My name is Prince Rat, Rat for short, I'm 20 and use any pronouns!
I'm goth/metal head/emo :,]
This is a safe space for people in the LGBTQ+ community, if you have an issue with that go away. HEY LOOK AT ME DUDE. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG. IF I SEE YOUR ACCOUNT AND I CAN'T TELL IF YOU ARE A LITERAL CHILD OR NOT WE HAVE A PROBLEM. PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO OR GET OUTTA HERE. I REBLOG AND WRITE ABOUT THINGS NOT FOR YOUR EYEBALLS.
I will write:
Smut, Fluff, Angst, Comfort, headcannons
I will not write:
Feces, cnc, incest, abusive character x reader
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~DNI IF YOU ARE THE FOLLOWING~~~
Racist, homo/transphobic, etc. Please be respectful to others :]
ALSO!! I reblog a ridiculous amount of stuff- So I'm gonna try and abuse the fact that if there's a certain tag in someone's blog, if you press it, it shows all the other posts they have with that tag! So you can look in the tags to find my writing :]
You had a knack for being rough with him. At first it hadn’t been in a playful manner, most of your rough encounters had been with the intentions to hurt.
Now? Most of it was playful roughhousing. Except for, well, the predicament you were currently in with him. You had finally found a rhythm, a stance, a pace that didn’t hurt your back and make your thighs burn.
Your nails digging into his rigid shoulders as you purposefully pounded yourself down on his aching cock again and again. An addictive mix of pleasure and ache spreading through your lower half as the sheer girth of him stretched you in all the right ways.
“Fuck kitten, you’re killing me.” Not really, but Sylus swore he had never been closer to seeing the light. He had already came twice from your ferocious bouncing, but he’d be a god damn fool if he asked you to stop now.
His groin was covered in his own cum, mixing with your sticky, cream arousal and creating the loudest, wettest smacking of skin on skin. He was nearly delirious at this point, so pussy drunk he could barely keep his grip on your asscheeks. Cheeks as rosy red as his pretty eyes.
“N-need you so bad.” You were breathless, the tingles shooting their way through your stomach and down into your cunt made you feel like you were going to lose control. Like your nearing orgasm would ruin more than just the couch below your bodies. “Sylus, oh fuck, I love you.”
He was twitching at that, a guttural groan slipping past his slack mouth as his nails created crescents in your skin.
“I love you too, fuck I love you so much.” Nothing you did had any thought behind it anymore, just sheer need fueling every single movement. Your lips crashed into his with such force that it hurt, a bruising mess of teeth and tongue. Your fingers loosening on his shoulders and sliding inward, wrapping around the thick column of his neck.
Sylus’ pulse raced below your fingers, moaning wantonly as your hands held firm. Saliva connected your messy lips as you pulled back, searching his lidded eyes for any signs of discomfort. Instead, he nodded, gaze begging you.
So, you squeezed. Not hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to fully cut off his airway, but enough to make it a bit hard to inhale. And, oh fuck, was he a goner.
Sylus came hard. So hard his vision whited out and his ears rung. The grip on your ass so tight you could feel the warmth of blood slowly seeping up from the deep indents of his nails. And that? That was enough to make you squirt all over his cock, his groin, his thighs.
And maybe, just maybe, squeezing his neck a little harder than you had before. Enough that you released him immediately the moment your senses rose back up to the surface. Breathless and boneless in his grasp as you nearly choked on the air you sucked in.
“That…” you squeaked, voice gruff and unfamiliar from how much noise you had been making. “Do it again.” Sylus was not faring much better, his voice hoarse as he gingerly rubbed his palms over the wounds he had inflicted.
“You like being choked?” You tease, looking up at him from where your cheek pressed into his sweaty chest. His semi-hard cock still nestled between your gummy walls.
“I do now.”
If you have an issue with this head canon post, please read this post I made explaining why I wrote this how I did. It is my personal opinion on the subject and by all means it is not something you have to agree with. Thank you.
you’ve seen the way he speaks to strangers, always polite. the way he kneels to tie your shoe, grabs your favorite snack without you asking, rubs little circles into your back when you’re falling asleep. he listens when you talk—really listens, like every word out of your mouth deserves to be framed and hung on a wall. he laughs quietly, never raises his voice. his touch, out there in the world, is always featherlight.
but in here? he’s rough. brutal, even.
“look at me,” he snaps, voice low, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs as he pushes them back, forces them wider. “you’re gonna take all of it, yeah? you’re gonna be a good fucking girl for me.”
and you do—because he asked. because it’s him. your sweet boy with the soft hands and soft voice and the meanest cock you’ve ever taken in your life.
he’s big. thick enough to stretch you open slow, then cruel enough to bottom out in one sharp thrust that makes you cry out like you’ve been slapped. your back arches, breath knocked from your lungs, eyes wide and wet, but he just grins.
“that’s it, baby,” he pants, one hand clamped tight around your waist to hold you still while he grinds deeper, like he’s trying to live inside you. “so fuckin’ tight—god, you’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go.”
you don’t. but it’s too much. your body trembles under him, already overstimulated, raw at the edges, and he knows it. he uses it, tilts his hips just right, drives into that sore, swollen spot with vicious rhythm, punching broken moans out of your throat.
“cry all you want,” he growls, dragging your face toward his, lips brushing yours. “you’re still gonna take it. you begged for this, remember?”
your legs are shaking. one hand grips the sheets like they might anchor you to earth, the other claws helplessly at his back, searching for something solid while he fucks you like he hates you.
but his eyes—god, his eyes—they never stop looking at you. even when he’s splitting you open, when he’s got one hand wrapped around your throat and the other pushing your knees back until you can’t move at all, he’s looking at you with love. with reverence. like he’d still carry you to the bath after, even if you came on his cock until your voice gave out.
“you’re mine,” he whispers, voice suddenly softer even as his hips snap harder. “you’ll always be mine.”
and afterward, when your limbs won’t stop trembling and your body’s aching in the best kind of way, he pulls you close, presses kisses to your shoulder, brushes the hair from your face and smiles like he didn’t just fuck the living soul out of you.
“i’ll run you a bath,” he murmurs. “you did so good for me. such a good girl.”
I haven’t been active lately but I saw that sally face post and girl I would go absolutely BERSERK over some written work from you!!! ( I have a tattoo of him on my arm 😛 )
And I hope you’re doing well❤️
LET'S FUCKING GO BABYYYYY im doing so well now that i got this off my chest 🙏🏻 ill be shitting out some of these in the near future because i have so many ideas AND NO WRITER'S BLOCK CAN HOLD A BITCH BACK
Your Hands (Sal Fisher x F!Reader)
CW: lovey dovey sex with a lot of care beforehand (tf do you call that cause its not foreplay), handjob, a bit of edging, riding, creampie
a/n: this isn't completely canon, we're pretending there's no cult or death or trial in this one
summary: you love pampering your boyfriend 🩵
wordcount 4.5k
The room is quieted to a warm, comforting light from the bedside lamp and fairylights stretched haphazardly across the walls like webs - some christmas tree decorations you thought were too pretty to only take out once a year. The sheets are halfway pulled back, and Sal’s laid out flat on his back, face turned your way, prosthetic set aside neatly on the nightstand beside him.
He looks relaxed in that him kind of way: shoulders loose but still a little guarded, jaw set like he’s trying not to let himself enjoy the attention too fully. But he’s not moving away either. He’s letting you work, limp and unavoidably loved.
You’re sat next to him on your knees, bent over the bed with the tiny jar of ointment he used to keep tucked away when you first moved in together. Your fingers are slow and methodical as you press into the scarred flesh of his left cheek, free hand gingerly unsticking stray blue hairs from the oily sheen of the cream. The skin there is pink and and taut over twisted muscle and missing bone, but he never flinches away. Not from you.
You see the way his eye flutters shut at the first pass of your knuckles.
“…You okay?” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper, thumb dragging just under his empty eye socket.
Sal hums, the sound low and lazy. “Mhm. Feels nice.”
Then, after a beat:
“Still weird sometimes. Not bad weird, just– y’know.” He gestures vaguely with one hand, bare arm shifting with the motion. You do know. You've spent countless nights in this same position, palms light and tentative over skin that used to jump, willing old habits away.
“I get it,” you say gently. You lean down, pressing your lips to the uneven angle of his jaw where you were yet to lather the ointment, before smoothing your knuckles over your kiss. “You don’t have to say anything.”
He doesn’t. Just breathes a little deeper through his nose and lets his spine curve into the mattress like that's where he belongs - and he does.
Once you’ve finished smoothing the salve over the angry pink ridges of his scars, you swap it out for a light moisturizer - something scentless and barely there that he used to tease you about until he felt how soft it made his skin feel. You rub a little between your palms before tracing it over his forehead and the edge of his jaw, down his neck. He goes pliant under your hands, like melting wax.
It’s not even about skin care at this point. It’s just an excuse to touch him.
You pause for a moment, just watching him. He’s beautiful in this light: sleepy and half-undone, hair messy from how he’d pulled it out of its piggies earlier, the strands soft and curling where they rest against the pillow. You brush them aside before leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He makes a quiet noise, not quite a word.
You smile. “C’mere. Sit up for a second.”
Sal cracks open his eye, then grunts softly when he shifts, slow and heavy like gravity’s tripled. He hauls himself up to sit at the edge of the bed while you reach over to grab the cream you keep for massages, thicker than lotion, with a faint smell of vanilla and something herbal - supposed to work as a muscle relaxant, but Sal insists it's your hands doing the work. You warm it between your palms and step behind him where he sits shirtless in the lampglow, spine still curved like he’s resisting the urge to just collapse face-down.
But then your hands slide onto his shoulders, and he melts. Audibly.
He lets out this deep, involuntary sigh from his chest, head tipping forward a little like he’s already half asleep. His body slackens under your touch as you begin to work the cream into his shoulders and the nape of his neck, thumbs kneading into the knots buried deep under skin and bone, tight like he always carries something that won't leave his body without help.
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse with how relaxed he is. “Feels fuckin' incredible.”
“Yeah?,” you hum, smiling a little. “I like taking care of you.”
You press into a tight spot at the base of his neck, and he groans again, quiet and strained, the kind of sound that makes your stomach flip just a little.
“I know.” His voice cracks when you move down between his shoulder blades. He sounds embarrassed - not ashamed, just not used to saying it out loud.
“You're getting better at letting me,” you murmur into the back of his neck, just barely grazing your lips over his skin.
He shivers. Just once.
You move further down his back, palms smoothing wide and slow, working your way to his lower spine before traveling back up again, dragging your nails lightly this time. His breath snags in his throat before puffing out in a shudder.
There’s no rush in any of it. It’s languid and quiet and intimate, the kind of care that doesn't require payment. The kind of care that repays you with a softness in his eye that undoes you.
Eventually your hands trace along his biceps, his forearms, the narrow slopes of his wrists, lingering there, massaging gently into his palms, his knuckles. He watches you do it, fingers twitching with stimulation. Quiet. Eyes a little hazy.
He shifts his leg slightly and you catch the movement. The faint bulge in his sweats is there but soft, lazy, like the rest of him. Not urgent, just… responsive. A little foggy. Warmed up by touch and trust and the way your thumbs are circling the heel of his palm right now.
“…You’re unreal,” he murmurs, voice low.
You glance up. “Hmm?”
Sal just shakes his head slightly, hair falling into his face, and gives you a tired, barely-there smile. “Nothing. Just… you're unreal.”
He doesn’t pull away when you kiss the inside of his wrist.
Doesn’t stop you when your fingers start to trail back up his arms again, slow and soft and attentive. Doesn’t say a word when you press your chest to his back and wrap your arms around him loosely from behind, letting your chin rest on his shoulder as your hands splay gently over his ribs.
"You want me to stop?" you whisper behind his ear, low and breathy and just a hint teasing, nails ghosting over the ridges of his ribs.
He twitches and huffs. "Fuck no."
So you don't. He stays in that loose, half-draped sprawl on the edge of the bed for a while, boneless while you rake your fingers in one more pass down his sides, up do his chest and down to the clenching plane of his stomach, stopping just above his navel, where a thin trail of hair blends into puff. Strands of hair stick to his cheek, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded like he could pass out sitting up. But when you press a kiss to the slope of his neck and trail your hand down his arm, guiding him back into the sheets and crawling slowly in sync with his body, he goes without argument.
You’re straddling his lap. Sort of.
More like kneeling over him, legs tucked on either side of his hips as he leans back against the headboard, shirtless, flushed, and very much not hiding the way he’s slowly hardening in his sweats. The lamp light kisses every inch of his bare chest, from the soft dip of his collarbones to the tight line of his abdomen, all the way down to the waistband that’s just barely hanging on.
He watches you through his bangs, hair mussed and falling into his face. The scarred half of his face is raw and glossy from the ointment, but his gaze lingers.
You're not really trying to be seductive, but the way your tank top clings when you shift your weight forward -climbing up his thighs to kneel just above his stomach - doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. It’s a worn-in scrap of fabric, washed soft, stretched paper-thin at the chest with low, sagging armholes that show the sides of your tits every time you lean in. And you do lean in; palms pressed to either side of his neck, hovering over him now as your thumbs start to work into the base of his throat.
His Adam’s apple shifts under your fingers as he swallows.
“Eyes up here, Fish,” you murmur with a crooked smile, even though your tits are half-out and you’re clearly not planning to hide them.
“Can’t help it,” he says, voice soft and a little hoarse. “They’re right there.”
You snort under your breath. “Honesty is the best policy, huh?”
He shrugs with a lopsided, exhausted looking grin. “Figured you’d rather hear the truth than pretend I’m not about to pop a boner during a shoulder rub.”
“About to?” You glance down. Nope, definitely already popped.
Sal flushes slightly, pink spreading from the bridge of his nose to his temples, but he doesn’t backtrack. If anything, his head leans back against the wall with a small, breathy laugh, the kind you only get from him when he’s just relaxed enough to admit he’s fucked in the best way.
His sweats are doing a terrible job hiding how hard he’s gotten, and your position sure as hell isn’t making it better. But you don’t move. You let your fingers smooth gently up his neck, rubbing slow, comforting circles into the sides of his throat and under his ears, letting your thumbs barely graze his collarbones.
“You know you can stop me,” you murmur, and you mean it.
Sal just looks up at you, half-lidded and smiling again, this time with a little more teeth. “You better fucking not.”
You laugh low, and lean down further to kiss the corner of his mouth, quick and sweet, before dragging your palms over his chest.
Your fingers slow at his sternum, pressing down gently, spreading more cream into his chest. You don’t say anything right away. Just let that little admission hang in the air between you, sweet and open and filthy in its own way. You know he means it; this isn’t seduction, it’s vulnerability with a hard-on.
Sal inhales sharply as your hands trail up again, slower now, crawling wide over his chest before curling back toward his throat. You’re careful here - fingers light, thumbs sweeping gently along the sides of his neck, not squeezing, just exploring. His pulse is jumping under your touch. You feel it throb when you graze just below his jaw, tilting his face toward you a little, eyes drinking his mouth.
He’s flushed deeper now. His eye is hazy. He looks up at you like he might actually die if you stopped.
“You’re not even touching my dick,” he mutters, “and I feel like I’m gonna blow a fuse.”
“You like it that much?”
His breath hitches.
“Are you joking?” He laughs, but it’s breathless. “You could be reading me a fucking bill right now and I’d still be hard with you sitting on me like this.”
You smile lazily, letting your fingers brush up the column of his throat, gentle, delicate.
“Oh yeah?” you murmur. “You want me to read you your water bill, baby?”
He groans loud, head falling back against the pillows. “Don’t do that.”
“What? You said you’d still be hard.”
“That was not an invitation.”
You’re both grinning now. Your hands don’t stop moving - rubbing, kneading, massaging every inch of his chest and stomach, soft and attentive, every touch sending little shockwaves of pleasure straight to where he’s already aching. You’re not trying to tease him, not really. The tension between you is already thick enough to chew through, and if he looked any more blissed-out and desperate under your hands, you’d start worrying about his blood pressure.
So, when you slip your hands back from his chest to your own body, tug that excuse of fabric up and over your head and toss it aside without fanfare, your boyfriend's eyes still go wide like you’ve just thrown a live grenade into his lap.
He swallows hard. Doesn’t say a word. Just stares.
You don’t call him out. You like the way he stares - eyes hungry but somehow still making you feel like you're being admired rather than preyed on. Jaw slack, breath catching like he forgot what oxygen was for a second. You just smile slow and sweet, and lean forward to press your palms back to his shoulders, skin to skin, chest to chest.
The warmth of your tits brushing against him draws a sound out of him he probably didn’t mean to make - a sharp inhale through gritted teeth, followed by a groan that stays caught somewhere in his throat.
“...Holy shit,” he mutters.
You pretend to hum innocently. “What?”
“You– just– you know what.”
But he doesn’t stop you when you slide your hands down again, over his stomach, trailing slow, slick paths with the leftover massage cream. He doesn’t flinch when your fingers slide under the waistband of his pants.
He just lifts his hips wordlessly so you can tug them down.
You push his sweats and boxers off in one slow motion, and his cock bounces free, flushed red and aching, laying against his stomach, tip sparkling like glitter in the cozy light.
You stare at it for a second. You can’t help it, you always stare. Flushed pink and pretty. Smooth. He’s not obnoxiously big - maybe a little above average - but the shape of it always makes your stomach clench with the memory of how it fills you with the slight curve upward, the thickness at the middle. The way the vein curves along the underside. The way it twitches like your eyes hold weight against it.
You glance up at him, and he’s got one arm thrown over his face now, blushing hard, chest rising and falling.
“...Don’t look at it like that,” he says, voice strangled.
“Like what?” you laugh, already shifting your weight to sit properly between his legs now, hands still lathered and slippery as you reach out and finally wrap your fingers around him.
He shudders. Jaw clenched, hips stiffening. His cock throbs immediately, in sync with his heartbeat.
“Like you’re about to narrate a crime scene,” he huffs.
You smile. “No crime here. Just admiring the evidence.”
Then you start stroking. Slowly.
Your palm slides up from the base to the head, twisting just a little on the way up. The lube of the cream makes it glide so smooth he lets out a full-body groan before he can stop himself. His hips buck slightly again, not on purpose. Just a natural response to how good it feels, to being touched like this by you.
“You okay?” you ask, voice syrupy.
“Fffuck,” he breathes, arm still covering his face. “That’s not a real question. You know how okay I am.”
You giggle, and your other hand comes in to cradle his balls lightly, thumbing gently at the soft skin there while your main grip works a slow rhythm up and down his shaft. He’s leaking already, a bead of precum pearling at the tip, and you spread it with your thumb, twisting lazily at the crown.
His legs twitch.
“You’re so sensitive today,” you murmur, biting your lip.
“Because you’re- fuck- because you’re doing this, with your tits out and your fucking hands- Jesus.”
You start stroking a little firmer, a little tighter, still slow, still relaxed, but more purposeful now. He’s throbbing hard, and your slick palm glides up and down with wet, lewd sounds that are only barely covered by the pipes moaning from nextdoor.
His head tips back against the wall with a dull thud. His voice comes out shaky.
“Gonna cum- seriously, I’m close already, I don’t-”
“Nope,” you cut in gently. “Not yet.”
You ease up just slightly, teasing a little swirl around the head with your fingertips, dragging your nails gently along the underside, then working your fist slow and deep again from base to tip, watching his cock pulse in your grip.
“You’re edging me?” he pants, cracking his eye open, mouth parted in a needy slit.
“No,” you say sweetly, stroking again. “I just know you can hold out a little longer.”
“...God,” he groans, hips twitching again. “That feels so good.”
You lean in close, tits pressed to his thighs now, your hand still working him in slow, even pumps. His cock is flushed, stiff, leaking freely now. You press a kiss to his hipbone, not looking up.
“I want to enjoy you,” you murmur. “You look so pretty like this."
Sal whimpers.
You stroke him long and slow, your other hand massaging lightly between his legs, and every once in a while you glance up to catch him peeking under the crook of his arm, eyes glassy and dark with need. He throbs harder, more urgent, like a heartbeat in your fist, but he doesn't beg or ask for more. He never does, and he never needs to.
You finally pry your hand off his length and pull your panties off your hips while his chest deflates with relief. You climb him, full body bare and skin warm from the lamp-lit room, calves bracketing his hips as you ease into a squat, your palms resting on his chest for balance, and fuck, the look on his face?
Wrecked. Reverent. Like he’s witnessing the second coming in real time and barely surviving it.
His good eye is already unfocused, droopy-lidded, tracking the slow roll of your hips as you press your slick heat down onto his cock. Not taking him in yet, just letting your folds glide along the length of him. Coating him. Teasing him. The whole head of his cock disappears beneath your pussy for a second, only to pop out again slick and twitching, shiny with how wet you are.
“Fffffuck,” he hisses, head lolling. “That- that is so- fuck, baby, you know how that looks?”
You do. That’s why you’re doing it.
Because you know what it does to him when you squat over him like this: tits hanging soft and heavy, thighs tight, hips dragging in long, smooth rolls, and using his cock to rub yourself off like it’s your favorite toy. His mouth is open now, chest stuttering with every breath, eyes barely hanging on to your form.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, voice cracking.
You reach down, wrap your fingers around the base of his cock to keep him in place, and grind your cunt down against the underside again, slow and hot, your clit catching on the swollen ridge of his head every time.
“I can’t- I’m gonna- fuck- please, just- ”
You lift your hips slightly, cutting him off, line him up, and sink down.
No showboating, no dramatics. Just the slick, perfect glide of your pussy stretching around him, slow and smooth and hot, until he’s buried inside you all the way to the hilt.
Sal chokes. His back arches. His hands fly to your hips like instinct, like he’s trying not to black out.
“Holy fuck,” he gasps, voice gone completely hoarse. “You’re- you’re-”
You rock your hips forward and down, and his sentence dies in his throat.
You lean back just slightly, keeping your thighs spread, keeping that squat tight and low, and start riding him in slow, delicious bounces, controlled and deliberate. The way your pussy squeezes around him every time you lift, then drags down again has his mouth dropping open in this slack-jawed awe. Like he’s not even in his body anymore. Like you don't do this every few days.
You’re not trying to perform. It’s just good. So good you feel it in your teeth.
His voice is barely working. Little whines, wet groans, shaky breaths.
He looks up at you with wide, glassy-eyed look you love - and it’s desperate, but not begging. Just overwhelmed. Overcome. He’s not doing anything but taking it, just barely managing to keep his hips from jerking up.
You let one hand slip up from his chest to his throat. Not tight. Just holding him there. Thumb brushing his pulse, fingers wrapped around the soft skin under his jaw. You feel his heartbeat slam against your palm.
His eye rolls back.
“Oh my god,” he croaks. “You feel- fuck me, fuck-”
Every muscle in your legs is starting to sting, but it’s worth it. Because every single time you sink back down on him, you can see his whole body twitch. You can hear the wet slap of your ass against his hips, the obscene squelch where your bodies meet.
“I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, almost shocked.
“Not yet,” you pant. “Just let it feel good.”
You lean in more. Your tits brush his chest again, sweat slicking the space between you. His hands slip up your back, trembling just slightly. His mouth keeps falling open like he wants to say something but his brain is skipping like a record every time your pussy strangles him.
You’re watching him. He’s watching you. It’s all heat and eye contact and the feeling of his cock punching just shy of your cervix everytime you drop.
He’s wrecked. You fucking love seeing him this slutted out and unguarded. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. His bangs are stuck to his forehead. His chest is heaving, every muscle tight, thighs shaking and bucking up just barely like he can't help it.
You press down hard and stay there, whining quiet and sticky behind your teeth, clenching tight around him, and his hips jerk so hard it knocks a sound out of him - something cracked and gorgeous, like he’s trying not to scream.
“I’m- oh my god,” he gasps.
You squeeze your hand just a little firmer around his neck, and raise your hips again once the burn eased in your thighs.
You can't slow down. You’re so deep on him you swear you can feel him in your throat, and every single time you plop your weight down, the stretch hits perfect, like he was made to fill you and your cunt was molded in the shape of his cock, made to take it.
Sal is barely breathing underneath you. His hands are gripping whatever they can find; your thighs, the sheets, the meat of your ass, your waist. He’s long past trying to be quiet about it. He’s making sounds, open and wet, like he’s too full of you to hold anything in.
And when you catch the shine of spit at the corner of his mouth - just this tiny glint on his flushed, panting face - you reach down without thinking. Swipe your thumb across it, and then lick the pad clean. Right in front of him.
He blinks up at you, stunned and smitten, jaw slack like he’s actually about to ascend through the ceiling. Like he cannot believe you just did that, but also please do it again.
“…That was- fuck, that was hot,” he mumbles, voice ruined.
You smirk, but it slips fast. The pressure's getting overwhelming. Your hips are slowing just enough now for depth, not pace - each drop has you bottoming out so perfectly it makes your toes curl. You’re soaked. He’s twitching inside you, every vein dragging against your walls, his cock so hard you can feel it pulsing behind your clit like some god-made rose toy.
Then you feel his hand slide between you, a little awkward but determined.
His thumb finds your clit without fumbling, palm gripping the inside of your thigh so he doesn't tremble away. Just presses down, firm and slow, rubbing in twitchy circles like he knows you’re right there on the edge and he needs you to cum like he needs air.
Your breath snags.
“Sal- fuck-”
“Need to feel it,” he pants, eye locked on your face. “Need to feel you cum on me, I can’t- fuck- I can’t take it anymore.”
You whimper.
You keep bouncing, barely now, more like rolling and grinding, letting him stay deep while his thumb works just right, pressure steady, no teasing, no delay. You’re so close it’s already burning.
“Come on,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “Let me feel it. Please.”
That does it.
Your whole body locks for a second, like every muscle’s bracing against the quake of it, and then it washes through you in hot, fast waves, pussy clenching tight and wet and shuddering around him. You cry out loud and sudden. Legs trembling, back arching so deep you almost fold backwards.
Sal gasps like he’s just been electrocuted. His cock jumps inside you so hard it almost punches another orgasm out of you on the spot.
“Oh my god,” he moans. “That- that, baby, it- Fuck yes-”
He’s babbling now, voice shaky and low and almost breaking. “Please- please can I cum? Inside you? Please- fuck- I’ll lose it if you say no-”
You grab his face, pressinj your forehead to his. Your hips still moving, grinding through your own aftershocks, knocking his body back and forth under you with the urgency of it, squeezing around him like your body’s begging for it too.
“Yes,” you choke. “Yes, fuck, please-”
And Sal breaks.
He makes this low, guttural sound that cuts short in his throat, fingers digging into your hips, and then he’s thrusting up into you, sudden and deep, once, twice, again. You feel him spill inside you, hot and messy and so much, like he’s been holding it back for hours. He chokes high on a moan, wraps his arms around you, clutches you to his chest as he empties himself inside you in thick pulses.
You don’t stop moving.
You ride him through every second of it, tight and slow and sweet, until he’s sagging underneath you, twitching, body limp but still inside, still gasping softly against your collarbone.
Your thighs shake. Your whole lower half is dripping.
He finally exhales, ragged and wrecked.
“…I think I just saw God,” he mutters into your skin.
You laugh, breathless and still sticking to him like velcro.
“No,” you whisper back, voice hoarse. “That was just me.”
Giving Bakugo a pussy job, but he gets too ahead of himself.
Your thighs were getting damper wrapped around his hips, the weight of your body pressing further down for more friction between your slit and his shaft made your Blondie below you whimper through his teeth.
“You’re so …fucking wet and warm…” His voice was breaking down, he HATES whimpering and moaning, he swears he’s a groaning/growling kind of guy, but once he is anywhere near that pussy of yours that theory goes out the window.
The room was so sticky, stuffy and hot, somehow just oral and this rimjob was making you both so sweaty and needy to the point you both couldn’t even hold eye contact together anymore when certain waves of ecstasy hit you when the tip of his dick hit your clit just right.
“Katsuki…” Voice just above a whisper, turning him on even more with that pretty ass voice of yours, Bakugo threw his sweaty head back, feeling cold droplets fall down his scared cheek. You look down at him for a moment and bite your lip excitedly seeing the pretty ass view of his wet chest pressed together, and his thick arms showing almost every vein he has while tightening his grip on you.
Your hands was placed on top of his when he grabbed your waist, the slick feeling of that one thick vein on top of his dick was such a delicious addition to pleasure you almost started to let go and let him take control, but you noticed the moment you tried to the pace began to change to something more slower and deliberate.
“Katsuki…” You tried sounding firm in your voice, but was failing when he began gripping your breast to play with your nipples, “I—I know what you’re…doing—-ah~”
“Then let me do it…” His voice was so rasps and worn, he kept his eyes on your pussy, somehow getting more riled up seeing his own thick brown tip on his own pelvis appearing a disappearing with your pussy on top of it. It was like seeing it being devoured, “This is so fucking hot baby, c’mon cum on me.”
“I—-“ You couldn’t even form syllables at this point, your back gave out a little forcing you to bend over a little humping his dick like a bitch in heat he chuckles breathlessly in your ear.
“Yeaaah baby just like this, fucking use me.” His big hot hands found its way to your ass to grab and spread forcing you to move faster to the point Bakugo was moving under you in tandem. “Oh shit i’m—-oh y/n i’m cumming!”
Bakugo really wanted you to cum on him he did, you both ran out of condoms, so you both agreed a simple pussy job and you both could go to bed, but whether he admits it or not he’s greedy. Too greedy.
“Katsuki~” Your body was tensing against him, shivers down your spine when you make eye contact again with your man seeing his hot fucked out face, you love to watch him cum so badly you can’t control yourself when you grab his cheeks with one hand to kiss him, just how he likes; sloppy and wet.
Tongues were wrestling and drool was falling on each of your breast that were pressed against his, both your nipples rubbing together for more pleasure which was just the cherry on top of what this was leading Bakugo to do;
“Y/n….” Your name being repeated in your ear when he adjust your hips at just right the right angle, “Y/n cum with me…”
Both of your bodies still for a second, not even a second later you felt so full, gasping in each other mouths when you finally felt the raw hot sensation of his dick slipping inside you, as mad as you wanted to be, you instead lost it.
“‘M sorry baby i—- oh fuck!”
His soft apology was cut short when you began to fuck against him, so close and pressed together you kept kissing him as your orgasm grew close, whether your skin was black or not his hands were definitely ganna leave a mark on that ass later.
A shiver ran down your spine when Bakugo laid you on your back, still inside you to force your wet thighs around his waist, he was ganna fuck you now.
“There you go, look at you taking me in so perfect —yes! fuck! fuck! fuck! fuuuckkk!” He had you in a bear hug, nothing but the sound of skin slapping and worn out moaning of each others name and other incoherent words. “That’s my girl just like that let go for me…”
Bakugo watches you unravel under him, your body as a reflex try to run from him, but he was still stronger than you and kept you in your place to fuck into you more until he came as well.
You felt his body go stiff to completely relaxed on top of you. You take the moment of silence to rub his sweaty soft scalp, still high off of his scent and cumming, a little smirk crept on your face feeling his cum drip down your ass onto the bed.
“Sorry…”Bakugo mumbled against your cheek before kissing it, He rolled over and opened his nightstand drawer to pull out a little plan b box. “I didn’t mean to…y’know.”
You look over and do a half smile, “At least you were prepared…pervert.”
“Tch… YOU brought these here months ago! …I just kept em here just in case.”
“uh huh.” You hovered over him , took the box and gave him a peck on his pouty lip, “Just couldn’t help yourself though.”
“You either! You fucked the shit out of me when i went inside you!”
You giggle and smile with your tongue over your teeth, “I know right.”
Lucifer is the type of guy who’d pull you in by the chin for a slow deliberate kiss, its one that leaves you breathless and him smirking like he planned it that way (he did)
Mammon is the type of guy who’d kiss you too fast then pull back all flustered before diving right back in ‘cause he couldnt help himself (sloppy makeour sessions with him is a must)
Satan is the type of guy who’d cup your face with both hands, kiss you softly first then deepen it like hes been holding back for too long
Diavolo is the type of guy who’d kiss you like its a celebration, warm, full of laughter, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he holds you close to him
Beel is the type of guy who’d kiss you gently almost shyly, with one hand on your waist and the other steadying your back like youre a fragile doll
Solomon is the type of guy who’d kiss you slow just to make you melt then smile against your lips like hes proud of the spell he just cast
Mc: Those days when, despite having a thousand things to do, you can't get anything done and you end up spending the minutes in agony because you see time passing but you're physically incapable of completing a simple task… Any simple task.
Lucifer:… If you'll excuse me for a moment *leaves*
Lucifer: *making a call* Solomon, I need you here immediately, Mc isn't humaning well.
