.”

He feels her pussy spurt against the underside of his tip as it catches over her clinching hole. His own precum bubbles out of the tip.

He drags their mixed arousal, spreading it so messily it’s got her pussy looking glazed. Shiny and plump.

It was a wonder how she walked around in those tiny ass bikini bottoms all day. He always tried not to look at her pussy print, but he just had to take a little peak every time.

Fuck, he wants to eat her.

Pushing back up against her clit, he zeroes in on the prominent bud as it sticks out between her pudgy lips. Just perfect. He wags his tip side-to-side, DJ-ing her with his dick, never lifting it up.

“Fuck … fuuuck…”

She clenches and unclenches, faster and stronger. Her clit jumps with the movement.

Sayori’s head falls back against the pillows as she pants. Her boobs spill to the sides of her body, nipples hard and at attention.

One of her hands leaves her ass to tweak at a nipple, rubbing and tugging at it. “Spit on it.”

And he does just as he’s told, dropping a thick wad of spit right on her clit. It dribbles down between her lips as she softly moans out.

“So fucking sexy,” he pants, trying to hold back as his lower stomach drops and his balls tighten. God, he doesn’t want this to end. “Need you to ride it.”

“Yeah?”

“Ride my shit.”

It’s a blur as they switch positions. Her on top and him on the bottom—just as before. And Onyankopon is almost breathless.

His dick is trapped between his stomach and her pussy. No penetration—he’s trying to keep his promise.

Fuck, he’s really trying. But the way her lips encase him in a wet, gooey hug that is so suffocating—it’s more than a struggle. He doesn’t want it to end, though.

“Onyy,” she whines as her clit is pressed against his stiff dick.

He’s so hard—the pulsing blood has engorged his veins, making them bulge against his skin. She can feel it all.

Her legs are quivering and she can’t even stop it, but that’s the least of her worries.

“Mmph—c’mon,” he grunts, gripping her ass cheeks to push her along the length of him.

The roll of her hips is jittery and unsteady, like she has to force herself to withstand the pleasure and not break.

She leaks endlessly over him, lathering him in frothy cream that makes her arousal audible.

“Yeah … yeah,” he whispers, pushing apart her lips to see how her clit smashes and rubs against him. “Keep going baby.”

He twitches and the arch in her back deepens.

The muscles in her thighs flex as she uses all her power to bounce against him.

Plop-squidge, plop-squidge, plop-squidge.

As her ass and pussy clap against him, small bits of milky white fly out and freckle his lower stomach and her pubic bone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispers to herself, eyes rolling back shut.

“Shit … wanna nut in you so bad.”

He doesn’t even notice the pool of precum he makes against his stomach—all of her cream hides it anyway.

The bouncing slows just as she gets over his tip. He’s definitely the biggest she’s ever “taken.” As she sits on him, she almost fully sinks onto the thick, pulsing head.

His wide, mushroom tip is filled out and flushed a deep pink. And it feels so fucking good to her.

He’s almost sucked in fully … almost.

“So hard,” she croons.

Staring down at him with low eyes, she blindly reaches back to get a soft hold of his balls. A gentle squeeze.

A stuttered moan empties out of him and his body jolts.

Everything about him is just so heavy.

His balls are sticky, covered in milky glaze as if they were dipped. They slip around in her hands, making the feel of fondling them addicting.

“Keep doing that,” he hums, hips bucking up into her.

She only ruts back against him. With his tip still pressed to her quivering hole, she swivel her hips down roughly.

The sounds their bodies make grow louder; soft, wet suction as they constantly toes the line between humping and penetration.

“K-keep fucking me back … keep … fucking me—“

Onyankopon’s face contorts as his lower stomach is on fire.

“Ony—baby … shiiiit!”

Her body freezes as he continues to slide his dick against her beating clit. And a fountain spray of squirt splashes all over him.

In an attempt to stand up on her knees, her thighs tremble so much that he’s got to keep ahold of her hips to keep her from collapsing on top of him.

Her stream is wide and strong, beating down against his dick hard enough to push it back against his stomach.

Sayori’s mouth hangs open, eyes rolled back to the whites. He doesn’t think it gets any better than this. And honestly, the sight of her cumming so strongly is only making him harder—if that’s even possible.

Through her steadily weakening stream, he reaches for her clit and continues to rub. There’s another burst of squirt, the stream gaining strength once more.

With this release, he sinks his longest fingers into her weeping cunt to massage her g-spot, yanking her through this orgasm.

A manicured hand grips roughly at his shoulder, knuckles turning white.

“One more f’me.”

And when he fingers this third orgasm out of her, dollops of cream slip down his hand. That’s when he decides to give her a rest, laying her body on the bed.

But is it really much of a rest when he’s still got her face down, ass up?

Sayori’s a panting mess. Her eyes are barely open and yet she wiggling her ass back and forth, creamy pussy winking at him.

Ony takes his hard, sensitive dick in hand—hissing. “I’d fuck ya shit up if you let me in that,” he croaks.

He beats his dick softly, always one to draw out an orgasm. His balls aches just as bad as his dick does, and he gives them just a minor squeeze.

“Where you want me, baby?”

He palms one of her asscheeks, huffing out a bit of laughter when the muscle twitches.

“Cum on it,” she mumbles into the pillow, her mic still picking up her tiny voice.

“Cum on it?”

“Cum on your pussy, baby,” she whines out, arching her back even deeper.

“Say less.”

Letting go of his dick, it bounces in the air, twitching. Slowly, he inches forward until he’s sliding right in between her lips again.

“Close ya legs.”

Weakly, she complies, squeezing her thighs shut until she could feel his dick trapped between the tight space of her pussy lips and thighs. She doesn’t even have a thigh gap.

If she had to be honest, this has to be one of the best front-wedgies she’s ever had, if she could joke about it.

Hand poised in the middle of her lower back, he gives her steady strokes. Her cum provides the perfect amount of wetness, creating profound sounds. It’s all going smoothly, until he gets too caught up in it.

His tip catches just at her hole and he doesn’t realize until it’s too late—he’s slipped in. Immediately, he shivers as they both moan out. Sheathed in tight, wet, warmth, the head of his dick twitches. Reflexively, Sayori clamps down on him.

Onyankopon’s only warning is a clipped gasp.

His breath shudders and his stomach twitches. He’d had enough sense left in him to pull out, but not before the first ribbon of cum was shot into her pussy. It was only shallow—she’d pushed out the thick glob easily.

But that wasn’t end, as thick spurts of cum shoot out against her labia, clit and inner thighs.

“Aw … shit,” he pants, falling onto the bed.

They’re a shiny, sticky, panting, gooey mess. And they’re quiet as they try to catch their breaths for a moment.

“God … damn,” Onyankopon chuckles, throwing a hand over his face.

Sayori can only hum in agreement.

SAYORI, 23

A long sigh floats out over lifted cheeks and a too-bright smile. Sayori’s lashes flutter as she looks up at nothing in particular.

“Yeah … I’m definitely feeling him.”

ONYANKOPON, 25

Onyankopon can’t even look at the camera as he rubs his chin. Staring off into the distance, he mentally replays that time in the bedroom.

“Definitely a fucking keeper.”

As his eyes flit over to the camera, he bellows out a laughter.

CAMERA 02

As the couple basks in the afterglow of steamy almost-sex, dazed smiles pull at their sheened faces.

“So fuckin’ nasty,” she whispers into his chest, a fit of giggles following shortly after.

Onyankopon only rolls his eyes, one hand rubbing at her back.

“Shut up.”

Yes, Sayori. So nasty, indeed. What naughty islanders.

[texasbama]

Just know, that if Megan Thee Stallion has no fans, just assume I’m no longer on this Earth. I love that woman FOR LIFE. She is everything to me😭😭😭😭