wallacepolsom
Mike Driver
Sade Olutola
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
roma★
titsay
oozey mess
NASA
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Misplaced Lens Cap
tumblr dot com
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Jules of Nature
⁂
DEAR READER
almost home
if i look back, i am lost
izzy's playlists!
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@quarterlifekitty
Warning: I dabble in dark content. I reblog/create posts that contain potentially upsetting content such as dub-con, noncon, piss kink, fauxcest, graphic violence, etc. these will be tagged, but peruse at your own risk.
Do not use my work in any AI model.
Limit list (non exhaustive list of weird things I will/will not write about)
a thing for mermay i guess
"three enemies heading your way, nik." "then keep them out."
Enemies to lovers with chubby fem reader where you're both fragrance influencers and you disagree on a perfume
It's a petty rivalry to be sure, but you started it. Noah was just reviewing another perfume he received in PR and gave it a scathing review.
"It's too sweet," he grumbles pulling the perfume away from him. "Why the hell is everything so sweet these days? Can the gourmand trend please pass so we can get some real perfumes back into the game?"
The video went viral. His fans agreed while newcomers argued that it was a good perfume. He didn't care. He was getting more money when people got angry in his comments.
But then you made a review in response.
"I like this perfume! The strawberry and coconut combination really shines through, but it's not overbearing. And the whipped cream is a nice addition once it dries down. What Noah doesn't seem to understand is that not all scents were made to please men," you say with a disgustingly sweet smile. "Anyways, this is a great dupe for—"
Noah doesn't listen to the rest of the video. To call out his name over a stupid perfume? Oh, this means war.
He starts making reviews of every perfume you review, and he always disagrees.
"Again, too sweet. This perfume may not be made for a man, but what's the point of wearing a perfume if you don't want to attract a man? One out of five."
"We've gotta stop promoting strawberry marshmallow perfumes. It's so overdone. I think I've smelled one good strawberry marshmallow perfume, but I wouldn't want my girlfriend to wear it. One out of five stars."
"What the hell is the obsession with vanilla these days? Honestly, this isn't special. You could find this at Marshall's. I'd give this a zero if I could. One out of five stars."
Over and over again, he criticizes each perfume you review. He expects a reaction, a comeback video, but you give him nothing. You mentioned his name once and then he never hears it again, and frankly that pisses him off.
Then one day you have a big announcement.
"I've been keeping this a secret for a long time and finally I get to reveal it to yall!" You lift up a pink bottle slowly and squeal. "I collaborated with my favorite perfume company and made my own perfume! I'm so so happy with how it turned out! I've put a lot of hard work into this perfume and I hope you all like it. And as an added bonus, if you pre-order this perfume and use my code, you'll get fifteen percent off your order!"
He's already adding the perfume to his shopping cart before he even knows what the notes are. He can't wait to destroy you in this next review.
To his surprise, he gets a package the next day from the same company. When he opens it, he finds your new perfume inside and a handwritten note.
I figured you'd want to review this before anyone else could. I hope you hate it!
Y/N
He scoffs, but he's already going to his setup to film a review. He decides to do a surprise livestream to review your new perfume. He hasn't even taken off the plastic wrapping on the box when he starts.
"Hello, everyone!" he announces once his audience grows to his liking. "I got a surprise in the mail today and thought I'd do a live review of it for you all. I haven't opened it yet, but let's get started."
He takes off the plastic, and opens the box.
"First off," he starts, lifting the bottle, "pink? How girly can you get? And the bottle may be decently heavy because of the glass, but it looks cheap regardless. There's nothing unique about a rectangular bottle. At least be a little original."
He grabs a strip of paper, spraying on the perfume and waving it around.
"I don't have high hopes for this, but I'll be fair in my review."
He brings the paper to his nose once the perfume dries and takes a sniff.
His eyes widen.
"Uh..." He swallows, taking another sniff, this one longer. "Um... well, I can definitely smell roses, which is nice, but it's a bit fruity too, like peach and pear." He feels his face burning as he takes another whiff. "As it dries further, I'm getting notes of ylang ylang and jasmine and... definitely vanilla but there's also a musk to it that helps everything settle." He tries not to look into the camera as he continues breathing in the perfume. "It's sweet but mature, like an older woman with a lot of power. What's this called? 'Dutchess'? Ah... yeah, the name fits."
His comments are blowing up, moving too fast for him to read, but he couldn't make out the words if he wanted too. He's too distracted by the scent, how it engulfs his senses and holds him there, drawing him further in.
"Uh..." He has to focus. At the very least, he has to wrap things up. He clears his throat and puts the paper slip down despite wanting to keep smelling it. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. I didn't expect this kind of perfume for this price point, especially from a creator like Y/N who always reviews overly sweet perfumes. I think it's, um... decent, and I would be interested in any woman if she smelled like this. I'll give it five—no, four point five out of five stars. It's kind of tacky to put vanilla in there."
His comments fly by on the screen as he clears his throat again.
"Ah, well, that's all I've got today. Thanks for joining this impromptu livestream and I'll see you guys later."
He ends the livestream quickly, exiting out of the app and putting his phone down. He glances at the strip of paper before picking it up, bringing it to his nose, taking another whiff of the perfume you created. The roses hit him again along with the pear, sweet but not overbearing like other perfumes you've reviewed, floral and seductive. He imagines you wearing this at a fancy restaurant, wearing a tight black dress and red bottom heels.
He has to go outside for some fresh air to clear his head and subside the ache in his groin.
He thinks he's going crazy.
Ever since his review of your perfume collaboration, his life has gone downhill. Everyone clipped his livestream and reposted it, and drama channels are making all kinds of comments about it.
"Pretty boy fragrance guru Noah Flowers has finally agreed with something Y/N has done? Fans are shocked by his recent livestream reviewing Y/N's new perfume collab!"
"I can't believe Noah Flowers actually liked Y/N's new perfume! I haven't received it yet, but I'm hoping it lives up to my expectations!"
"I think it's so typical of a man to hate what a woman does but secretly like her, and Noah Flowers is no different. Of course Noah likes her perfume! He probably jerks off to her pictures in private and then makes a hate video about her after!"
His side of the internet couldn't shut up about the incident, and he couldn't get the perfume out of his head. It seemed like every day, he would try to go about his business, but at some point he would go back to that perfume and smell it for a couple minutes before he could continue with his day.
And he would never admit it, but some of them were right. Your perfume scratched an itch he didn't know he had. It was consuming every fiber of his being. Hell, he even held up a test strip of your perfume to his nose while he jerked off one time, just so he could enjoy two things he liked at once.
He couldn't focus, he couldn't sleep. Roses and pear and vanilla and musk fogged his mind day in and day out. He thinks about messaging you and apologizing, asking about the perfume making process as if he hasn't had a few collaborations of his own, trying to figure out how you made such an addictive scent.
He checks his email to find an invitation to a perfume gala that a few companies were collaborating on. New perfumes would be introduced and full size bottles would be given out. He's not sure if he wants to RSVP to the event until he sees a new video by you.
"Yall will never guess what I got in the mail today!" You put a screenshot of the email on the screen. "I got invited to Infinity's Perfume Gala this summer! I've already RSVP'd and I can't wait to go! I'm looking for some plus size clothing brands to buy from so I can get some new outfits for this event: do yall have any recommendations? Also, I have no clue what perfume to wear! Should I wear my collab perfume or—"
He hurries back to his email to RSVP to the event.
The event is as extravagant as they advertised. There are at least five perfume companies he's come across giving out full size bottles of perfume and cologne, and there are plenty more giving out free samples. Noah has found his online friends and is walking around the event with them, chatting while smelling samples.
"Oh, did you hear about the lady going around the event and smelling everyone?" one says.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding? How tacky."
"I know, right? She's got a bag of coffee beans that she smells in between. She looks like a hillbilly."
"Is it someone we know?" Noah asks, picking up another sample.
"Fuck, I forget her name. Ah, shit, she... oh! She came out with that new perfume in the spring! Wait, you did a livestream on it, remember?"
"Y/N?!" he almost gawks, body burning, eyes wide. His friends slowly smirk, giving him knowing stares.
"Ah, yeah, Y/N. She looks good too. She's got this tight dress on and—oh, hey, there she is."
Noah whips around, eyes searching before they fall on you. Shit, you do look good. You're wearing this skin tight two piece outfit that you fill out so well and some white heels, and you're laughing with some other women as you walk. He wonders if you're wearing your collab perfume. Would it smell better if it settled on your skin or your hair? Would it drive him even crazier—fuck, you're walking over here.
He turns quickly to look back at the table as his group greets yours. Your voice sticks out to him, so sweet and cheery within all the noise of the event. He can't look at you. What if he gets hard? What if he does so and you notice? God, that would be so fucking embarrassing that he could die—
"C'mon, Noah, quit being shy," his friend says as he turns Noah around to face you. Despite how he's treated you online, you still smile kindly at him.
"Hi, Noah."
"H-Hi Y/N..." he mumbles.
"I kinda figured you'd show up to this, but I wasn't sure if we'd bump into each other! Small world, right?"
"R... Right..."
"Oh, I just have to know what you smell like."
"Wha—"
Before he can react, you've approached him, grabbing his suit and pulling him down so you can take a deep breath from his neck.
"Oh. My. God." You take another whiff. "Holy fuck, you smell good! I'm definitely getting the leather, but I can smell amber too and it's soooo good. What are you wearing?"
"T... Tom F-Ford's Tuscan Leather..."
"Oh my god, seriously?! I can't believe it! I mean, it smelled good in the store, but I didn't think it'd smell this good on somebody else! I wanna get their Lost Cherry sooooo bad but I just can't justify the price point—"
He can't focus. You're so close, and you smell so good. It has to be your collab perfume, but somehow it smells even better on you, so floral and divine. He wants to smell you more, but he stays still as you keep sniffing his neck and collar. Shit, he feels his cock pulsing. If you get any closer to him, he might pop the biggest boner he's ever had—
"Jeez, Y/N!" one of the women says, pulling you away from him. "You've sniffed, like, every guy at this gala. You've gotta chill out!"
"Sorry, sorry!" you say to the group. "I can't help it! I gotta find the perfect perfume so I can make my future boyfriend wear it!"
'Future boyfriend': does that mean you don't have a boyfriend now? Are you single? How can you be single when you look and smell so good? Noah watches as you pull out a small bag off coffee beans and stick your nose in the opening. Fuck, you're so fucking cute—
"You ladies busy later? Wanna join us for dinner?" his friend asks, and Noah suddenly can't stop thinking about sitting next to you during dinner, that delicious perfume clouding his senses.
"Nah, we're good," one of the other women says. "We're gonna have a girl's night, but thanks for offering."
"Well, don't have too much fun."
"We will!" you beam, saying your goodbye's before dragging your friends off. "C'mon, I wanna see if Coach has full size bottles!"
Noah watches you go, focused on the sway of your hips as you walk away. His friend shakes his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.
"Dude. Your dick is popping out."
Noah panics, looking down just to find that his pants aren't tented. The other men laugh.
"Made you look!"
"Shut up, assholes..."
When he leaves the gala, he goes back to the hotel room to shower and change, spraying a new cologne for dinner. The dinner is nice, fancy with dimmed golden lighting, but he can't stop thinking about you, hiw pretty you looked, how good you smelled. He gas to adjust himself under the table just to sit comfortably.
He gets an Uber back to his hotel, wishing he had a better buzz. He's still thinking about you, his thoughts far from pure. Maybe he'll jerk off when he gets back to the hotel room. He has your perfume in his checked luggage; it wouldn't hurt to take a whiff while he fists his cock, right?
When he gets out of the car, another car pulls up behind, the door opening and the sound of pop music leaking out. Two women stumble out of the car, laughing and singing together, holding on to each other. One of them is you.
"Y/N?" he says without thinking. You look up and smile.
"Oh my god, Noah! Are you at this hotel too? Small, small world!"
"Are you drunk?"
"Naaaaah! I just got a good buzz going! She's drunk tho," you motion to your friend who is swaying.
"Nah... I'm good, I'm good... Just gotta get to bed..."
"Let me help you," he offers, walking over.
"Oh, for real? That's so nice of you, Noah!"
"It's nothing. What floor are you on?"
Noah helps your friend to the third floor as you follow behind. He keeps her from tumbling as you unlock her room and help her inside. Once she's safe in bed, you exit the room, where he is still standing, hands in his pockets.
"Thanks again for your help," you tell him once you get in the elevator together. You're wearing a mini dress now, with heels that have ribbons winding up your calves. He tries to smell you, but you're too far away for him to do that without seeming weird.
"It's no problem," he mumbles as a reply, staring down at his polished shoes. You stand in silence together for a moment before you turn to him.
"My perfume collab was a hit," you say. "The company wants to do another."
"Oh, really? That's great."
"Yeah, but I don't know what I wanna do this time. I have a prototype but I don't know how people will feel about it."
"Well, what are the notes?"
"Ah, it's too hard to explain. It'd be a lot easier if you smelled it. Why don't you come by my room real quick so you can see—or, I should say smell—what I'm talking about?"
He's in dangerous territory now. He should say no. He's not sure if he could contain himself if he was with you in a tight space surrounded by your scent.
"C'moooon, Noah. It smells soooo good, I promise! Just come smell it real quick and then you can go to bed."
For some reason, he can't say no to you.
Your room is identical to his, but it smells way nicer. Vanilla lingers near the shower, and he glances to see a body cream and oil on the sink. He wonders how soft you feel as you dig around your bag.
"Okay, so it might not be up your alley, but I want you to go in with an open mind. Keep smelling this until I tell you to stop," you say as you toss your coffee bag to him. He catches it, opening it and sticking his nose inside as you pull out a boring bottle.
"You gonna tell me the notes or what?"
"Nooo, I want you to guess! That's the fun part, isn't it?" you ask, dousing yourself in the perfume. He thinks it's excessive to be spraying so much on yourself, but he also finds himself excited to smell this new scent on you.
"Okay," you say twirling for a bit to air out the perfume before you walk towards him. You smile, tilting your head slightly to present your pretty neck. "Smell me."
He hesitates, slowly lowering the bag, a wave of pomegranate hitting his senses. He leans down quickly for a better scent, taking a deep breath. He was right about the pomegranate, but there's also raspberry and orchid and violet and mahogany.
"Oh my god," he whispers, burying his nose into your neck and sighing after a big breath. "Oh my god—"
"You like it?" you ask, voice soft.
"Do I like it?" He takes another deep breath and has to stop himself from groaning. "You smell fucking incredible. If I had a girl that smelled like this, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of her."
You hum, and he realizes how close you are to his own neck.
"You smell good too," you whisper. "I've smelled this before."
He scoffs.
"I doubt it—"
"No, seriously." You grab his suit jacket and pull him down further, taking another whiff. "It's... woody and aromatic. I know this scent, I swear..."
You hum in thought as he continues to appreciate your scent. He doubts you know it. Not even his friends could guess what he was wearing.
"Hah!" You pull away with a smile. "Mélange by Christopher Watkins!"
His eyes widen.
"I knew it!" you gleam, bouncing up and down.
"How did you..."
"I got this scent last summer!" You pull him back in and take another whiff. "It starts with lavender and juniper berries, but then it settles into tonka bean and patchouli. I was obsessed with this scent for the longest time because it was so good but basically unheard of. I got it for my boyfriend at the time but then he took it when we broke up. I was so pissed."
You hum, rubbing your face into his collar, sighing happily.
"I wish I could smell this all the time with a man's natural musk."
"I can't believe you know this cologne."
"How could I forget it? I sprayed it on my boyfriend's balls so I would actually enjoy giving him a blowjob."
That makes him swallow hard. The thought of you bare on your knees in front of him, wanting to please him. Shit, now he's thinking about sixty-nining you, your cunt suffocating him with your scent as you suck him off. He wonders what your pussy smells like when it's dripping wet—
"Noah."
He looks down at you, shocked at the seductive smile you're giving him.
"Don't you think we smell good together?"
"H-Huh?"
"I think our perfumes smell so good together. Like rough sex during a thunderstorm, hot and passionate and needy." Your hands run along his chest, finding his neck, fingers teasing his hair. "I bet it'd smell even better with real sex, all the sweat and musk mixing in, with our perfume."
He has to leave. If you keep talking like that he's gonna go crazy, but you're leaning into him and you smell so good and your body is so plush and soft.
A crack of thunder makes you jump, glancing at the window. It starts pouring rain shortly after, making you huff and look at him.
"Would you look at that?" you coo, leaning closer, lips just a breath away. "A thunderstorm."
"I told you it would smell even better," you sigh, twisting in the sheets as he thrusts into you.
"Yeah, yeah. You want me to say you were right or something?" he pants, trying to keep his rhythm, but the mix of your scents is distracting.
"Yeah," you huff, reaching out just to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. Your perfume is overwhelming in this position, making his head fuzzy. "Tell me that I'm right."
He huffs, about to disregard what you say, but you push the back of his head down into your neck and that delicious smell enraptures him all over again.
"Yeah," he says, pressing his nose into your neck, taking a big breath in. "Yeah, you were right."
"I was always right, wasn't I?"
"Don't push it—"
"C'mon, just say it. It'll make me cum easier."
He blinks, looking at you, seeing your adorable pout. He huffs.
"Alright, fine. You were always right."
"Ha ha!" you tease, pinching his cheeks. "I made you say it! I was right, I was right, I was—oh!"
He speeds up, thrusting harder, making you squeal and whine.
"You're so fucking annoying," he grumbles.
"Y-Yeah," you moan, tossing your head back as you palm your breast. "But at least I smell good."
He scoffs, but he doesn't deny it, instead choosing to tuck his face back into your neck so he can smell you while he fucks you.
"Do you usually get this wet? Or is it because of me?"
"Which answer will make you rub my clit?"
"Just be honest."
You huff, nosing at his neck.
"Honest, huh?" He grunts in reply, his hand trailing down your stomach as you shakily exhale. "Honestly, I usually get this wet, but it's been a long fucking time."
"Yeah?" he whispers, thumb pressing between your plump folds to fiddle with your clit. "How long?"
"Jesus, I don't know. I don't keep track—oooh, fuck, right there!"
He focuses on the spot, listening to your pleas for him to go harder, then faster.
"Oh my god, da—N-Noah!"
"What?" he asks, slowing down, making you whine.
"No, no, no, I wanna cum—"
"You almost said something. 'Da'? 'Da' what?"
You whine, turning your head away, eyes squeezed shut.
"Don't make me say it. It's embarrassing."
"I'm not gonna laugh at you."
Still, you keep your mouth shut, even as he rocks into you. He leans down, ghosting your ear.
"Were you gonna call me 'daddy'?"
You whine, tucking your face into his neck.
"Just tell me, Y/N."
"... Y-Yeah..."
His dick twitches at the thought.
"You can call me daddy. I don't mind," he whispers reassuringly. You keep quiet, so he stops completely, making you whine unhappily. "Tell daddy what you want."
You nuzzle into his chest, squeezing his shoulders.
"...Please fuck me daddy. I wanna cum."
He swallows hard as he pulls back, thrusting in hard, making you squeak. He builds up his pace again, giving you that same rhythm as before, making you moan.
"You wanna cum for daddy?"
"U-Uh-huh!" you mewl.
"What can daddy do to make you cum?"
You pull away and look up with glassy eyes.
"Kiss me," you almost beg, and he complies with your request immediately, crashing his lips to yours, swallowing your moan. Your hips curl into his, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. One hand is rubbing your clit quickly while the other toys with your breast, squeezing and pinching and pulling. He knows you're almost there; he can feel you pulsate around him. He's certain that just with a little more work he can—
You pull away, letting out a wail. At the same time, he feels your cunt clench down on him, making him struggle to move. It's all too good: the way you sound and look and smell. He's not going to last much longer. Even just the look you're giving him now makes him want to let go.
"Lemme go," he says quickly, pulling at your leg. "I'm gonna cum."
"Then just cum in me then."
"What?" he asks, shocked, but his dick is harder than ever, ready to bust at any moment. "N-No, I can't, I can't get you pregnant, I—"
"Dummy," you mumble, rolling your hips, making him gasp. "I'm on birth control. Just cum in me already. If you don't, I'm gonna have you make me cum again and—"
Before you can finish, he's reached his climax. He pushes in as far as he can go, letting out this low groan in the back of his throat as warmth blooms inside you. You pout as he starts gasping for air.
"Damn. I wanted to cum again."
He huffs, riding out his high before he leans down, grabbing you and flipping you both over so you're laying on top of him, his cock still inside you.
"You good?" you finally ask, pushing against his cheek. He bats your hand away but doesn't stop you when you do the same action again.
"Yeah... I'm good. Are you good?"
"I guess." You sit up on his cock, the view turning him on. "I wanna cum more."
"Jesus," he groans. "I didn't satisfy you?"
"You did, but I still want more." You bounce gently on his sensitive cock, making him sputter. "I wanna cum so much I can't even move."
"Fucking—" He pulls you up and off his dick, sighing with relief once you're off of him. You pout, kneeling beside him as he catches his breath. He glances at you, your lip jutted out, and feels a wave of heat go straight to his dick. He sighs, sitting up against the headboard. "Gimme five minutes to recover and then I'll fuck you again, alright?"
The giddy squeal you let out just makes his body burn hotter.
MORGAN SPECTOR photographed by Jeremy Liebman for Cultured Magazine
I love a misunderstanding where you kiss your friend on the cheek and he gets all serious and goes, "You shouldn't have done that." And you feel awful believing you overstepped a boundary, but he's internally spiraling because the sensation went straight to his cock and he'll be up all night thinking about it.
No thoughts just alpha!ghost who grew learning to control his scent and omega!reader who very much...didn't.
Ghost had always been told that spilling your scent everywhere was poor manners, that only children couldn't control their scent. Meanwhile you were taught that having an open scent was essential for communication and perfectly normal.
Which means the first time ghost meets you, his instincts have no idea what to do with such strong happy omega scents suddenly in his space. Ghost grew up with scent blockers at home, and in most public spaces people wear some sort of blocker. You barely have a chance to purr a greeting before he's grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving his face into your neck.
"Mghhggh— omega. Sweet. Good." He rumbles, low and muffled into skin, almost as if he doesn't register it's happening. You can only stand in shocked confusion. Gaze slipping to the still open door of his office and wondering if you should call for help, because you have no idea why he's acting like this and—
"Fuck— you smell good— christ—" ghost holds you tighter, crowding you against the desk. You tentatively lean in to sniff around his scent blockers and get the faintest scent of arousal.
Which is instantly confirmed by his hips rutting forward, his hard cock rubbing against you while he whines "sorry— I don't— fuck that's good—"
Oh. Oh shit. The peices slowly click into place, and you realize exactly what your scent is doing to him, though you always thought this sort of aphrodisiac like reaction was a myth.
You try to soften your scent, knowing it will stress him out if your own scent fluctuates too much, one hand sneaking up to massage the back of his neck "hey. Hey, it's okay. I get it, do what you need to do."
Ghost makes a sound caught between a growl and a keen, pressing the entire length of his body against you. "Fuck— sorry— hold still— omega. Smell good. Mhhh—!"
You've never seen an alpha react like this.
You've also never seen an alpha pop a dry knot in his trousers, and yet thats exactly what ghost just did.
....you. probably shouldn't leave him alone in such a vulnerable state, right? You should stick around in his office, close the door and makes sure he's okay.
You're just being a considerate coworker....or thats what you'll tell yourself later.
I just need everyone to shut up and realize Soap is getting you pregnant even without trying on the first load he gives you.
And sure he has hyperspermia and it doesn’t mean people who have it always have a high sperm count but god damn it, that Scottish man could get your pregnant anytime you want. And maybe you weren’t trying, but you’d finally let the man turn you into a little cumdumb instead of making him pull out. Groaning your name while his fat and girthy length is pulling your sopping wet walls apart everytime he rails into you, your hand going down his tattooed and slightly hair chest, clenching down on him hard when he hits the perfect spot, your uterus practically begging to get knocked up.
You feel every fucking ounce, ever glob that paints your walls white, till it’s leaking out, always groaning that it’s too much, too full. But you take all of you, going dizzy at how good it feels.
“Sorry hen, can’t help m’self.” Soap shudders but he only pulling you closer by your legs, calf’s thrown over his right shoulder, watching your weary body only succumb to the pleasure of it. The man just loves being inside your tight heat, dragging him further inside your warm walls.
He gives you a brutal thrust, hand palming your stomach where he can feel his pulsing tip, before kissing your knee, blue eyes glossed over, “Bet ye a wee babes already in there, aye Bon?”
Didn’t even take a fucking week for you to start feeling symptoms, a pregnancy test already positive before you’d even realize, you weren’t even ovulating.
He’ll tug your standing form in between his legs, covering your face in embarrassment and shock. Johnny will kiss your stomach, “Knew it wouldn’t take long f’me t’meet ye baby, bloody mental. Don’t worry though, Da ‘nd mummy are ‘ere.”
Can’t stop thinking about Trucker!Simon who’s been rolling for four straight days without a real shower, big frame crammed behind the wheel of his rig, the sleeper cab behind him smelling like diesel, old sweat, stale cigarette smoke, and faint grease of last week’s truck stop burgers.
Trucker!Simon who’s got you- the pretty little bird he picked up on the side of the interstate at 2am, thumb stuck out in your pretty little sundress, soft tits spilling heavier over the neckline every time you breathe, panicked, after you’d quietly explained through the open window that someone had ditched you out there, hundreds of miles from home with nothing but your bag and you just needed a ride to the next town, anywhere, please- in his sleeper, curled up on sheets stiff with old sweat and cum, stained more than clean.
Soft thighs pressed together, pretty mouth parted, eyes wide and already glassy in the low light from the dash. He’s too big for the space, has to duck his head, shoulders brushing the sides, and he fills it completely when he crawls in after you.
Shirt half unbuttoned and stuck to his chest with sweat, jeans open and shoved down, freeing that heavy cock that you’ve seen the outline of under his oil stained pants when he’d palm at it, bulging against his thigh when he drove under street lamps to this trucker stop.
It hangs thick and flushed between his thighs now, heavy balls drawn up tight, the skin at the base dark with dried sweat and the pre he’s been leaking into his boxers since he got a whiff of your sweet floral perfume as you climbed into his rig.
Kneels on the mattress, one big hand braced on the low ceiling, the other reaching down to fist his cock slow and lazy, eyes dragging over you, your soft curves, the way your pretty clothes are already rumpled from being in his rig, the little tremble in your thighs that only gets worse when he leans in closer.
Mattress dipping under his weight, until his chest is right in front of your face, heat rolling off him intense. You wrinkle your nose hard, trying to turn your face away, shoulders curling in like you can escape the stench.
He shifts his weight anyway, knees forcing between your thighs, spreading them wider, one nicotine stained hand wrapping around yours, yanking it down to wrap around his cock. It’s hot, heavy, the skin at the base tacky. Your fingers don’t quite meet around it.
You flinch violently, trying to yank your hand back with a soft disgusted sound, but he just wraps his bigger one over yours and makes you stroke him once, twice, slow, firm drags that smear fresh precum down the shaft while your lower lip wobbles and your breath comes in tiny, hiccuping gasps. He groans at the skin of your hand around his cock which is all too used to the feeling of his calloused hands and scratchy sheets and not at all used to soft and warm.
His fingers thread into your hair, digging into the base of your skull, and he forces your face down the trail of coarse hair on his stomach until your pretty mouth is pressed right against the root of his cock.
The smell is strongest here, musky and sharp, the faint bitter trace of old piss where he’s been too lazy to stop properly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try harder to twist away, soft disgusted whimpers catching in your throat, hands pushing weakly at his stomach, nose wrinkling as you gag at the smell of him. He holds you there until your lips brush the tacky skin.
Rocks his hips forward, the fat head of his cock smearing across your soft cheek, leaving a shiny streak. “Open up.”
When your lips part and you take him in, he grunts low, the wet heat of your mouth making his balls draw up tighter. He pushes the taste of road and sweat across your tongue, then deeper.
You choke immediately, a wet, panicked sound bubbling up as your hands fly to his hips, pushing hard. Tears bead in your lashes and spill down your temples, nose wrinkling hard at the stench, but he doesn’t let you pull back. Both big hands sink into your hair, fingers twisting tight at the roots, dragging you down, groaning when he pushes into your throat, feels it convulse around the fat head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he rasps, barely a word, more a punched out sound of satisfaction.
Then he shoves you down the rest of the way, using his grip on your hair to force your pretty mouth lower, inch by inch, until your nose is pressed flush against the sweaty, crusty hair at the base of his cock.
Your throat spasms hard around him, fluttering and squeezing, and he groans again, deeper this time, hips twitching forward. Saliva floods your mouth instantly, thick and messy, spilling out around your stretched lips and dripping down his balls in shiny strings.
He holds you there, nose buried in the damp, crusted pubes that smell like days of sweat and road grime, cock buried to the hilt in your spasming throat.
One thumb slides forward, pressing against the outside of your neck, feeling the obscene bulge of his cock stretching your throat. He rubs it slowly, while your eyes water and more tears track down your face.
Then he starts to rut, grinding his cock deeper into your throat while saliva pours out of you. Every time he pulls back just enough for you to gasp a wet, choked breath, thick strings of spit stretch between your lips and his cock before he shoves you back down again.
Your hands keep pushing at his thighs, manicured nails scraping over sweat slick skin, but he just tightens his grip in your hair and fucks your throat harder, deeper.
The wet, gurgling sounds are obscene in the cramped sleeper. Your mascara is running, pretty face a mess of tears and spit, nose still wrinkled in disgust even as your throat keeps fluttering and milking him. He groans every time you gag, the sound low and satisfied, hips rolling in steady, filthy ruts that smear more of your saliva into his pubes and down his balls until they’re shiny and dripping with it.
He doesn’t let up until your vision starts to blur at the edges and your hands go slack against his thighs. Only then does he pull you off with a wet, obscene pop, cock shiny and flushed dark, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the head. You cough and gasp, chest heaving, tears and saliva dripping from your chin onto the stained sheets while he fists his cock once, twice, smearing the mess you made all over himself.
Then his hands fall to your hips, manhandles you between his highs, one big hand under your soft legs. The sundress gets shoved higher, bunched under your tits, grips your panties and pulls, ripping them off, forcing your legs wide even as your thighs tremble and try to close.
You’re crying harder now, soft hiccuping sobs, hands pushing frantically at his stomach and chest as he lines up, eyes wide and pleading up at him.
“Please- wait” your voice cracks, small and teary, “- condom? Do you have a condom?”
He pauses for half a second, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. Then he answers, low and rough, “Ain’t got one.”
The stretch of his cock is immediate and overwhelming, feels like he’s splitting you in half. Your back arches hard, a broken whimper slipping out as your hands beat harder at his chest, trying to push him off, soft thighs shaking uncontrollably.
He’s too big for the cab and he’s too big for you, hips grinding forward, heavy balls pressing tight against your ass, coarse hair at his base rubbing against your soft skin while fresh tears spill down your temples.
You keep pushing at him, palms flat against his sweaty chest, trying to create space, soft disgusted sounds mixing with the first helpless little moans that start slipping out every time he bottoms out.
The mattress creaks. The sheets stick to your back, stiff and filthy. Every thrust makes the cab rock slightly on its suspension. Sweat rolls off his chest in fat drops, splattering onto your soft belly and the swell of your tits while he fucks you in deep, heavy strokes that grind right up against your cervix. The wet slap of his heavy, pendulous balls is loud in the cramped space, scent getting thicker the harder he works, mixing with the new smell of sex and your own unwanted arousal until the whole sleeper reeks of it.
He breathes heavy, low grunts punched out of him every time your cunt flutters and squeezes around the thick drag of his cock. One hand stays braced on the ceiling, the other gripping the back of your soft thigh hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open while he uses you.
Your hands are still on his chest, pushing weakly, fingers slipping through the thick sweat coating his skin, but the resistance is turning sloppy. Your pretty face is scrunched, eyes going glassy, mouth falling open on broken little moans.
He fucks you through an orgasm like that, grinding rolls that drag the fat head of his cock inside you until your soft body locks up and you sob out a high, whiny sound, cunt pulsing and gushing around him.
He doesn’t stop. Just keeps using you, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your collarbone, the wet slap of his balls getting filthier as your slick and his precum mix into a messy froth at the base of his cock.
You’re babbling now, soft and fucked stupid, little “ah- ah- plea- ” sounds that don’t quite form real words. Your thighs are shaking so hard they can’t stay wrapped around him. He catches one and folds it higher, nearly bending you in half on the narrow mattress, and the new angle makes you wail, eyes rolling back as he grinds right up against your cervix with every thrust.
When he gets close he drops forward heavier, chest crushing your soft tits, the full weight of him pinning you down into the stiff sheets.
You panic the second you realize what’s about to happen, hands shoving harder at his sweaty chest, legs kicking weakly, soft sobs turning frantic. “Nono, pull out, I’m not on birth control- please-”
He doesn’t even grunt in response, just wraps his arms around your body, shoves you down on his cock throbing deep inside you, and then he’s cumming thick, hot spurts pumping straight into your womb, flooding your uterus with days’ worth of heavy, pungent load. It’s so much it forces its way out around his cock in messy rivulets, smearing down your ass onto the already ruined mattress.
Empties every last drop deep inside you, flooding you until your lower belly feels warm and full. Only when the last spurt finishes does he pull out, thick strings of cum stretching between his cock and your messy cunt.
Before you can scramble away he grabs tou, big hands flipping your soft, trembling body onto your stomach, then hauling your hips up so your face is shoved down into the filthy mattress. One heavy palm plants between your shoulder blades and stays there, pinning your face into the stiff, sweat-and-cum-stained sheets. Your sundress is rucked up around your waist, soft ass presented, and he’s already lining up again, the fat head of his cock nudging through the mess leaking out of you.
You try to twist, try to push up on your arms, panicked little sounds muffled into the mattress. “Wait- wait, you can’t- ”
He pushes in anyway.
“Haven’ fucked anyone in months,” he mutters, hips snapping forward hard enough to jolt your whole body and your mouth opens on a moan, drool pooling onto the mattress beneath your head. “Balls been so heavy they ache. Ain’t wastin’ it on these fuckin’ sheets again when I got a pretty little hole right here to fill over and over.”
Maybe you should have just walked to the next town.
Soap would have a belly button piercing just fyi
He got it cold stone sober too. Probably has had it for years. Takes it out for work and wears it the rest of the time. Pushes you down and makes you think for a second that he wants you to suck him off only to make you lick and suck on the piercing until he’s ready for your mouth on his cock. Likely tries to peer pressure you into getting one yourself at some point because he’s weird and wants to know what it would be like to do the same to you.
He also has nipple rings, but he got them on a drunk dare from Gaz. He tells you they they feel so good bonnie, here, twist, see how I- and making the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever heard. He insists they weren’t that bad, that ye need a pretty pair too, cute little matching couple’s outfit, huh? He thinks about pinning you down and kissing you and hearing your piercings against his and all but comes in his pants
William Etty's Male Nude, with Arms Up-Stretched (1828) revamped by Astra Zero
i might write a full thing out later, but, like, the brainworms are wriggling and i'm still unsure if it's anything
something something mob au where price suffers a blow to the head on a handoff gone wrong, and while he seems to be cognitively fine in all other ways, there's just one small problem:
he keeps demanding to see his wife- but he's never been married.
he talks about her all the time, tells the boys what she looks like, her name, how they met at a coffee shop she'd worked at- one that's not too far from where he keeps his office. it doesn't take them long to realize he's been harboring something of a crush on the barista at his local coffee place- and a solid thwack to the head with an improvised nightstick has convinced him that the two of you have been together for years.
were price not a) the head of organized crime in the city and b) growing increasingly upset and violent at being kept from his 'wife', they'd just ignore his demands, up his sedatives, and worst case scenario, hire a working girl to put on a wig and play the part for a night. easy peasy, no harm done.
instead, you're snatched up after a closing shift, your car left abandoned with the door half open as you're shoved into a van and given very clear instructions at gunpoint: you will play the role of mrs. price, you will allow him to do and say as he pleases, you will not cause a fuss, run away, or do anything to harm the old man.
you'll be made to play house, to be his perfect housewife under the threat of a bullet to the brain. you're to let him do whatever he likes and pretend it's absolutely fine and normal- groping, smacking, fucking, fingering, all of it. you are his little plaything, given a very specific role to act out. anything less than a completely convincing performance and you'll wind up in the river. or the rose garden. the man in the skull mask is still thinking it over.
it's hard to do anything but agree, especially when all you've been told is that the infamous 'bravo' who runs the 141 gang has asked for you, specifically, despite the fact that you have nothing to do with organized crime. it's terrifying- after all, you're just a barista, worried about picking up enough shifts to pay rent. the most contact with bravo and his gang is reading about the brutal deaths linked to him on the evening news. you couldn't pick him out of a lineup if you tried-
-or so you thought.
your entire world feels like it's caving in on you when you're led to a private room with armed guards at the door, only to see one of your favorite regulars being tended to in an ostentatiously large bed, his eyes lighting up as he bats the doctor's blood pressure cuff away as he reaches out for you as if you're long-lost lovers and not just a barista and the guy who recently switched from americano's to lapsang souchong.
something something it's a terribly confusing thing, after all, to be forced at gunpoint to play wife to someone who actually does make for a very loving and attentive husband- even if he is mafia.
eww dude keep your skinny fetish to yourself
I love your Aymer de Valence stories so much 💜
I've got a request in mind 😊
Aymer took her as a hostage, not to harm her but to force her family into obedience. What he never expected was that she wasn't afraid of him at all. Her quiet kindness and the way she looked at him like a man, not a monster, caught him completely off guard. One day he lightly bruised his hand, nothing that serious, but when she stepped in to help, he snapped at her and pushed her away, too proud to show even a small weakness. She didn't back off. She stayed where she was, steady and determined, insisting on seeing the injury. That impressed him and when her fingers finally touched his hand, the gesture was so gentle it stopped him cold. No one had ever touched him like that, careful, calm, without fear. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, at the way she genuinely cared. Something in him shifted in that moment, sharp and unexpected...
Your writing always leaves me wanting more - thank you for creating such magic ✨💜
Tale as Old as Time
Pairing: Aymer de Valence x fem!reader
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: MDNI, no physical description of the reader, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, descriptions of violence, blood, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, disgustingly sweet, proofread once, no beta
Notes: I LOVED this request, and I hope I’ve done it justice! I made him a brooding romantic, sorry not sorry.
Your heart was beating loudly, tiny beads of sweat trailing the outline of your neckline. You’ve overheard a little here and there and were lingering around your father’s solar while he and other men were discussing your fate. Grateful for the first time in your life that you didn’t have any sisters, you took it with your head high; you were to be sent away from your home, the only place you ever knew, to your distant cousins up North, in anticipation of an attack and even a possible siege that was brewing against your father and his allies.
It made more sense to marry you off, especially for an alliance, as you were more than old enough, but your father, a stubborn, headstrong man, wouldn’t even hear about it. So you were sent away, in a simple carriage, with only one of your ladies. Kissing your brothers goodbye and hugging your mother, you barely looked at your father, trying to believe he had thought all of his options through and would send enough men to protect you from treacherous roads.
Unfortunately, your instincts were right - just as the sun was gently setting on the same day you departed, and just as you were reaching the castle of an allied lord, your carriage was surrounded, loud galloping and neighing making your beloved lady gasp in fear.
“Whose flag is that?” she asked, putting her hand over her mouth, peeking through the window.
Don’t tell me Nikolai and Price wouldn’t put you in this, if you annoyed them enough
"Labyrinth" by artist Vanesa R. Del Rey.
bumping into your really nice alpha neighbour in the hallway (who you’ve been on again off again flirting with for weeks now), but squeaking out a little “sorry!” while having to rudely push past him so that you can get into your apartment before your heat gets out of control
vs
him being unable to resist following after you the second you scurry upstairs, every step he takes now getting a little more urgent, his blood hotter, until he’s pacing in front of your door, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; trying everything in his power to keep himself from knocking because the way he is moving now reminds him of a predator and he doesn’t like it - he’s nice, goddammit, he’s nice
