[theloversabovethelaw]

Laura: I will now torture you.

Travis: *while tied up* Do your worst.

Laura: You are a handsome and wonderful man.

Travis: Wait -

Laura: You are a good boy who cares for his family.

Travis: STOP -

Laura: You deserve to be loved and cherished for who you are.

Travis: I NEED A SAFE WORD

[cherryscript]

LIKE THE ONE IN P★RN

tw: pseudocest

You’re halfway inside the damn washing machine, ass up in the air like some ridiculous porn thumbnail, one leg kicking uselessly while you try to fish out the sock that started this whole disaster. “Caleb!” you yell, voice echoing weirdly inside the drum. “Caleb, get your ass in here! I’m stuck!”

Footsteps thunder down the hall. The laundry room door swings open. Silence. You can practically feel his stare burning into your upturned backside. “Caleb! Help me out!”

He finally speaks, voice way too calm and way too amused. “Oh… don’t worry about it, pipsqueak. You’ll be out in a few minutes.”

You twist your head as much as you can—which is not much—and catch his reflection in the shiny metal of the washer door. He’s standing there in grey sweatpants, hands on his hips, grinning like he just won the lottery. His eyes are glued to your ass.

“But before that,” he continues, stepping closer, “I think I deserve a little something in return for the rescue, don’t I?” You feel cool air hit your skin as he hooks his fingers into your shorts and panties and shoves them down in one smooth motion. “Caleb—no, don’t you dare think something weird, you little—”

He doesn’t even let you finish. Two thick fingers slide straight into you, no warning, curling just right. “Ahhh—Caleb! Mmhhh! What the fuck—”

He bites his lower lip, cheeks flushing bright red, watching his fingers disappear into your heat over and over. “Holy shit, pipsqueak… you’re soaking. Were you stuck in here fantasizing about this exact scenario or what?”

“Shut up and get me ou—oh fuck—”

He crooks his fingers, thumb brushing your clit, and your hips jerk involuntarily. He’s rubbing himself through his sweats with his free hand, the outline of his cock straining obscenely.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice shaky with excitement. “Ass up like a proper porn plot. I’ve literally jerked off to this video before. Step-sis stuck in washer, step-bro comes to the rescue—classic.”

“I will kill you,” you pant, but it comes out more like a moan.

He just laughs, low and wicked, speeding up his fingers until your thighs are trembling. “Yeah, yeah, threaten me later. Right now you’re about to—”

You squirt. Hard. All over his hand, the floor, the side of the washing machine. Your whole body spasms, a high-pitched whine echoing inside the drum.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, staring at the mess in awe. “Jesus… you just redecorated the laundry room.”

You’re still catching your breath, about to unleash hell—“Caleb, you absolute pervert, I’m going to—”

He slams his cock into you in one brutal thrust. Your scream bounces off the metal walls—“Ahhh—hai?!?!”

He bottoms out, hands gripping your hips like he’s scared you’ll vanish. “Fuck—fuck—so tight—can’t even see your face right now, bet you’re making the nastiest expression…”

He pulls back and snaps forward again, hard. The washer rocks with the force. You claw at the inside of the drum for support, moaning uncontrollably. “Caleb—slow—slow down—”

“Nope,” he groans, slapping your ass sharply. The sting makes you clench around him, and he throws his head back with a filthy moan. “God, that’s making me even harder… oh fuck, pipsqueak, you’re so cute like this~”

Another slap. Another moan from you.

He leans over you, chest to your back, voice breathless and whimpering nonstop . “Always wanted to live this stupid fantasy. Stuck in the washer? Check. Step-bro saves the day with his dick? Double check.”

“You’re—ahh—never letting this go, are you?”

“Nope!” he says cheerfully, pounding into you with zero remorse. “Gonna bring it up at every family dinner. ‘Hey Gran, remember that time pipsqueak got stuck in the washing machine and I heroically freed her with the power of my—’”

“Caleb, I swear to god—”

He laughs, bright and manic, hips never slowing. “Love you too, pipsqueak. Now be a good girl and take it so I can actually get you out afterward.”

Somehow, even bent over and stuck in a washing machine getting railed senseless, you can’t help the delirious laugh that bubbles out of you between moans.

Because only Caleb could turn a household chore into the most ridiculous, perfect porn plot—and make you love every second of it.

A/N : why did I write this? it's because I'm unapologetically an evil twisted unhinged freaky individual.

© CHERRYSCRIPT 2026 — don't copy translate feed my work to ai.

[demxnscous]

Contains: fem-human!reader x Ironhide, dub-con (he licks you), forced proximity + forced Guardian Ironhide, possessive Ironhide, a bit toxic really.

The night is old, cataract-filmed with dark clouding above; moonlight cannot cast upon where you tuck away with Ironhide. Your nails press into folded arms, grasping to yourself in upset. There had been a conference with dinner provided tonight, and you had shown in a lovely dress for the occasion, a lovelier up-do.

Ironhide shifts beside you, silent despite his size, for a greater vantage point to watch from behind the decrepit barn. You shift because your heels have begun to press further into the cold, soft earth.

Around eleven minutes into the drive home, Ironhide sensed the malicious presence of unknown mechs tailing quick and swerved violently down an abandoned road on private property. He had given no forewarning, only a sharp tightening of your seatbelt. And you had yelled at him from within his cabin, livid beyond belief, under the assumption he’d done such a thing on purpose to make you writhe in anger. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Oh, how you loathed this appointed Guardian of yours. Brutish thing that he is, barbaric and uncouth. You believed his garish vehicle form was reflective enough of this, and you’ve told him so during a usual verbal spat. You vindicate this behavior through the sole reasoning that Ironhide tends to initiate most, if not all, arguments.

Your tongue is held behind clenched teeth, for now. The situation you’re presently in could very well end poorly should there be a mishap; there are three Decepticon mechs scouting these damp woods, and Ironhide’s cabled throat is beginning to tense. Perhaps you’re materialistic and shallow, but you are preemptively mourning the loss of your beloved patent-leather heels, should you have to remove them to run. They were expensive, after all.

Beside you, Ironhide ex-vents restrainedly from his slitted intake cavities. In brief moments like this one, he often reminds you of a great, mechanical beast. He is unpredictable, and he will bite.

He, very suddenly, flicks his blue optics to where you stand below him, beside his right lower appendage. Ironhide lifts his scuffed chin slowly in a manner you recognize, and abhor. ‘Don’t fuss,’ he tells you with this. Your reaction, he knows so well: pressed lips, a plush line, and pinched features. His right servos reach down for you, and he aptly watches your disquiet swell. You always threw a fit when he handled you like this, gently or not, but now is not the time, and you’ll hate him more for what he’ll do next.

Ironhide lifts you up his chassis to his chest plate, large palm bearing the infinitesimal weight of your body, heavy thumb across your lap. You squirm in his hold, of course you do, and he presses down only enough to still you. Precious thing you are, though he’d never say, he takes this ill-timed moment to look upon you. Oh, how you have not a clue.

The mech leans down, the metal of his face irradiating warmth with the proximity. His optics dim slightly, and you can see the true extent of the damage to his right optic and orbital frame, a visceral reminder of his violent, combatant past. You breathe uncertainly in his grasp.

Ironhide presses further into your space, your small hands raising to hold to the edges of his chin in a display of reluctance, confusion. You try to writhe away again.

“Stop that,” he huffs quietly.

He can smell the Decepticon mechs closing in; he knows they will be able to scent you just as well. Ironhide opens his dermae against your soft abdomen and laves his glossa up your torso, your breasts, and ends at your round cheek. The sound from your throat is a restrained, embarrassed whimper.

Your chest rises feebly, as if in shock. Lips parted, eyes squeezed shut—he’s nearly expecting you to strike his face. Perhaps, you should. He’s left a saliva-wetted path along your body and fitted dress for the primary purpose of concealing your little human scent with his own.

Forgive him, or don’t. He’d rather you didn’t, for Ironhide believes in his own vindictiveness.

He will ruin your dress this once, and maybe once more, for all the times you’ve called him a ‘Brute,’ stiff-backed and prim as you are. He will handle you like so because you are wont to refuse giving up control, stubborn as you are. And, selfishly, he will scent you with his tongue like so as a reminder that you may have no other mech but him.

You push helplessly at his dermae and Ironhide ex-vents again, pale plumes encompassing you before dissipating. Taste neurons capture the molecules upon his tongue, and Ironhide savors them much as a human would: dried satin, perfume alcohol, bared skin. The notes are categorized, differentiated.

You’ll resent him for this, he can see it playing out on your features. You’ll reprimand and curse him to high hell later, surely.

Perhaps you don’t understand now, but Ironhide was placed as your Guardian by Optimus Prime for a reason. And he’s apt to keep this to himself, lest you stop being so enjoyably difficult.

[madmusenavigator]

[maliciouscottonball]

I've been thinking a whole bunch about yandere Bayverse Optimus Prime, especially in the beginning of Dark of the Moon. This can be platonic or romantic 😌

You get hired by Sector 7 for some reason or other and have the incredible experience of meeting the leader of the Autobots on your first day. He finds you absolutely fascinating. You train under Ratchet to learn about first aid and instead of letting one of the other bots be your training dummy, Optimus himself volunteers to let you practice on him. You carefully work on the practice equipment, not letting even a drop of solder get on his paint job. He ends up being so relaxed while you work that his engine purrs so loudly that you have to shout to Ratchet in order to ask him questions. You end up dropping a wrench on him after getting quite literally rattled around from the purring, not that it causes him any harm, and end up apologizing profusely, much to Optimus' amusement.

"I assure you, little one, I am very capable of handling something that has not even scratched my finish. It's okay." He rumbles warmly.

He ends up seeking you out more often and eventually begins requesting that you be the human to assist him. You don't mind at all, clearly enjoying the stories about Cybertron that he tells you while you work on whatever it is that you're assigned. He seems to have a certain fondness for holding you and once you tell him that you like it, you barely have to walk anywhere on your own. He's always nearby during your shifts and you've stopped having to drive to work and back once he starts driving you. You never ask how he knows where you live.

After a few weeks, your relationship with Optimus devolves into him treating you more like a stress toy than anything else. When he's in a bad mood, he simply scoops you up and transforms into his vehicle mode for another round of giving everyone the silent treatment. You've learned to nap while he keeps you firmly buckled into his driver's seat. He holds you during meetings, either having you sit in one of his servos or on one of his shoulders. Ironhide teases you a bit for getting such special treatment, though it's never too bad. Optimus' bad moods have gotten significantly more mild and he is much less strict than he was prior to being around you. Secretly, there isn't a soldier on base, Cybertronian or human, that isn't grateful to you.

You don't understand Cybertronian customs, let alone nonverbal communication, so you always brush it off when his headlights brighten when you're in his cab. You don't ask why when he sniffs you when he first sees you or why he begins putting your favorite car air fresheners in his cab. You never realize that his engine is never so loud around anyone else. You brush it off when he ignores other humans in favor of asking if you've eaten and taking you to a drive-through during your lunch break or when he rushes you to Ratchet when you get a bruise or blister. You simply assume that he's being a good leader and that he values your skills. Optimus doesn't mind. He doesn't correct you. To him, it means that you're okay with him keeping you close and caring for you.

[madmusenavigator]

[spicymotte]

the queen's personal guard

[amala-luvs]

Gargoyle lover who can't spend time with you during the day, as he truly is nothing but a stone statue at sunrise. But at night, he moves around freely in his true form.

He makes up for the lost time by filling you up each night. Ensuring to keep you awake all night, cock drunk, so you can sleep the whole day. Now you sleep when he ''sleeps'' and you're awake when he is.

But sometimes he gets carried away, not realizing that the sun was peeking above the clouds as he's far too distracted pounding into you to ensure you take every last drop of his cum before he sleeps. It's not until he notices that his movements were halted, but he was too late. He turned completely into a stone statue whilst balls deep inside of you. Both of his arms still wrapped around your waist, you're unable to move. It's not as though you can push him off either; he's far too heavy.

Now you're stuck, still wriggling with pleasure as his now cold, hard cock is still inside. Even though he's now in statue form, his dick is still able to reach all the right spots without moving. It was going to be a long day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I made another short of this Part2

[istanyoustan5676]

Thinking about protective landlord Andrew Cody…

You had finally admitted to yourself earlier that morning that you were a bit uncomfortable around your landlord.

You’d initially taken his odd and somewhat disturbing nature as introversion but over the past few weeks, you started to wonder what was just under the surface. It was like his history/baggage had its own pulse. A pulse that sucked him out of normal functioning momentarily and just when you thought he’d totally checked out, he’d switch gears and chime in with a perfectly normal observation or suggestion.

Be sure to run the disposal every time you use it, you don’t want to get fruit flies.

Is this cereal any good? I’d like to try it some time.

Do you, you know, feel safe here?

It was the small comments, the gentle nature woven into the fierce expressions that had you finally caving, pressing the call button apprehensively.

He answered immediately.

Well, he didn’t literally say hello, but you heard the line pick up. It was after 2:00 a.m., he must have been half asleep.

You stuttered out, your voice small.

“Mr. Cody? I’m so sorry to bother you, I just, I think…”

More silence.

Was he even there?

“…I think someone tried to break into my apartment.”

“Go into the bathroom, lock the door. Do not hang up the phone.”

You heard him shuffling and then, almost impossibly quick, you heard the sound of an engine starting.

“My phone switched over to the car, sweetheart, can you still hear me?”

Your chest constricted.

Apparently your slight fear of him dissipated when his simmered rage had a direction (a direction aimed towards anyone trying to invade your space without permission).

“I’ll be there in 2 minutes, I want you to stay silent. I’ll knock on the bathroom door 5 times quickly so you know it’s me, understand?”

You shook your head, forgetting you were on the phone.

“Hey!”

His shout startled you back.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Stay quiet.”

His anger has heightened over the past few minutes and now you’re concerned about what you’ve done.

Was he annoyed? Or just being protective? And if the latter, why? How?

Over the next few minutes, you hold your breath as you hear him enter the apartment and check every room. Then, it sounded as if he was checking the door, windows, locks. Before you knew it, the knocking sounded at the door.

Carefully, you grabbed the knob and pulled it back only to see the most intense eyes you’ve ever encountered in your life staring back at you.

“OK?” He asked quite quietly, concern etched all over his features.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I’m not sure what I heard. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t lived here long enough and it creeks and cracks but I’m pretty certain I heard the handle jiggle.”

His grimace was revealing. Have they had trouble here before? He seemed more invested than he should be for only knowing you for a month.

“I feel kind of ridiculous now,” you admitted.

He startled you as he moved to reach and touch a strand of your hair, immediately pulling his hand back as if he’d forgotten himself.

”Naw,” he said, with a shrug, his cheeks still flushed. “It’s not ridiculous, if you heard something you heard something. Why don’t you go get some rest,” he said, pulling out one of the dining room chairs.

“What…what are you doing?” You asked, unconsciously playing with hem of your sleep shorts. You only noticed because his eyes moved to your thigh before shooting back to your face.

“I know what it’s like to be antsy and exhausted, you won’t get any sleep tonight if you’re worried about someone breaking in here. I’ve got some work to do. I’ll wait up for a while. I mean, if you’re comfortable with that.”

He looked up at you with puppy dog eyes. You realized in that moment that indeed, he wants to protect you and even though you don’t know why, you want him to.

“Um sure,” you responded, turning toward the bedroom. You looked back over your shoulder.

“Thanks, Mr. Cody.”

“Andrew,” he corrected.

Something in your chest bloomed.

Feeling safe and emboldened, you walked directly in front of him, leaned down, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Mr. Andrew.”

And that was the first time you saw Andrew Cody smile.

-

[abbotsmyhabit]

pope cody who asks you to give him a haircut, not expecting you to take in a dramatic gasp and climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, resting your hands on his broad shoulders.

"you want me to cut your perfect curls?" you say, running your fingers through his hair, tilting his face up towards you, "i don't think i can do that my love,"

"J said his girlfriend cuts his hair," pope says, looking up at you with a glimmer of confusion in his eyes, gripping down on your waist, "i just thought because you're mine..."

"i am yours," you say, leaning forward, placing a soft, sweet kiss on his lips, "but you look so handsome just the way you are,"

popes eyes flick down to where his hands rest on your waist, a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

"are you gonna ask me to cut of a toe next?" you say dramatically, twisting one of his auburn coils around your finger, "like, where does it end?"

"it's just hair," pope says, a small smile playing on his lips at your antics, "it'll grow back,"

you smile back at him before pulling his head to your chest, burying your face in his soft curls, breathing in his warm smell.

"i'll miss you," you mumble against his head. pope smacks your ass playfully.

"i don't want you to buzz it," he says as you pull back with a mischievous grin on your face, "just a little trim,"

"ok," you sigh, leaning forward, brushing the tip of your nose against his, "only because I love you so much,"

"i love you so much," pope says before connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.

[tamayakii]

Imagine the long car rides with Optimus, sitting in the driver seat, hands off the wheel and singing whatever song you requested the auto-bot to play through the radio- Giggling as you ‘pretend’ to drive whenever a cop is in the next lane. Just days long car rides… stopping wherever you want to for the night. Stargazing in the middle of the desert, dozing off and him pulling off the road, tires digging into the dirt as he does so.

The lights slowly turning off one by one, but he leaves the engine on- just until he’s assured that you are deep in sleep, letting it be a white-noise for you.

Kissing the dashboard!!! He can’t go into his bipedal form when there are strangers around, so it’s the closest you can get.

Him revving the engine when you kiss the plastic out of the blue, the rumble shaking the cab of the truck.

[demxnscous]

Click here for Part I

Contains: Optimus x fem-human!reader, more unrealized pining from Optimus, he’s been out of the game for far too long

A great, foreboding mech stands outside of your balcony, stark against the evening background and skies. Optimus Prime regards you with a tucked chin and pinched metallic features, as if hesitant. It appears he’d been in the midst of leaving before you opened the upper level doors to receive him.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says by way of greeting. The Prime presses closer, his right digital servos moving to rest upon the house siding gently, whilst his left places on the roof edge. There is a distinct, but slight, level of privacy assumed based on his stance: Optimus has effectively created the impression of a closed space. He can hear the distant commentary from his subordinates, so he speaks quietly with you.

You smile, polite and surprised; this is the first time the mech has sought you out, and it worries you. “No, you’re not. Is there something you wanted to discuss?”

Optimus makes to speak, pausing before he does so to peer irritatedly to his left. You cannot hear them, but Optimus can, audials rotating and adjusting in annoyance.

‘—Caging in the poor woman. You think she’s scared? I’d be scared.’

‘What’s he saying? Can you hear anything?’

‘No, not with your big ass mouth going.’

‘Whatever.’

He sighs, vapor pluming from alar slits. “I wanted to thank you, properly, for helping them—and myself. I also wanted to ask...What benefit do you gain from aiding us?” The question isn't accusatory, rather cautious. “We're fugitives on your Earth. Should we be discovered, you will reap punishment much the same.”

“I'm returning a favor. Your...” You rifle around internally for the right descriptor. “Your comrades saved many people some time ago. They saved me, too. A little bit of hospitality is owed.”

“You owe us nothing, but your care and graciousness aren’t in vain.” Optimus holds your curious stare; where you cannot see, his servos tighten along the roof and siding at his subordinates' continued remarks that have turned inappropriate.

'All that fighting and no way to blow off some steam for—What?—ages? No wonder he's always so—What's that word again? It starts with a 'R'?'

'Resolute? Righteous? Rigid?'

'Rigid!'

His derma press together and twitch infinitesimally.

You hum at his response and Optimus is brought back to the conversation. “You know, they told me stories about you before you joined us here. So many stories.” Gentle, tired laughter carries from your throat.

Optimus stills, an amalgamation of past events are recalled from memory processors; warfronts, past allies, adolescent times, accidental mishaps, comrades' deaths, his death. He deigns to ask what you've been told. Optimus will speak with his subordinates later.

“Hopefully, they did not bore you,” he says.

“No,” you sigh, bracing your hands on the guardrail. This is the closest you’ve been to the mech, and, even still, the distance is polite. “No, they didn’t. They were very entertaining.”

“My comrades, or my stories?”

You peer upwards. This great autonomous creation before you has just made a joke, evident in the slight tilt of his mouth. It’s jarring for some reason, as if you believed the concept of humor was beyond him. And you are reminded in that moment of a statement made to you by Ratchet.

‘Relatively speaking, Optimus may be the last Prime, but he’s young.’ Ratchet had said. ‘And he insists on carrying burdens that aren’t his. He carries all of our burdens, too—it’s what makes him a leader you’d just die for.’

And you see this youthfulness now, brief as it may be, beyond the scarred metal and collected demeanor. “Both, I’d say.”

Optimus Prime looks upon you with an expression not meant for your understanding. “Then perhaps you can tell me some of your stories as well.”

‘I mean, I get it, she’s a pretty little human. I’d want a bite of that, too.’ A wolf-whistle follows shortly after this statement.

The Autobot Leader bids you goodnight, and steps away to handle the other matters at hand.

[hoziersguitarr]

Imagine Sammy’s reaction when you tell him you don’t want him to lose weight.

Earlier in the day, he had to chase down some guy who decided to get up and run out of the precinct when things got a little too Intense.

Sammy had trouble keeping up with the guy and Nate ended up catching him. Sammy was embarrassed because he got winded so easily.

Surely it was his weight that was the problem. He’s not fat or anything. But he’s got some chub on him.

So when you happily plate him dinner, his usual hefty amount on the plate, he pushes it back to you, to your confusion,

“Can you take a bit off that? I’m trying to lose weight.”

You frowned at him. Huffing but still fulfilling his request. Albeit, while grumbling to yourself within earshot of Sammy.

You set his plate down with a bit of an attitude and he’s taken aback,

“Jesus, baby, what’s the deal? I’m just trying to cut back.”

You give him a look as you sit down,

“What if I don’t want you to lose weight?”

You ask, to which he scoffs,

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Look at me, baby. I had trouble keeping up with a suspect who ran off today.”

You shrug,

“That’s what Nate is for.”

He lets out a huff, but it sounds like an incredulous laugh,

“I don’t care that you’re chubby. I like you that way. I don’t want a man with washboard abs. I want my Sammy.”

You say, finally cutting into your food and taking a bite.

He thinks about it as he eats dinner, and ultimately ends up asking for seconds after he finishes his plate full of smaller portions.

Happy wife happy life, they say.

[unc-peepaw]

Aged like fine wine 🍷😌

[yousummonedme]

Just Thinking About: Simon who needs more

Fucking you in missionary, gazing into your eyes with his body shoved up against yours isn’t enough, so he hikes your legs over his shoulders and presses deeper inside.

Kissing you goodbye isn’t enough, so he comes back for another kiss… then another… then another. Thirty seconds later, he’s got you caged against the wall, devouring your mouth. It’s so easy and messy, the way his tongue delves into your lips and the way he sucks at your spit.

He starts on his stomach to give you oral. You’re lying down with your legs parted. But it’s not enough to taste you; he needs you taking over all his senses and suffocating him. So he flips you around and seats you on his face like a throne before returning to eating you out.

Being in the same house isn’t enough. When he has a day off, you can’t count the number of times he molds his body against yours or touches you in some way.

“Fucking perv.” You mutter as he deeply inhales your scent before returning to his business.

“Fucking perv.” You repeat when you realize that wasn’t enough, so he went to your bedroom to jerk himself off while smelling your panties. Maybe even that isn’t enough either because next thing you know, you’re riding him, his mouth gagged with your panties and savoring the slight flavor.

more of Simon being needy for you

When he wants your pussy

Shy loverboy Simon

Authoress’ note: Hii, y’all! Feel free to drop a comment or DM me with a thought

[madmusenavigator]

Of course, big boy. Do as you please, that's what I am here for.

[pearlessance]

Overtime

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel's exhausted by the time he makes it to bed. But when a pretty little thing crawls in beside him, he finds the time for you, just like he always does.

Warnings: +18 MDNI, post outbreak, jackson!joel, unspecified age difference, joel pov, porn no plot, dry humping, slow and soft sex, smut with feelings, internalized shame, intimacy, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, kissing

Note: i haven't written for joel in monthsss but i hope you enjoy!!

WC: 2k

[masterlist] [AO3]

Joel’s the kind of exhausted that only comes with age. 

Weary bones, heavy limbs, tired eyes. 

He’s falling into bed as soon as he gets home, often forfeiting dinner in favor of blissful rest. Sometimes even before the sun’s fully set. 

And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces. 

So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day. 

And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”

His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.

It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.

Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.

So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.

He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it. 

The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.

Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.

And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good. 

But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.

Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.

The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.

Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like. 

He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.

But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips. 

You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack. 

Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark. 

“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”

He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.

It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”

You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.

Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock. 

Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.

You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back. 

He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”

When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you. 

His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one. 

In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.

Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do. 

Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.

When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with. 

Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.

He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche. 

Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that. 

But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.

He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.

When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response. 

Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”

He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve. 

But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.

He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity. 

Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.

He slides in real easy.

You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.

It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home. 

Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace. 

There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it? 

He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.

He wants to savor the way you love him. 

“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.

You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.

It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation. 

The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much. 

Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves. 

Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.

He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.

“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”

Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it. 

“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”

He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble. 

Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.

He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.

You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.

Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest. 

When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.

“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."

thank you for reading, i love you!!!

[madmusenavigator]

I'm in awe with this writing.

[yeollie-plz]

Dead Girl Walking

Titus Danforth x F! Reader

Genre: angst, smut

Synopsis: You're forced into your worst nightmare, a loveless marriage with an assumed psychopath. But maybe it's not all bad.

Warnings: forced marriage, age gap, mentions of murder, mentions of cults, mentions of Satan, virgin Titus, Titus is borderline stalkerish, sub! Titus, dom! reader, masturbating in front of someone, p in v! sex, unprotected sex, not much foreplay, breeding kink if you squint, kissing, marking, panty sniffing, crying from pleasure, pet names, blood

Gif credits to owners!

You were fucked. You were so totally fucked.

Not only was your father marrying you off like some cattle to repay a debt, but he was marrying you off to Titus Danforth no less.

Titus Danforth, who around the high council and other members of the cult was known as a notorious psychopath. Okay well everyone in the high council was a psychopath, but there was something else about Titus.

But that night you stood in front of him, in a blood red dress. As red as the blood oath you took tying you to a man twice your age. A man you hardly knew, all so your father didn't explode. Literally.

Now he sits on the bed of his room, you stood almost as far away from him as possible as his eyes watch you. You aren't sure if he's contemplating his next move or watching to make sure you're not going to run.

"You don't have to be scared, you know." He finally speaks. You don't respond, only scoff at his statement.

"You don't." He reaffirms.

At that you turn, finally looking at him. His hands are sitting in his lap, turning into each other as if he was anxious. Your eyebrows furrow at his movements, but he doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't react.

"We both grew up with all of this, Titus, you know that isn't true. Safety is a falsehood."

"It isn't a falsehood, I can keep you safe." Another scoff.

"You can't even keep yourself safe, not really." He wants to fight your words, but he knows you are right.

He stands, moving slowly towards you. As if you would cower from him if he moved any faster.

"We don't have to do this, though." You shock him by speaking, motioning between the two of you as you do.

"Do what? Talk?"

"No, we don't have to create all this tension between us. I know that both of us didn't want this union but-"

Titus cuts you off, "I wanted this union."

Your jaw almost drops open. "What?"

"I wanted this." His voice is so monotone, almost clinical. Almost scary. "I asked for this."

"You what?"

"I suggested we wed. Your father owed us some debts and I wanted you."

You don't answer, you don't know how. So you just blink at him.

He steps closer.

"And now that I have you, we will come to an understanding."

"What understanding?" You look up at him, trying to analyze what he is thinking.

He licks his lips before speaking again, "I do not wish to force you to do anything or be something you are not. But I do have a few expectations, if not now then when you are comfortable."

"Expectations?"

"Maybe expectations is a poor choice of words. Let's say requests."

You hold back the sigh bubbling in your throat, "Okay, what are your requests?"

"I will share them all with you in time but for tonight I only have one. If you are willing." Your eyebrows raise at his words.

Titus does not let you respond, "I wish for us to have sex, I would like to know if I enjoy it."

If he would enjoy it? His choice of words is strange. It almost makes it sound as though he has never had sex before. Then you think back to the kiss at the wedding, how rough he was. How aggressive and long the whole display was. You thought it was some feral claiming thing, but now as Titus stands in front of you in the dim light of his ornate room you know the true intensity behind it. Titus Danforth is a virgin.

You do not laugh, you would never not with the reputation Titus has. Instead you form your words carefully, "You have never done it before?"

"No." That's it, just a flat out simple no.

A darkness sparks behind your eyes at his response. It is not like you wish to take Titus Danforth's virginity, but this? This is something to hold over his head.

"Alright." This quickness of your submission has Titus tilting his head at you. He knows it would never be that simple.

"But I have some requests as well then." There it is.

Titus's eyes darken as well, "Yes, Mrs. Danforth." He stands completely over you now, towering. His large body shields you from the light, encapsulating you in his darkness.

"I'm in charge tonight."

"I cannot promise that I will obey."

"I do not care. You will." Titus's Adams apple bobs. He does not speak again, only drops his head down to your level and takes your lips with his. This time the kiss is nothing like the one on the alter. It's slower, as if he is really tasting you.

When he pulls away he tries to read your face, searching for approval.

You do not give it, "Unzip my dress."

Titus listens instantly and unzips the back almost too flawlessly. He starts to push the fabric down your shoulders but you grab his hand, tutting warningly.

"I only said unzip it. Get on the bed."

He does. You saunter towards him slowly. Swaying your hips a bit more than usual, teasing him with every movement. Stopping at the edge of the bed you cock your head at him, the noticeable bulge in his pants finally catching your attention.

"Titus, honey I've barely even touched you." You talk to him as if he is a child and yet it doesn't make him angry, just want you more. What are you doing to the almighty Titus Danforth? And so easily too.

"Do you wish for me to?"

"Yes." He breathes out.

"Prove it. Touch yourself in front of me."

Again, he follows your orders all too easily. Unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his legs eagerly along with his underwear. His member springs to life, bouncing against his stomach.

"What a shame, you have all this and never shared it with anyone." You tut at him again, running one nail down the underside of his hard cock. Titus shivers at the feeling, he swears he could finish right then and there.

"Go on." You nod your head at him. Slowly, almost tentatively, he wraps his fingers around his dick. Gripping it completely he starts to move his hand up and down his shaft. His eyes never leave yours as he continues his motions.

He swallows, hard, sucking in a breath. You are not watching him, not like that, you are watching his face as it twists slightly in pleasure. Then you reach down under your skirts and pull your panties down your thighs. The teeny tiny black lacey piece of barely there fabric that your mom insisted you wear that morning.

They dangle from your index finger as if taunting Titus. He licks his lips at the sight, but never stops working his hand on his member. You toss them at him and they land perfectly onto his chest. He grabs them and lifts them to his nose and inhales deeply. He groans.

You bite your lip, your dominant demeanor almost dropping as you watch him slip into the intoxication of your scent.

"That's enough." You stop him. Hand stops moving instantly, he's a deer in the headlights as you slap his hand away from his dick. You lift your dress up your hips and straddle him. "My turn."

He nods quickly, desperately. His hands reach out to grab your hips to help you settle on top of him. Reaching in between the two of you, you grab his cock. You run the tip across your wet core, teasing the both of you.

Then without warning you sink onto his rock hard member and he whimpers, actually whimpers at the feeling. It just urges you forward, slowly grind your hips into his.

"Do you want to see all of me?" You ask, you were still in your stuffy dress and if you were honest you would love to feel him fully in this moment.

He nods and grabs the tulle, all but ripping it from your body. Now you are left with nothing but his shirt between the two of you. His eyes lock onto your boobs. Titus reaches forward and grabs one of them carefully, kneading it.

"You can manhandle me, you know?" You say.

"I thought you were in charge?" He asks.

"I am and I want you to use me." His eyes turn black at the permission and he sits up, teeth locking onto your neck. He bites hard, you know what he wants, to mark you.

"You're that possessive?" You want to giggle, but you bite it back.

"You have no idea." He bites again in another spot, then again. This time you gasp and look down at him. And as he looks back up at you, a drop of blood falls down his lips. He smiles at you and licks his lips clean, he moans.

"I want to fuck you." He says, no he whines.

"I already gave you permission."

So he does, he fucks up into you roughly. The thrusts continue as his face stays in your neck. He groans as he enters you particularly deeply.

Titus knows he's not going to last long, but at least he wants to make you feel good before he finishes. It's as if you can sense it as well because you grab his shoulder and push him back down onto the bed. You hover your body over his, kissing him deeply while grinding your hips into his.

Your clit grinds into his pelvis adding to your pleasure, as you use your husband below you. A hand stays on his chest to hold him down. You may have given the minute to be in charge, but there was no way that was ever going to last that long.

"You gonna cum for me Titus? Huh, wanna fill me up nice?" He gulps again and moans at your words.

"Tell me how much you wanna fill me up."

"I want to fill you up with my seed. I want to cum so that you-" And he stutters on his words, hips stuttering at the same time as his orgasm overcomes him.

He fills you with rope after rope of his cum. You would've thought he had never came before in his life. It doesn't send you over your edge, but the warmth that spreads across your body as he looses himself under you is worth it. Besides you have all night right?

Finally Titus starts to come down from his high, but you are unrelenting as you continue to work his softening dick inside of you. His fingers grip your hips tightly, leaving bruises in their wake. He whines at the feeling as a tear falls down his cheek at the pleasure.

You finally slow down your movements, but do not remove him from inside of you. Instead you lean down, face to face. You grab his chin and turn his head to the side. You run your tongue up his cheek taking the salty tear with you, blinking down at him below you. All he can do is stare back at you.

Titus Danforth was so fucked.

[madmusenavigator]

I am obsessed with your pathetic!virgin!sub!Titus. Divine.

[in-ky]

Making out with Andrew in the kitchen while the kids get ready for bed and you’re so needy and he’s so hard but then your kids ask for you from upstairs and you chuckle, having to break away from your heavy kiss. You have to go help the kids but you say to Andrew. “Once I’m done, I want your cock inside me, n’ I want you to fuck me till all I know is your name. Can you do that for me?” While kissing and nipping at his jaw and all he can do is whimper pathetically and nod before you leave to go see what your kids need.

[groovyangelkisses]

being titus' favorite cartgirl at the danforth golf course in the summer⋆˖°🏌🏼‍♀️⚘.˚⛳⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

mixing his gin tonic while he tugs on your ponytail and asks you who else you've served today. "were they nice? respectful?" "yes sir!" you chirp in response and he's smirking beneath his round glasses.

titus loves to publically toe the line, too. you're leaning over your cart to put some ice in his cup and he's using the tip of his five iron club to lift up your skirt in the slight breeze. tilting his head to see up your skirt, he looks pleased when you squeal and giggle. "just checking to see if you're in uniform, sweets"

the "uniform" being the danforth crested thong he slipped into your tip jar last week <3

[madmusenavigator]

holy shit.