𝜗𝜚 woof! 𝜗𝜚

⋆˚🐾˖° now i wanna be your dog ⋆˚🐾˖° eli ❤︎ 27 ❤︎ they/them ʚ🍓ɞ official fanfic blog ʚ🍓ɞ

[nastydogpublishingco]

🦴 abt me 🦴

eli (ee-lye)

27

leo ♌︎

they/them

friendly neighborhood smut peddler

warnings:

this is not a space for minors. i am generous with the block button

there will be nasty kinks on this blog. don't like, don't read

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[nastydogpublishingco]

(show me your) teeth

pairings: ryland grace x simon (the butcher / the convict) warnings: no smut (soz), drabble, i like the idea of simon being a slimy, nasty creature after the blood ocean so there's that, they're idiots your honor, i'll probably write more for this pairing as time goes on bc i have worms in my brain words: 1.4k

simon’s mouth (the one adorning his cheek, not the one he was born with) is a wound that never heals.

hemmed by jagged, obnoxious fangs of varying sizes, constantly oozing something (be it drool, blood, plasma, whathaveyou), it is a hindrance he is never not aware of. more than his red eye with the sickly yellow starburst around the pupil, more than the gills hewn to either side of his ribcage, more than his missing fucking arm, simon hates the mouth.

grace…well, look, he’s never seen a human being with anything even remotely close to simon’s mutations, let alone an entirely functional, indisputably eel-like mouth curving from the edge of his pink plush human lips all the way back to the top of his ear. color him curious, okay? from an entirely objective, scientific standpoint, of course…nothing more.

simon is not a fan of the semi-frequent checkups grace has to conduct on the mouth, necessary though they may be, but he manages. they’re uncomfortable, embarrassing, and frankly, it's deeply unsettling to have someone be this close to him without any intent to harm. he keeps waiting for a slap, a pinch, cruel words uttered just for simon to hear, but nothing but grace's brief, clinical touches ever come, coupled with a few bright words of encouragement.

sometimes, grace will distractedly mutter a few curt directions: turn your head, open a little wider for me, stick your tongue out, sit back, take a deep breath, lift your arms, try to relax, easy, you're doin' great, try not to move, there we go, thank you, pal. simon doesn't think grace realizes the way his breath washes over simon's neck when he does this, too lost in looking over the irradiated mess that is simon's body like it's something miraculous and fascinating instead of disgusting. but far be it from him to interrupt a medical professional while they're working — if grace notices how simon shivers, the way gooseflesh prickles every inch of exposed skin, as deft fingers nudge and spread and bare to the open air all of the ugliest, most deformed parts of simon's body, he doesn't mention it.

and simon would never, ever dare bring attention to the rosy warmth stained across the bridge of his nose whenever grace gets a little too carried away with the praise, however well-intentioned and innocent it is. he doesn't even like acknowledging it because it's fucking stupid and ridiculous, so he keeps his face as neutral as humanly possible and resolutely does not look grace in the eye while he's conducting an exam.

he sits there, like a good patient, with minimal grumbling, and lets grace prod at the slimy, discolored gums of the new mouth, check the teeth for signs of decay, swab endless q-tips through the myriad fluids constantly dribbling down the side of simon’s scarred face, and obediently turns his face this way and that when instructed.

this arrangement, awkward though it may be, works well. simon endures the gentle but insistent press of the good dr. grace's hands all over his ribs and jaw and the tender stump of his arm, and grace ensures that his singular patient, the sole other human being around for literal lightyears, doesn't die a spontaneous and gruesome death thanks to something as simple as an abscess or an infection lurking in his blood.

everything is fine. perhaps grace starts to insist upon the check-ups more regularly after a while, but that is only so he can glean a better understanding of what's going on in simon's body to avoid any potential hiccups in the future. it's for science. just for science.

everything is fine.

until it isn't.

until the mouth rends itself open one day, while grace is wiggling one of its top teeth by the root and muttering something about the potential for gum disease. with a wet, sucking riiiiippppp, simon’s cheek splits apart, sticky threads of saliva tenuously connecting the halves of his face, and grace…

he’d really, honestly been trying to make sure the tooth wasn’t going to rot out of simon’s face and cause health issues, okay? that’s why his fingers were pressing a bit too vigorously at the seam of the mouth, and so he can’t really be blamed for the way they just pop through the gaps in simon’s fangs and land smack in the middle of his warm, wet tongue before he has a chance to process what just happened.

and, no, he’s not wearing gloves, because he ran out, and he wasn’t planning on doing dental surgery (or shoving his fingers in simon’s mouth) when he woke up this morning, so he didn’t see a need to bother rocky or adrian about it! alright! sheesh!

simon…doesn’t spit him out right away. it’s odd; grace surmises if he had a mutated, anguilliform mouth sprouting out of his cheek, and someone’s hand just whoopsied into it during (what was supposed to be) a routine medical examination, he’d be pretty keen to get it out as fast as possible. but simon doesn't jerk back, doesn't lift a hand to whack grace's away; in fact, he goes as still as stone. in all fairness, so does grace, which is unwise, considering the onus of removing the offending digits rests squarely on his shoulders, and he should really be focused on that rather than the smooth, silken texture of the inside of simon’s cheek against the pads of his fingers, or the humid heat engulfing his flesh, or the way simon’s human teeth are leaving tentative indentations on the back of his hand, and —

simon turns his head; grace’s fingers slip through drool and blood and over dangerously sharp points of bone, and before he can blink, before he can breathe, the knuckles of his middle and index finger are indenting simon’s bottom lip. simon is looking right at him, one eye as dark as tilled soil, the other lamp-like and preternaturally bright. both are alight with something grace can’t name, won’t name, and oh christmas eve, his fingers are still in simon’s mouth —

“oh, oops, ha, sorry,” he says, aiming for levity and landing on Nervous Idiot. he pulls his fingers free and does not let his gaze linger on the spit-slick swell of simon’s lower lip, nor the pink flash of his tongue as it darts out to mop up the mess, because that would be weird. and this isn’t weird! it’s not! if grace believes it hard enough, it won’t be. that’s how this works, right?

simon says nothing. and that’s…fine. he’s a reticent man anyway, and grace knows he’d rather not have any of his mutations acknowledged, let alone assessed and penetrated, so that means he will file the knowledge of the errant loose tooth in the extra mouth away for later and excuse himself to go wash his hands so that simon can quickly and quietly make an escape, and they will forget all about this, and grace will not think about it later because that would be creepy and strange.

"s'okay," simon mumbles, the taste of grace still smeared along his taste buds, clean skin and antiseptic soap and the salty tang of sweat. the mouth knits itself back together, and before simon can properly drink in the sight of ryland grace flushing down to the neckline of his t-shirt, warmth oozes down the side of his face and cradles the edge of his jaw.

"oh, jeez — you've got a — hang on."

grace smushes a length of gauze into simon's cheek, scouring the fresh deluge of blood the mouth had spat out from his beard, and just like that, the moment pops and deflates like a balloon. grace presses a circular, shallow pan into simon's stomach and delicately instructs him to spit, if you need to, and he does, because all he can taste now is thick, hot waves of copper, and it's making him nauseous.

simon is cleared with a clean bill of health (all things considered), and grace doesn't rush him out the front door per se, but he doesn't need to. simon may be new to this world, to this reality, but he can still recognize when he's worn out his welcome in a given space, and just because ryland grace is too fucking nice to come right out and say that doesn't mean it's not true. so he collects his sweater (well, not his, it was grace's first, like all of his clothes), keeps his gaze pinned to the ground, and hoofs it back to his own cottage in the biodome before grace can finish forming the b in bye.

and grace is rooted to the spot, one hand clenched by his side, the other (the one with simon's cooled saliva on it) balled up against his chest, and all he can think is:

stupid fudging mouth.

[nastydogpublishingco]

bloodymary you have bewitched me, body and soul

[gxtitobxby]

daryl absolutely busts a nut immediately the first time you accidentally call him daddy whilst he fucks you

daryl with his little nympho gf who just wants to crawl inside his body :( wants to hump him all the damn time, get his hand down her shorts suck him off behind a tree just a fuckin' goon fest!

and he's lowkey all bark no bite, his rough exterior really just an act because when he has you on him with your tits soft and jiggly under your shirt with no bra pressed to the hard panes of his chest, your hands in his hair and your pussy squeezin' so fucking tight around his cock as you bounce like a little bunny up n down n up n down he has a very hard time not telling you he loves you.

he doesn't, not with his words anyway especially since you've really only known each other a couple months, but his hands keep flailing from the fat of your hips to the dirt and sticks on the ground, digging his nails to stave off the orgasm you're milking from him after just over a minute of bouncing.

the killer is your sweet whiny voice, a little on the bratty side because it's you and he's down bad n spoils you even though he pretends not to. you whimper, "please, cum inside me." he's lost in the cute scrunched up look on your face, your wet cheeks your pouty lips. "please, daddy, I want it so bad. want you to fill me up want you t—"

"wha—ough fuck" his startled question is cut off by a groan when he feels himself lose the battle of wills the second that little words escapes your lips. daddy. him? "fuck, girl, can't just—" he groans again, bordering on a whimper as he spills inside you, buckets of cum it feels like filling you up just like you asked with the help of your own orgasm making you squeeze him oh so tight. "can't just fuckin' be sayin' that shit."

but you don't care, your face is blissed out while you keep squeezing around him, the mixture of you leaking out down his balls to the dirt. "that felt nice." your eyes are almost crossed when you lean forward and smear a kiss on his lips, missing and getting half of it on his nose. "real nice."

daryl groans again, and lets his head fall back against the tree. "jesus christ."

[nastydogpublishingco]

and ykw it’s a Good Thing you said you’d probably never read what i published bc you don’t enjoy the genre i write in because then you’d have to reflect on why i kill all the absent / abusive fathers in my narratives

[nastydogpublishingco]

this is why i call my bf Dad and rely on him for emotional support more than your stupid ass

[nastydogpublishingco]

i can’t drown my daddy issues, they make me a good porn writer, or whatever oli sykes said

[nastydogpublishingco]

pt. 2: electric boogaloo

[lycheeloving]

I'm sure lots of people have posted about this... but: thigh riding with John Wick. minors dni obviously

I mean... come ON. Look at him and his stupidly strong muscles!! His thighs were MADE to be ridden! Especially if he's still wearing one of his suits...

Maybe he just got home, sits down on the couch to relax and coaxes you into his lap... You don't remember which one of you started it, but all you know is that you're grinding on his thigh, his hands on your hips, dragging you along. You're moaning and whimpering into his neck as he tells you to be good for him, to just let go...

And after you cum he fucks you into the couch until you can't form coherent sentences anymore, of course.

[writinginatree]

John Wick x reader smut (18+)

Warnings: Smut involving penetrative sex, choking.

You remember how horrified John had been at the idea the first time you brought it up, so scared of hurting you. It had taken time and starting off slow by just holding your neck without applying pressure, but now here he is, cutting off the flow of blood to your brain until black dots dance through your vision without you even having to ask.

For how much the idea had initially appalled him, he sure is enjoying this a lot. His thrusts are getting sloppy already, pushed toward the edge thanks to how tightly you're clenching around him and the sight of you struggling for consciousness.

You gasp when John loosens his grip on your neck. His hand slides up to your jaw instead, angling your head for a hungry kiss. It's all teeth and tongues, unrestrained moans swallowed by each other.

"Fuck, 'm so close, John," you whine. "Please—"

John knows exactly what you're asking for. With one more nip on your lip, he wraps his hand back around your throat and squeezes, simultaneously picking up the pace of his thrusts.

You fall apart almost instantly, mouth opened in a silent scream as your head goes fuzzy.

John fucks you through it, keeping the tight hold around your neck until his own release follows a moment later. Lying down beside you, he kisses the top of your head and gently wraps his arms around you to hold you close while you both catch your breath.

[nastydogpublishingco]

i can’t drown my daddy issues, they make me a good porn writer, or whatever oli sykes said

[nastydogpublishingco]

Hiii don’t know if you know of this but I’m trying to find a jack abbot fic, it was something along the lines of “ making sure reader always sleeps enough or and enough sleep” I think it also had a dom! Jack cw; page refreshed before I could see more :(((((((

hiiii

sorry friend i have no clue!!!

[superhoeva]

thinking about jack making reader squirt for the first time cause ex!robby never made them do that🤭

MASTERLIST(S) | PREVIOUS PART | INBOX ✉

˙⋆✮ JACK and ROBBY'S EX!READER are fucking... and jack has this trick that can make you temporarily forget that robby ever existed. warnings include language, jack pov, attending!reader, fingering, squirting, bodily fluids

"baby, you keep squirming like that, 'n i can't help you."

you're trembling so hard that your teeth might be chattering, hanging onto jack's thighs with your back to his chest. both of you against the headboard, the man's got his grip all over and inside you. one hand, his palm, is pressing warm below under your belly button. the other has two fingers pumping inside your hole, making sure to curl right into the spot he's been massaging long enough to have you sweating and slurring your words.

"…f-uh-ck you," is all you breathe back, and jack kisses the side of your head before pressing his cheek into the same spot with a silent laugh.

"would," jack croaks, bending his arm to stuff his fingers a little deeper. just because he can. "but 'm kinda in the middle'a something, if you haven't noticed."

a strangled noise cracks out of your throat, and jack hums as to say, yep, right. exactly.

"see, i got this sweet thing wrapped up nice here, who claimed i couldn't make them squirt like a fountain, and yet…" jack trails off to a concentrated, lip-bitten pause at the feeling of a familiar clench around his fingers. grunting, he pumps away until a pretty splash gushes from between your quaking thighs. "here you are. my fuckin' fountain."

jack keeps moving, squelching his hand from you just so swipe flat fingers across your clit to keep you flooding his sheets. even though his lips find your ear to rasp you through, jack can't really talk. too busy watching the way your skin shines and stomach flipping at how you're grabbing at him and begging for something only he's been able to give you.

"i know, baby… i know."

jack helps you loop your arm around his neck as another anchor, patting your belly while you try to breathe between shakes.

good. good, just breathe and forget it.

all of it.

[nastydogpublishingco]

daddy!jack abbot pt. 2 electric boogaloo

daddy!jack who takes it upon himself to portion out your medicine when you’re sick. he knows you hate the cough syrup, but it just works so much faster than pills do (which logically, you know, but emotionally, blech), so he pinches your nose shut and tips the tiny capful of dark, viscous liquid against your lips until you swallow it aaaallll down (with minimal whimpering, you’d like to point out). your reward is an apple juice chaser and a kiss on the forehead, in that order.

daddy!jack who does outfit checks before you leave the house (at your request). truthfully, he doesn’t care what (or how little) you wear, because you’re a grown up, and moreover, he can fight, but — he does love the shy, eager little look in your eye when you give him a spin and ask, “is this okay?” the answer is always yes, except for when it isn’t, except for when you twirl around in a barely-there skirt and no fucking panties and jack has to march you back upstairs by the scruff of your neck to get changed.

daddy!jack who draws you baths after you’ve had a particularly hard day at work, and then sits on the lid of the toilet to wash your hair as you vent all of your frustrations to him. is the position murder on his back? yes. but it’s worth it to feel you melt under his hands, to watch you relax enough to scoop up a frothy pile of bubbles in both hands and blow them, giggling, in his direction.

daddy!jack who drops everything to comfort you at 3am after you’ve had a nightmare. he doesn’t give two shits that he’s at work; he tells dana that he needs to step out into the ambulance bay and then books it before she can respond. he calls you, soothes you, murmurs sweet nothings into the phone, takes deep breaths with you — “biiiig breath in, through your nose, there we go, now bloooowww it out, that’s it, good job, baby” — and doesn’t hang up until you’re sleepily slurring your words and dozing off in the middle of a sentence.

daddy!jack who buys you stuffies for completely innocuous reasons…at first. it’s such a simple, easy way to make his baby happy, and it’s not like a couple of them at a time are gonna break the bank, so before you know it you are positively inundated with stuffed animals of all shapes, sizes, and species. the best part? they all smell like jack. that’s the best excuse you can come up with, anyway, when he comes home early one night and catches you humping one of the larger stuffies, cheeks ruddy, chest heaving, eyes glassy. and he should be mad, and you should be in trouble, because you know better, but jack just grins at you and parks himself on the edge of the bed.

“don’t stop on my account, honey,” he says, eyes shining, head tilted, something dangerous and terribly exciting in his gaze. “give daddy something pretty to look at while he gets off too.”

daddy!jack who takes you over his knee the moment you’re about to cum, his cock rock hard and leaky against the soft give of your belly, because as good as you look, as sweet as you sound, you didn’t have permission to climb on top of your stuffie, and he’s not just gonna reward that kind of behavior. your pitiful, hiccuping sobs and gasped apologies fall on deaf ears, and when you kick or thrash against him he tsks and spanks you harder.

daddy!jack who buys you a new stuffie the next day anyway, but when you go to thank him, he juts his chin at the bed.

“go ahead and show me how much you like your new toy, baby.”

[attaboy-lew]

NOAH WYLE THE MAN THAT YOU ARE!!!!!!

[iamaya03]

shawn and noah in this gif are we serious

[nastydogpublishingco]

https://www.tumblr.com/nastydogpublishingco/815518772034224128?source=share

I love seeing others appreciate your work 💙 you deserve it 💙

🥺🥺🥺🥺 this is so sweet i love y’all

[barnesdreamcatcher]

jack abbot, who practices getting down on one knee as smoothly as possible the day he buys your ring. 

jack abbot, who is so scared that you’ll say no that he stumbles over his words when he asks you the question. 

jack abbot, who begs you to repeat your answer three times, smiling from ear to ear when the ‘yes’ finally sinks in. 

jack abbot, who puts the biggest goddamn rock on your finger, trying to be all smug about it, but he just stares at you with puppy eyes and hopes that you like the ring he picked out. 

jack abbot, who looks at you like you’re insane when you ask about the budget while wedding planning.  “princess, just pick whatever you want. i’ll pay for it.”

jack abbot, who cries when you walk down the aisle. robby is next to him, smiling like an idiot when he sees his best friend finally get what he wants, what he deserves—the love of a woman who absolutely adores him. 

jack abbot, who thinks about his first wife for a second, and while he misses her, he just knows that she sent you his way on purpose. 

jack abbot, who has practiced dancing with his prosthetic for weeks now. he is desperate to get everything right, all for you. 

jack abbot, who refuses to take a break from twirling you across the dance floor. who grinds his teeth when his leg starts hurting. who tries to push through it until you force him to sit down with you.

jack abbot, who is so scared that he won’t be enough for you. 

jack abbot, who melts into your arms when you reassure him that he is. 

full oneshot coming tomorrow ♡