gaz kisser

23 ✿ black ✿ minors dni ✿ ⚠️BLOG IN PROGRESS⚠️

[olivervnt]

✿ 𝒗𝒆𝒆, 𝒎𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒔𝒉𝒆/𝒑𝒊𝒑 𝒑𝒓𝒏𝒔, 𝒇𝒂𝒕, 𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒗𝒓, 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓, 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒍𝒖𝒕 ✿

𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴/𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘱!

𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥! 𝘌𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯! 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘵𝘩!

𝘐 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴! 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵!

𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘱! 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵!

𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴: 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ✌ | 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ✌

[patheticwhitemenlover]

waterboy catching reader touching themselves to his pics. (gn/afab reader)

thats it, thats the ask.

also because i always see fics abt him getting caught so why not turn the tables for a change :P

For you baby, anything 😔🫶

Linked to the Dancing in the moon light series (Part 1 | Part 2) and also combined with your other ask because you know I can do both 👀

The jam session felt like years ago, not a measly two weeks. Images of him playing that guitar like he was made for it stuck in your head on a loop. Getting clumsier with your calls, your hero's asking if you were ok, asking if you slept enough or were coming down with something.

But it was just Herman.

Skinny and wet and fingers plucking strings so fast it made you squirm in your seat.

And he was so nice as well. Catching you listening so intently. Stumbling through compliments on his outfit until he had suddenly added you on Spotify. Making you custom playlists, sending you videos of live performances, buying you CDs and band shirts. And you loved it.

Every second of it.

Listening to his playlists on the drive home, texting him about which songs were your favourite, asking him for covers and accepting invites to concerts that were months away.

That's how you ended up here.

In this mess.

Dressed in the shirt he gave you, laptop open to the photos the team took of him at that jam session. All smiles and flexed forearms. Hair damp but thrown back, shirt clinging to every line of his body. Jeans so tight you could see....everything. His playlist open on your phone, set to shuffle and slowly filling the air with reminders of him. How he had picked out every individual song, every word, every melody. For you.

Your hands were moving before you were thinking. Legs spreading on your mattress, laptop pushed to the side but still visible, and hand disappearing down the front of your underwear. Circling your clit as your breath hitched. So wet already.

How did he always manage do that to you? Did his powers extend that far?

Heels sliding against your sheets as you slipped a hand under your shirt, playing with your nipples as you bucked up into your hand, panting and moaning. Songs playing, photos of Herm teasing.

"F-fuck, Herm. Why do you have to be so...you?"

You bite your lips, whining as you rub just that bit faster, that bit quicker. Slipping a finger deep inside, pretending it's his. His long fingers fucking you. Playing you like his guitar. A song comes on that just doesn't fit the mood and you fumble for your phone. Head thrown back, eyes closed as you blindly swip at the screen until it skips to exactly the right song. Panting and moaning. Two fingers in, hand back on your chest.

"Oh Herm...Herm you feel so good"

You hips fucking down into your hand. Imagining him. All wet and tall. How he would smile shyly with those rosy cheeks, looking up from between your legs as he curled and fucked long fingers into you. How he would bite his lip and watch them disappear. Over and over again.

You could feel it building. Knot low in your stomach, whole body tingling as you whimpered, wishing it was him. Praying that you'll somehow open your eyes and he'll just be there. Kissing up your thighs, sucking on your clit with that wet mouth.

"Herm-fuck...you feel so good. So good...I'm going to...you'll make me-s-shit"

You felt it, a whole body tremor. Legs shaking, hips squirming and bucking. Fingers soaked and squeezed as you moaned through it. Ending on a whimper as it all became too much. Too sensitive. Fingers lifted free, hand falling to your side.

Eyes fluttering open as you heard it.

Someone clearing their throat.

"Uh...I dont-I don't know if you-you meant to call-video-chat...chat with me. But um...are those photos-pictures of me?"

Your eyes snapped to your phone. Spotify playlist open but a little box in the top corner open as well, a blushing Herman, on video chat.

"Shit!"

You slammed the end call button, flinging your phone across the room and hiding your face in your pillow. Tears filling your eyes and jaw clenched so tight your teeth hurt.

Did he...the photos, the music, you...everything? Did he see-hear everything?

Oh fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck this was not good. Not good at all.

[553580]

something something soap trying to baby trap you. you're not ready to settle down and have a family quite yet, and it's driving him nuts. he doesn't have a sniper's patience like ghost and price, he's a demoman, for chrissakes. but that's where inspiration hits- halloween is coming, and because he knows chemistry he recalls that activated charcoal treats- which will turn everything a spooky and festive black- will inhibit the effects of your birth control pill. all he's got to do is wait for the two of you to go to a party, offer you a black cup of punch, and then rail you in the bathroom later.

easy peasy, lemon-with-activated-charcoal-in-it squeezy. now all he has to do is find a new matching couples costume- the devil and the angel outfits he got the two of you is suddenly feeling just a little too on the nose.

[bunniope]

gets stuck in a washing machine but no one wants to fuck me even a little bit so i just starve to death in there

[bumpen-underbeds]

Mmm minotaur personal trainer who has you laying on a foam roller, definitely not rocking you back and forth along the mats to hide how he's shamelessly rutting his cock against you.

Hooking his hands under your knees and pressing them as far into your chest as you can, no one else is in this part of the gym so who's gonna see when he pressed forward and really grinds against you? Cooing down at you about stretching out your back and thighs as he leaks through his shorts, keeping your eyes closed as he makes sure to actually roll your back out as he humps against you.

A big beefy man, flexing his thighs as he tries not to cum when you unintentionally rock back into him, shirt drenched in sweat and clinging to the soft layer of fat over his muscles.

Just... Minotaur personal trainers.

[ballard96]

[willnaib]

jeffing out

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Need a man who is tall and strong and just stupid enough that he doesn't know what I'm talking about but he's so so interested in everything I have to say and gets little hearts around his head when I discuss my classes 💕

[saintshigaraki]

there is quite literally nothing that hits the spot for me like noncon pussy eating

[wildcarrot]

[ceilidho]

Ghost could also fit the 24/7 caretaker dom role too, but his version of caring would be a bit rougher / more abrasive. makes you take your meds and then physically checks to make sure you swallowed your pills, fingers in your mouth and under your tongue and everything.

[symbiomancy]

scientific curiosity —frankenstein's monster

—summary: You created him. You patched him together from pieces of humans and beasts - lost your license to practice medicine and your PhD for that. He should not look at you and lust. But he does. | 1.8k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, handjob, implied mating cycle/heat, thigh fucking, rutting.

The creature has an affinity for music. That fact is not even near the most fascinating thing you’ve discovered about him, but it is a very pleasant one. He taps the keys of the piano with grace, despite his size. Mozart today, huh?

“Your motor skills are improving at an incredible rate,” you say more to yourself as you scribble furiously into your notebook. The creature voices a grunt of approval as he stares at the sheet music propped up in front of him. Mentally, you pat yourself on the back for selecting such a fine brain.

You cannot deny his improvement at everything, really. He’d graduated from picture books to children’s books within two days, to classical novels and medical books within a week. Getting him acclimated to his size had been a challenge at first but it has been leaps and bounds from those days. Writing, string instruments, key instruments, all of it, a truly incredible progress. There’s only a handful of things you’ve yet to ask.

“Any sexual desire?”

His fingers stumble on the keys.

You whip around, one arm slung over the back of the chair and push so the legs screech loudly against the wooden floor. There’s a grin on your face, pen in a death grip in your hand. “Care to elaborate?” You blindly reach for the notebook still on the table, eyes fixed on his large frame, at the way he hunches over, staring firmly at the sheet music.

“No.”

“Well, it is fall,” you muse, raise your elbow to lean it against the chair backrest, pen tapping against your bottom lip. “And I did have to supplement some parts for beast parts.”

“Hadn’t even noticed.” He thumps a foot against the ground. Griffin’s hind legs. Could’ve used the wings but taking too much from one body would’ve created too much suspicion.

“I really thought a vampire’s hand would, y’know react to warm blood — a mistake on my part, I’ll admit it. But,” your grin widens even further, “fascinating how a werewolf’s knot is still a knot even if you cut it off. Does the full moon affect it in any way?”

Your creation glares at you from across the room.

“What? Scientific curiosity.”

“You had your PhD and medical license revoked for…” he takes a deep breath and takes his hands from the piano keys to motion to himself, “me.” There’s a hint of something in his tone, something that borders on disgust. You file that away to discuss at a later time. “It’s why we’re out here. Hiding.”

“There are worse reasons to lose a doctorate for. And I was a scientist while creating you. So, scientist. Now, answer my question, please?”

The creature gently pulls down the key lid on the piano, stands, and wordlessly leaves the room.

He doesn’t come down for dinner.

You stare at the vacant seat on the other side of the dinner table with a frown. His plating is untouched, steam rising from the potato stew where he usually sits. There is no creaking in the house, nothing to signal he’s coming down. You eat alone and place his meal into the still-warm oven.

His door is closed. You stand there for a while, mulling over your words, trying to string together an apology. Should you wax something long together? An explanation? Run-on sentences to try to justify your innate curiosity at your creation’s physiological state? Nothing sounds right. Nothing sounds like enough.

“I’m sorry… for asking like that. I got carried away. It wasn’t proper of me. There’s um,” you clear your throat, “I left your plate in the oven. Heat it up if you get hungry. Good night.”

You stand at the door for another prolonged moment, trying to catch any sound on the other side of the door. It’s faint, barely there, but you can make out his breathing, slow and steady. At least he’s still here. But you decide not to test your luck any further tonight and retreat to your own room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It doesn’t fit into the frame quite correctly, anyway.

Maybe he’ll at least go downstairs for dinner later.

He stands in front of your door, staring at the small sliver of moonlight that pours into the dark hallway. There are too many loud thoughts in his head, racing and colliding. His skin feels ill-fitting, a heat simmering underneath it. You ask too many questions, he thinks — has thought since he left you in the study alone to hide away in his room with the blinds drawn and his cock in hand — too many questions that prod all the right places.

It’s in your nature. You were a scientist. And a doctor with an intricate web of knowledge about the human (and creature) body. He shouldn’t fault you for asking.

While you were downstairs eating dinner alone, he had his cock in hand — not a wholly new experience but a new-ish one — stroking it over the low bathroom sink. He’d tried, tried thinking of other things but nearly all of his experiences are tied to you and your presence. So he keeps coming back to you. Your pretty face, your smile, the light in your eyes when you ask him about his body, his psyche to scribble into your umpteenth notebook all about him.

Even now with his pants undone, cock hanging out, already (or still) hard, he thinks of you. He stares at you through the crack in the door, soundly asleep in your bed. The covers are tucked tightly over your body but legs exposed to the fall chill. It’s not right, he thinks, he should at least tuck you in before you get a cold.

He pushes the door open slowly. It creaks a short, aborted squeak and you shift in bed, pull the blanket tighter against yourself. The creature steps forward, carefully placed footfalls dancing around the one creaking floorboard right at the entrance, long slow strides taking him to the foot of your bed. You shuffle again, and for a moment he thinks this is it, you’re awake, but you turn onto your back, kick at the blanket with one foot.

You are… enticing like this, he finds. He thinks that’s what this feeling is. All he has to compare it to is the novels he’s read over and over and over again.

He grabs onto your ankles with his warm hand, touch featherlight, and gently, slowly, pulls you forward. The end of your nightgown catches against the sheets, drags further up the closer you get to him. He has the anatomical knowledge of the human body — he’s read every book in the house several times over no matter if fiction or an anatomy book, he’s effectively memorized all the illustrations, if not the texts themselves.

His fingers trace the expanse of your skin, gently knead into the flesh. He can name the muscles and the tendons, the nerves at the crook of your knee. He’s spent countless hours staring at the illustrations, even the more… explicit ones. He’s curious — you’ve rubbed off on him — but it’s dark. Instead, he stares at the gap between your thighs. It’s inviting, just perfect for him to slip his cock through. It jerks at the thought, precum dribbling from the tip.

You blink slowly. The room is dark, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window above your head. In front of you, right at the foot of the bed stands a tall figure, hand wrapped around your ankles, resting against his shoulder. Your brain jogs the existence of your creation before you startle involuntarily. He startles too, nearly dropping his grip on your ankles.

“Everything alright?” You ask. The fall chill bites at your thighs and oh.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his body against the back of your legs. Something hot and heavy, wet presses between your thighs. The tip of his cock presses between your thighs, forward and backward. Slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You stare at it for a moment, then press your thighs together.

The creature groans and thrusts forward, hips assuming a sloppy pace. He’s tall and wide and big and that’s how you built him. The bed rocks with his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall, scraping at the paint. His cock plunges between your things, smears precum onto your skin, slick and wet and loud. The sound of his cock plunging between your slick thighs is nearly deafening in the silent house. Your own arousal curls under your skin but you file it away to stare at him.

This… this is not what you had in mind when you first came up with this (quite possibly very stupid, very illegal, medically and scientifically (not to mention ethically) dubious) idea. It cost you your license and your reputation, sent you into exile. You don’t regret it on the worst of days but especially not right now.

His cold hand wraps nearly wholly around your thigh and you clench around his cock involuntarily. Your muscles jerk from the sudden chill. He groans and his hips stutter for a moment, stumble in their sloppy rhythm before he regains whatever shred of his composure is left and continues thrusting. The bulb at the bottom of his shaft is engorged, knocking against your clit with every thrust. You can’t even focus on that, just on the beads of precum dribbling from the tip of his cock, smearing against your thighs as he pulls nearly all the way back. When he thrusts towards you, pearly droplets fly, splatter against your wrinkled nightgown.

He pulls you into him, hips slamming against your thighs. The metal bed frame screeches at something, you can’t even react as he thrusts forward one last time. He cums with a guttural growl that reverberates in your own chest, thighs pressing against yours, hips jerking forward. Ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock, land on your torso. You reach out, wrap a hand around the enormous cock to jerk him off, prolong his orgasm, milk him for everything he has to offer. There’s a hiss from the back of his throat as you work him empty, splattering onto your stomach and chest, even your chin. It’s warm and sticky and it sinks into your cotton nightgown, clings to your skin.

His breathing is erratic once his large frame stops shaking. His chest expands and constricts against your legs, nails digging small crescents into your ankles. Your toes are cold from the forced position.

You reach down to the puddle of cum pooling on your stomach and draw a heart into it with a small giggle.

The creature looks up from his mess tentatively, brow furrowed and lips jutted into a hopeful smile.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’ll have you know I picked out every part of you according to my personal preferences.”

banners/dividers by @/cafekitsune

[femalefemur]

[5i2]

CODposting

[sunbeamsuggestion]

shoutout to fat girls ur really pretty and i hope u have a nice day

[heich0e]

ok but who among your faves has insane exes. statistically some of them must. like they're not only extremely hot but also despise you bc u landed what they fumbled. they watch your instagram stories from burner accounts

[ave661]