18+

25 F | ex-provider of peculiar smuts back again | suggestions closed |

[decayedcherries]

— cherry's masterlist

cherry's chaotic masterlist🍒₊˚⊹ Hello, loves, and welcome to my second blog where a majority of my masterlists are stored. To find the character you are searching for, go to the corresponding masterlist below! Suggestions are closed.

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✦ MIDDLE-EARTH ✦ DCU ✦ COD ✦ KINKTOBER

rottencherrypie do not copy or translate any of my works.

[rottencherrypie]

YOU'RE BACKKKKK IM SO HAPPY

HAPPY NEW YEAR 💕💕💕💕💕

Hello, love! Thank you for the warm welcome back, it means so much to me <3

I hope to return to writing soon, but I wanted to take this moment to thank you and everyone for the kind words and support upon my sudden departure during kinktober. You all are so incredibly lovely and deserve all the good things there are and ever will be.

Happy New Year, darling! I hope your 2026 is an absolutely beautiful one <3

[rottencherrypie]

Hi, sorry if someone has asked this before. I scrolled through to make sure but couldn’t find anything. Do you have a masterlist?

Hello, love! Thank you so much for your ask and for pointing out my lack of a masterlist! I had been meaning to do so for a while now, and thanks to your ask I finally sat down and made it.

You can find the masterlist here or on my second blog @decayedcherries!

Thank you so much for your ask and for your interest in my fics! I hope you have an absolutely wonderful 2026! <3

[rottencherrypie]

#kinktober 003 || surprise

Summary - A simple act of tidying up the house before your beloved husband returns, turns into a welcome surprise for the hero upon the sight he walks in to.

Warnings - Smut, language, fem!Reader, afab!Reader, wife!Reader, husband!Clark Kent, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, surprise sex (slightly), slight overstimulation (if you squint), no spoken dialogue (I was lazy), size play (Clark is big), written on phone + minimal editing.

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person

Word Count - 2.4k+

A/N - Hello, loves! I am once again haunted by fictional men I know barely anything about (save me/j), and have had this idea sitting in my drafts for a very long time. So, here you go. This might be formatted strangely as I had written this entirely on my phone, with minimal editing to clean up some grammatical errors, as I have been more busy than I had planned this month so please excuse that. Reader has no defining features other than the fact she is wearing a slight sheer fit and flare dress, has plush lips, and is cleaning (if that counts). Smut below.

Read on AO3

Sounds of sloshing water echoed throughout the silent house. Your knees and palms pressed against the smoothness of the tiled floor, dominant hand dampened with the constant wetting of the scrub brush as you dipped it back into the bucket in a repetitive manner—washing away the muck the moment the floor showed traces of it.

It was a typical routine, one you found yourself taking part of every other week on this exact day. A routine that was always interrupted by the towering figure who loomed behind you: your loving husband, Clark Kent.

At first, his admiration of your bent figure would always be from afar—too anxious to disrupt your routine, too frightened of his own desires to be near you—but as time grew, so did his confidence.

It had begun simple, gentle touches as he passed by, a lingering gaze followed by a comment of how pretty you were, or even the kiss on the top of your head once he carefully knelt down to your level—normally followed by insisting that you take a break. And just like the sourdough starter on the counter, his actions continued to grow the more you fed them.

Every soft smile, every giggle that left your lips at his actions fueled him. It was a wordless confirmation that you adored him as much as he adored you—though you doubted that would be remotely possible.

The once tender gaze darkened with a familiar hue—his eyes seeming almost glassy each time you'd look over your shoulder while bent scrubbing the floor, the heat of his gaze almost burning holes into the plumpness of your arse as he watched it sway with every movement.

His actions became bolder, more primal in a sense. His hands went from a gentle hold on your hips as he passed you, to a more sturdy grasp that lingered—the heat of his body radiating on to you, the warmth of his breath tickling the nape of your neck causing hairs to stand up each time it rained down upon you. 

And his kisses, they drifted lower. It was a gradual act: from the top of your head to your forehead, then your cheeks and nose, and then with time his lips met yours. The dance the plush flesh held started slow, a usual drawn out 'I love you' without being spoken, yet something deeper began to linger—a familiar taste on his tongue that you had only known for the darkest nights where your bedframe almost gave in.

And today, his boldness reached a new peak. 

As you begun your cleaning routine, you came to realize all of your clothes were filthy, even your panties. The sniff test had failed you, and the only clothes that seemed decent was a fit and flare dress that you had found a few years back at a garage sale.

It was a pretty little number, appearing something out of a retro movie in your favorite color down to the very hue. And though you had never found the time or place to wear it, you never could bring yourself to part from it. 

The dress itself had caught Clark's eye on many of occasions, one he frequently asked you to model for him and yet, you always declined under the guise of the material being too sheer. It was not an outright lie: the material was a light cotton many decades old. It required not only your undergarments but a slip—and perhaps another under dress beneath it for safety—to ensure that a single beam of light wouldn't expose your panties to any passerby.

Though, you didn't need to worry much about if anyone would see your panties as you scrubbed the floors. Especially not since you had removed the set you were wearing to ensure that all of your undergarments were clean—an act you swore up and down was entirely innocent, but Clark would adamantly disagree with.

With the shedding of your panties, and the soft hum of the washing machine in the distance, you found yourself on the tiled floor of the kitchen: hands pressed firmly against the smooth, cold ground as you begun to scrub away at the grime and gunk that had piled up upon it.

It was an almost meditative act. As if the moment you set your sight on a particularly dirty spot, you became entranced; the hum of the washing machine fading away, the cold tiles becoming like air to you, the movement of your limbs acting on their own accord, the soft vibration of feet nearing going all but missed to you.

In your world of tranquility, you had not heard the soft click of the front door opening and Clark calling out to you that you were home. Nor had you noticed the manner of which your dress' skirt had flipped upwards on a particularly fast movement, not noticing how the weight of the fabric rested on your waist and upper back—exposing your bare cunt to the world.

And you especially hadn't heard the deep lustful growl that rumbled through Clark's chest as he entered the kitchen; hungry eyes burning into your figure as he watched you lean further into your scrubbing—glistening cunt greeting him up in the air, like a bitch in heat.

The moment you finally processed his presence was not when he approached you, nor was it the click of his belt buckle opening or the swish of his jeans falling to the floor. It wasn't the soft rustling of him stepping out of his jeans, or the creak the floor gave as he sunk to his knees behind you.

It wasn't the warmth of his body radiating near your bare ass, nor was it the way his large, calloused hands encased your hips and nudged you closer to it. But it was the familiar sensation of his swollen tip tapping against your entrance—droplets of precum leaking out as the faint weight tapped against the glistening, welcoming hole.

The size of your eyes widened as your motions halted, your head turning to gaze past your shoulder only to be greeted with the dark, hungry gaze of your beloved husband. Your plush lips opened to speak, barely uttering the first few letters of his name before you felt that delicious stretch of his cockhead slipping in you.

There was little resistance given by your cunt. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcomed one as after a beat your cunt happily swallowed down his large, fattened length.

A groan of pleasure rumbled throughout Clark's chest as he savored the gummy, warm embrace of your inner walls for a moment. Allowing the weight of his body to press into your figure slightly, furthering the deep stretch of his cock within the welcoming warmth of your walls.

The air warmed with lust as silence washed over you two. Your weight falling onto your forearms, causing your thinly clothed chest to graze against the dampened floor as your cheek with a hair away from resting on the murky water. An act that not only enhanced the curvature of which your back arched, but further pressed your cunt in the air—and by extension, pressed your cunt further back against Clark.

A pleased groan echoed throughout the kitchen, the lids of Clark's eyes growing heavy for a moment as his grasp tightened around the flesh of your hips. The soft pinch of his nails dug into your flesh as he held you firmly against him, the roundness of your rear pressed against his toned lower abdomen as he savored the way your walls fluttered and pulsated against him.

Though you did not verbally welcome him home that day—something he would pout about later—your cunt was sure to make up for where your words fell flat. The squelching click of your cunt soon filled the air as he pulled out slightly before returning home in your walls: walls that clenched around him like a vice, as if ensuring every ounce of his cock was wrapped around the warm, sticky embrace.

Each roll of his hips was more pleasurable than the last, a steady pace held within them as he carved his length deep into your core. Furthering the inscriptions in the walls of your womb, ensuring that every curve, ridge, and vein was memorized by your sensitive, sacred flesh so that no man—no human—would ever come close to pleasuring you as he was.

The swollen, leaking tip of his sizable cock continued to pound away within the depths of your walls—kissing your cervix upon every bottoming thrust—as the world began to fade away. This state, almost equally as meditative, was a strange one: the weight of your body felt so heavy, yet so light. A sheen of sweat draped on your skin like a layer of silk, yet you didn't feel sticky—not yet at least. 

It was as if you could feel, taste, and hear everything—yet nothing at the same time. 

That was the only reasoning behind why you could not hear the way you were practically howling his name as a familiar knot and tingle wove itself within the pit of your belly.

A knot that wove itself deeper within your core as one of his large, calloused hands slid down from your hip and reached around to the sensitive nerves of your front. His thick, calloused finger tips rubbed against the hooded bundle of nerves in quickened circular motions—dampened by either his spit or your own essence, which you did not know nor did you care—as the familiar tingle of release neared.

The squelching click of your cunt grew louder, sloppier as you neared your release. Your essence not only coating his cock—and hand—but also rolling down his heavied sack in steady trails as your peak grew closer and closer.

The sound of your howls of pleasure grew higher in pitch, the weight of your body seeming like stone as you found yourself pressed against the dirtied floor on your own will as the flesh of your ass bounced against him. Your hands grasped at anything and yet nothing at the same time; occasionally clenching around the scrub brush or an edge of a cabinet but never hanging on for long as the towering man pushed not just air out of your lungs but grasp within your hands upon each thrust.

It felt as if you were helpless, yet so helped at the same time.

With a quick, sharp smack against your twitching bundle of nerves—you broke. A strained sob of pleasure roared from your parted lips as the static heat of pleasure roamed rampant throughout your body.

The bouncing of your ass not ceasing upon every impact of his hips as he continued to rock into you, heightening the tides within the sea of pleasure as he desperately chased after his own.

Wave after wave roamed through you as the walls of your core clenched and fluttered around him—desperate to milk him for all he had, whilst also desperate to extend your own relief.

If you had felt an ounce of reality in those moments, you would have felt the change of his steady thrusts growing sloppier. How they grew harsher upon each snap against your ass, and how he put more weight into each motion. Though whiteness of pleasure still danced through your vision, stars of ecstasy still swaying on the blankness in your view, the lids of his eyes snapped shut as his brows knitted heavily together in focus.

The pressure upon your clit grew harsher, mashing into the bundle of nerves as if desperate to abuse another orgasm out of you as his own neared at rapid pace. The grasp he held upon your hip tightened as well, so harsh you could not wiggle out of it even if you had desired to—you did not—surely leaving a bruise in its wake.

It was near impossible for your beloved husband to escape the grasp of pleasure: the deliciously erotic way your gummy walls continued to clench and release around him, the warming pulsation of your core echoing upon his sensitive length, and the pretty manner your puffy, sticky lower lips devoured him, the sensitive ring of flesh stretched to its limits upon exit before engulfing him whole was all too much for him.

A low groan of pleasure rumbled throughout his chest as he nearly collapsed upon you, the weight of his body securing his cock in depths you did not know possible as he released his heavy load within you.

The walls of your womb drowning in the thick white paint of his seed, desperately swallowing down what felt like gallon after gallon as his tightened balls continued to spurt rope after rope deep within you. And yet, your cunt drank it down happily.

Clark would've later claimed that your pretty pussy was purring around him—in pulsations—as he drowned it with his seed. But in that moment, all you could do was sob upon his cock as his powerful release pushed you further into pleasure's sharp embrace.

Every ounce of you tingle, almost burnt as if you were a breath away from being lit ablaze. The muscles within your body trembled desperately, shaking as if you had run marathon after marathon with no break—yet your ass somehow managed to remain firmly pressed upwards despite your husband's weight upon you.

It felt like an eternity before his heavy sack was drained. Pins and needles pricked against your skin as the warmth of ecstasy slipped away from your pleasure, reminding you of the cold, grimy floor you had laid upon as the ring of life returned to your ears—the faint hum of the faint beep of the washer finishing its cycle reminding you of the chores you have yet to fulfill.

The warmth of his body remained upon yours, his sturdy weight keeping you against the ground for a few moments longer before he slowly slid upon from his forearms that once encased both sides of you and inched back to where he once kneeled.

The length of his cock remained within your walls, softened yet twitching with life as he allowed you a few moments to recover from his surprise assault of your womb before removal. The squelching slurp of exit echoed throughout the kitchen, a departure as erotic as entry as soon the floodgates opened—glob after glob of cum racing out of your aching entrance, dripping down onto the once freshly cleaned tiles beneath you.

#kinktober taglist:

@sim4player , @aphroditeandfreyjas

[rottencherrypie]

#kinktober 002 || pegged

Summary - As the halls are stained with the sounds of sex, unbeknownst to the exasperated passersby; the roles have been reversed...

Warnings - Smut, language, mention of male genitalia (Kili), weird descriptions, sub!Kili, dom!Reader, fem!Reader, pegging (Kili receiving), sex toys (glass dildo), male receiving anal (Kili), male receiving fingering (Kili), lubricant (because it is important), dom-sub dynamics, slight mean dom!Reader, slight humiliation kink, begging (Kili), being held down (brief, Kili), little darker and meaner (you have been warned), mention of bodily fluids (Kili), slight sexual repression/guilt (Kili is into it but anxious), name calling (Kili is called a bitch, whore, and slut), pet names/titles (Reader is referred to as mistress and called beautiful), brief mention of spanking, written while sick.

Pronouns & POV - She/Her (if I am not mistaken), third-person

Pairing - Sub!Kili x Dom Fem!Reader

Word Count - 2.9k

A/N - Sub!Kili was requested several times throughout my super secret poll, huge thank you to those who participated in it, and equally surprising pegging was requested. I will admit, this is a bit poorly written but I had tried my best with this despite my lacking knowledge and experience on the topic, hence why it ends on a more vague note. Reader has no defining features, but she is wearing a strap-on that is a glass copy of Kili's cock. Smut below.

Read on AO3

A familiar squelching click of skin meeting each other echoed throughout the halls. A melody known to all, yet unbeknownst to others, this familiar melody was being orchestrated in a far different manner than was usual.

Though the grunts and groans of the younger dwarven prince might deceive passersby, and though he was on the receiving end of pleasure, he was on the receiving end of pleasure.

The roundness of his ass glistened with the shine of lubricant, the mass of it emphasized as he was bent over; the skin on his knuckles straining white as he grasped at the surface beneath him. His brows knitting together, wrinkles straining at the new sensation behind him.

An erotic, pathetic slew of moans flowed easily through the prince's thin lips—his mouth hung open in a perpetual state of shock as breath after breath was pushed out of him by the motions behind him. The pink ring of flesh of his rear was being split apart by his own cock, or rather a copy of the very thing.

It was a falsened cock, fastened to be an exact replica of the prince's very own—every line, every curve, and every vein perfectly sculpted into the glass that reared into him. The sensation was peculiar to the prince, one he had not considered being a possibility ever before; the sensitive ring of flesh was stretched to its limits, a strange sensation as he felt the force of each thrust pressing further into his once virgin hole.

Though he was not a virgin by any means in any other sense of the matter; his rear was the one thing that was left untouched. The one thing you were determined to claim. The very notion was one the prince had pondered of for many moons before caving into your request, desiring nothing more than to appease his sweet mistress as she seemed so eager to claim him: he would not deny the way his cock stirred at the notion of her stripping him of the last ounce of purity he withheld, and with his own cock no less.

The sensation of being entered was strange. It was not entirely unpleasurable as his sweet mistress ensured she was well prepared for his, no, her cock. She coated her fingers in a thick layer of the lubricant, lightly tracing around the pink ring of his hole before slowly sliding a single digit in; allowing him to feel every centimeter of her inside of his rear as she pushed in further and further.

Once his cock began to harden at the stretch, she inserted another finger; the manner of which was less slow, yet at a pace that ensured no tearing of the prince's precious virgin ass. The prince's toes curled as he felt the two lengths at knuckle deepness within his rear, his body tensing as they curled up into his fleshy walls; his hands grasping tightly at the surface beneath him as he exhaled slowly.

"Relax." The word became a mantra, falling from his sweet mistress' lips each time his body wrung with tension. The firm, warm weight of her free palm rested upon the center of his back; pushing the arch inwards, encouraging the prince to back himself further onto her fingers. 

Her fingers curled, turned, and thrust within him; allowing the virgin walls to not only adjust to the new sensation, but also become coated with a layer of lubricant for what was to transpire. Without full warning, her fingers began to part within his hole—splitting the virgin walls apart in a manner they had never been before. A near guttural groan fell from his lips, the weight of his chest falling into the surface beneath him at the near burning stretch.

"That's it, relax." His mistress cooed, as her soft, warm palm glid up and down the length of his toned back; encouraging him to remain firmly planted on her fingers whilst also ensuring his comfort. "That's my good boy, taking it so well." At the sound of her praise, droplets of precum began to spill from the split center of his reddened mushroom tip—a soft whimper vibrating behind his thin lips as he sucked in a slow breath, the lids of his eyes squeezing shut as he sunk into the sensation of her fingers scissoring within him.

The motions were like a snap within his center, hitting sensitive spots he did not know he had causing his body to jolt further into the surface beneath him—his ass now hovering within the air, as if he was a bitch in heat presenting to a potential mate.

Once he could withstand the stretch of two fingers, a third was slowly added. His honey-colored eyes looped back into his skull at the sensation, a trail of drool rolling out of the corner of his thin lips as your fingers stretched his ass further; it was as if every fiber of the pink ring was being brought to its limits, yet he could not get enough of the delicious stinging strain as your fingers delved deeper and deeper within him.

It felt pathetic, yet primal. As if he knew this was something he should not desire, something he should be repulsed by the very notion of; but gods did it feel right to be beneath you, being fucked by your fingers, being stripped of his manhood by your gentle palm. It was an act as natural as it was taboo, so natural that the prince had not noticed he was mindlessly backing into your palm to meet your every thrust.

"Aww, look at that," The words fell from your lips in a taunting coo, the motions of you hand coming to a halt as you watched the prince fuck himself on your fingers. "such a needy little bitch. My perfect little whore." A pitiful groan fell from the dwarven prince's lips at the humiliatingly arousing title, yet his motions did not cease.

The soft creak of the surface beneath him echoed throughout the room alongside the various sounds that fell from his lips; the muscles within his abdomen began to strain, the weight of his balls began to tense as a familiar whiteness began to fill his vision. His motions upon your palm became more primal, more frantic as his breathing grew unsteady—the edge of pleasure just in sight.

But just as quickly as he had neared the edge of pleasure, pleasure was taken from him. The slow drag of your fingers departing from his tightened walls made the most beautifully pitiful whine escape his thin lips; his lust-heavied lids slowly opened as the weight of his head shifted back to gaze upon you. A silent question within his eyes, one left unanswered as you brought your hand to his lips.

"Clean it." A command that he hesitated upon. It felt wrong to lick the very fingers that had just been within his own cavern, yet it felt more wrong to deny his mistress of his request; and so, he opened his mouth like the good bitch he was.

The moment you inserted your defiled fingers into his eager mouth, his tongue quickly swirled around them. The wet muscle dancing between the crevasses of your warm flesh, sucking against the lengths in an almost desperate manner as he stared back at you—pupils blown with lust as he slowly pulled back from your hand; licking each finger's individual length as he maintained eye contact with you.

"Good boy." The words rumbled within the center of your chest, falling from your plump lips in a pleased purr as you pulled back from the prince. The dwarf, eager to appease you, attempted to rise from his position, yet the firm pressure of your hand on his back ensured he maintained the pathetic position he was in.

"Ah, ah, ah," You tutted, the clicking of your tongue sent a shiver down the prince's spine as he watched you with needy eyes. The soft spurt of the lube bottle cut through the weight of the air as a thick glob landed upon the glass cock strapped to your to your lower pelvis; the head of the false cock in a perpetual upright positon. "be a good boy and stay still." The sight of your palm massaging the chilled piece of glasten, sculpted after his own cock, made the prince struggle not to squirm within his place.

A faint squelch echoed throughout the air as you continued to massage the clear gel into the glass, ensuring that every inch and curve was coated in a thick layer of lubricant. The motion of your palm was slow, almost teasingly so, as your gaze remained on the near writhing prince for a few moments before falling onto the clear glass; the corners of your lips curving into a knowing smile as your thumb grazed the tip, a small trail of goosebumps covering your arm at the coldness as you ensured that every inch was covered.

A soft, slightly higher pitched whine fell from the dwarven prince's lips as he watched your thumb glide around the tip of the false cock. The lids of his honey-colored eyes drooped with lust, the auburn locks of his hair stuck to his forehead by the sheen of sweat that laid upon it. "Now, now," The words fell from your plump lips in a cooed tease, the corners of such curved with a taunting grin as you gazed upon his anxious, squirming figure. "if you want something, beg for it." A command that caused the dwarven prince to freeze. The heaviness that had previously weighed upon his lids seemed to cease for a mere moment as the size of his eyes seemed to double in a nearly comical manner. His thin lips parted open, then almost touched before opening again; looking much like a fish that had been plucked from the sea.

"I, you, we..." The prince struggled to process the request; it was not that the prince had not begged before—it was something he grew accustomed to, and loved to do to you—but to beg for cock? Not just any cock, a fake version of his own? It was a task that he could not wrap his mind around; what in the gods name would he even say? 

As if sensing his internal struggle, a rumble of laughter echoed throughout your chest as the weight of your figure leaned forwards—the weight of the slightly chilled cock pressing between the split of his ass. "Beg for my cock." The words fell from your lips in a sweet coo, as if you were teaching a puppy a new trick, which wasn't far from the truth. He was your bitch.

"Go on." You urged as you ground the chilled, slick cock against the rounded flesh of his ass. A sensation that urged another shiver to roam down the prince's spine, a tingle of anticipation spreading up from the tips of his toes. "Please." The word fell from his lips in a pathetic mewl, the lids of his eyes growing heavy yet again with the weight of lust; the movements of your hips against his ass were near hypnotic as you pressed your lower flesh firmly into him—grinding against the plump globes of flesh.

"Please, what? Use your words, whore." You urged again, pressing the weight of your body further into his own. The furniture beneath him letting out a creaking groan at the added weight, the palm of your hand that was once firmly planted upon his back gliding down to the center of his abdomen, causing the prince to jolt at the sudden touch of the sensitive region; pressing his body further into your cock. 

With a sharp inhale, the prince spoke again, "May I please have your cock, mistress? I'll be a good boy." The lids of his eyes closed at his plea, one that left his lips in a near desperate whine as he laid submissive beneath you; ass still firmly in the air, presenting like the good bitch in heat that he was for your cock. The corners of your lips curved into a deeper grin at the sight, watching as the prince now ground himself back against your motions, desperate for his own cock that you dawned.

"That's a good little bitch. My good little bitch." The purred praise was soon masked by the creaking of the furniture as you leaned back, fingers still splayed out upon the dwarf's abdomen as your other moved up to your fake cock, grasping firmly at the base. The chilled head rubbing against the pink, twitching hole as you aligned yourself with it; a shiver roaming down the dwarf's spine at the sensation as he attempted to shift away from the chilled sensation. "Where do you think you're going?" The warmth of your palm slid around from the center of his abdomen, looping to the corresponding hip as you held the dwarf in place firmly; allowing the glass head of the cock to press against his sensitive yet eager hole.

Though you could have easily begun to press in, desiring nothing more than to hear him groan and gasp at the sudden intrusion, you decided to take another path. The grasp you held on your cock remained firm, yet it was no longer merely used for alignment but also to prevent full penetration; the subtle pressure against his hole was a tease, a show that you were still in control despite his begging.

Each time it felt as if the glass was about to slip within him, it didn't. Your sturdy grasp ensured that the pressure was just enough to allow the pink hole to open, almost blossom around the tip yet never receiving even a centimeter of penetration. It was torture; delicious, delicious torture.

A slew of needy whines fell from the prince's lips at the sensation; a litany of promises, of pleas that he would be a good boy for you if you just fucked him. It was so desperate, so humiliatingly beautiful that if anyone had passed by and heard his cries then they would know exactly what depraved things one of the royals was truly into. An act that could ruin not only his reputation, but the reputation of his entire kin, but in that moment all he cared about was getting fucked by his beautiful mistress.

"I suppose since you have asked so nicely..." The words barely had a moment to process within the dwarf's mind before he felt the pressure of intrusion. His sensitive, once innocent, pink hole being opened by the chilled glass as it slowly sunk in one inch at a time; a strained groan fell from his lips, his body twisting at the sensation as a soft shush fell from your lips. The warmth of your palm rubbing small circles around his toned flesh allowed him to ease just enough to accept the first inch of his cock. 

"That's it, that's my good boy. Relax on mistress' dick." You cooed as you slowly pushed in another inch, halting whenever there was a moment of resistance to squirt another glob of lube on the glass length before pushing it in deeper. Moment after moment, breath after breath, the dwarven prince finally managed to take every last inch of his, nay, your cock; a sight that made the center of your chest fill with warmth at how well-trained your bitch was.

"There we go, just like that." The words left your lips in a pleased purr; the soft, warm glide of your palm rubbing against the toned flesh of his hip encouraged the prince to ease further into the deep stretch of fake cock within him. "We're going to start nice and slow. You just lie there like a good bitch and take it." You continued; the furniture groaned under the shifting of weight as you slowly moved back from the prince, allowing the glass length to ease out of his well-stretched hole as slowly as it had entered until the only thing it was swallowing was the tip. Then, with equal slowness, you begun to press back in his hole inch by inch, yet this time was much smoother and greeted by a more relaxed groan from the prince's lips.

This notion continued for several times, gradually rising in pace upon each exit and entry until the air filled with the steady harmony of a squelching click. The very harmony you were typically on the receiving end of, yet this time it was your submissive lover's hole who made said beautiful sound.The once reddened tip of his cock was now that of a purple-ish red hue, leaking with creamy white tears as his hips jutted forwards as yours jutted into his rear. A slew of nonsensical cries and praises fell from the prince's lips, ringing throughout the halls as you continued to split his ass open on your glass cock; the soft thwack of your hand meeting his ass upon occasion echoing throughout the air, causing the flesh of his rear to ripple upon impact. An act that earned a harsh whine of pleasure as his hips bucked forwards, forcing a white ribbon to spurt upon the furniture beneath him; the essence of his pleasure sinking into it, staining it with his sin. A permanent reminder, a mark of the night he fully became your bitch.

#kinktober taglist:

@sim4player , @aphroditeandfreyjas

[rottencherrypie]

#kinktober 001 || distractions

Summary - A constant distraction rears its, or rather his, head as you attempt to read.

Warnings - Smut, language,panties ripped off (rip Reader's panties), oral sex (female receiving), fem!Reader, afab!Reader, female genitalia (Reader), mention of male genitalia, nipple play (is that the term?), voyeurism, exhibitionism, heavily implied (and referenced) poly relationship, bodily fluids (Reader squirts, mention of precum), biting (briefly mentioned), restraints (Reader is held down), (bad) pet names and nicknames, teasing/taunting, little meaner, slight dom!Ghost, slight dom!Soap, minimal editing, written while sick and author doesn't know the fandom (spare me).

Pronouns & POV - None (Reader is called pretty girl though), third-person

Pairings - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

Word Count - 2.2k+

A/N - Huge thank you to @aphroditeandfreyjas for helping me with my sourdough starter, this is for you darling. (And is also heavily inspired by a literal fever dream I had...please stop sending random fictional men into my dreams/j) Reader has no defining features other than tits, wearing lacey panties, and has plush thighs. Smut below.

Read on AO3

The soft tap of rain bounced off the roof, a delicate noise accompanied by the even more gentle rustling of paper. The slightly rough texture rubbing against the smooth patterns on your fingertips as you turned another page: though the words did not settle in your mind. 

Rather, your focus was on the towering force that was attempting to weasel its way between your thighs: Simon Riley. The heat of his eager breath grazed against your inner thighs, his calloused grasp clenching around the plushness of your outer thighs as he attempted to part them: as if you were an orange he was trying to peel apart. The normal, dim light within his eyes completely gone; replaced with an almost feral darkness as he continued to fight against your ever-shifting flesh.

"Si," The nickname left your soft, plump lips in a breathy laugh as a free palm reached down—pressing against his forehead lightly as you attempted to nudge him away from your core. "I am trying to read. This is important." The sound of your lighthearted protests caused a scoff to escape the man's normally masked lips.

"What's important," He begun; the words leaving his lips in a deep rumble, sounding harshened with overwhelming want. "is getting my fucking tongue inside of your before I lose my fucking mind, doll." His words were emphasized by the roughened glide of his palms sliding down your outer thighs, trailing all the way down to your legs—leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake—before the calloused hold found a new home around your ankles. 

A sharp tug against them both emphasized his want, his need for you as well as ensured your legs were now draped over his shoulders—his palms finding their ways to the roundness of your hips. Effectively trapping you on the couch.

"Simon, I have to read this—" "No one is stopping you." The statement given as flippantly as someone announcing that it was raining. You had opened your mouth to argue, to say that he  was stopping you when the sudden nip of his sharp teeth grazed against your inner thigh, leaving faint, superficial marks of his teeth in its wake.

"Keep on reading your bullshit little novel," He grumbled, a calloused palm glid up from your hip and around the smoothness of your upper thigh before delving between your legs; taking residency between the faint gap between his head and your lace covered cunt. "and let me fucking eat you." The words left his lips in a hungry snarl as his thumb brushed against your clit, causing your hips to jerk slightly from the sensation of the dampened lace smushing against it.

"It–it's for work." The words left your lips in a strained breath, thigh beginning to tremble around the sides of his head as he licked a stripe up your clothed slit. "Work? That shitty ass romance novel is for work?" An offended scoff left his lips at your excuse, knowing damn well your little erotica novel had nothing to do with your data entry job. "Nah, that won't fly, love. You wanna talk about work? This," The soft rip cloth filled the air for a brief moment, the chill of early morning air grazing against the heat of your exposed, drooling cunt. "this is work. Detrimental research on..." The words emphasized by the sudden stretch of his thick fingers delving within your drooling center, the mass of the calloused lengths splitting your walls open with a delicious squelch as they pushed a gasp out of you. "...how many times I can make you squirt before breakfast." The words—a threat or a promise—hung in the air for a beat before quickly being replaced by the sound of your mewling as his lips found their way around your clit.

The soft squelch of his fingers thrusting inside you, curling up into your textured walls led your moans in the delicious symphony of depravity.

A sound so erotic, so clear that it had almost masked the faint creak of the bedroom door opening as your other lover emerged from the bedroom. The Scotsman's mass leaned against the door's frame, a smirk spreading upon his thin lips as he watched the Englishman devour you.

The suction Simon held on your clit did not linger, after a few moments of toe curling pressure and swirls before his tongue flattened against your sensitive bundle of nerves—slowly dragging down the dampened folds, trailing down to your entrance. The wetness hovered a breath away from your leaking hole as he inhaled the musk of your arousal. A deep, primal growl vibrated throughout the center of his chest from the pungent, erotic odor.

The slow drag of his fingers gliding out of your now needy cunt caused your hips to buck up slightly at the loss. Yet, the Englishman's untainted hand quickly found its way onto the center of your stomach; applying a firm pressure with his flattened palm to keep you from moving. "You were so insistent on reading." He snarled, the heat of his breath caressing your needy entrance causing a shiver to roam throughout your body. "Fucking read. C'mon, share with the class." The taunt hung within the air as his hungry gaze rose from the wetness of your cunt for a moment.

All moisture within your mouth dried as you felt the heated gaze of your two lovers on your figure, you had barely noticed the way that Johnny had inched closer; now sat on the ottoman near Simon, with ample view to the show that was to transpire.

"I—" The words were swallowed by a gasp of pleasure as Simon plunged his tongue into you without warning, your body desperately attempting to jolt at the sensation yet held down under the firmness of his palm. "Go on, birdie." Johnny spoke, a mischievous spark dancing within his lust-dimmed eyes. "bossman asked you to read. Be a good girl and let us hear that pretty voice of yours." The ottoman creaked as he leaned towards your sprawled out figure, the heat of his breath caressing against the lobe of your ear before his teeth encased it in a gentle, yet firm grasp; tugging at the flesh slightly before pulling back to get a good view of your squirming figure.

The words began to fall from your lips in a shaky, uneven manner. Some sentences cut off by a sudden, sharp moan as the normally masked man flicked his tongue up into your most sensitive, most delicious spongy spot as he continued his relentless assault on your core.

"Ah, ah, ah," The Scotsman tutted, his head shaking in a feigned disappointed manner as a calloused finger tapped at a spot in the book; one your gaze had mindlessly locked on to. "wrong spot, lovie. You've read the same line four times now, I want to hear what happens next." The ottoman creaked yet again as he leaned towards you, blocking any view the Englishman held of your face—though he was more focused on the way the essence of your cunt coated his tongue. 

A soft, pathetic mewl fell from your lips as the Englishman continued to devour your cunt. The vibrations of Simon's pleased growls echoed throughout your core, sending subtle waves of pleasure throughout your very being; encouraging an all too familiar tingle to start to spread from the tips of your toes.

It was not as if you were not trying to read. You were doing your very best considering your circumstances, yet every flick and slither of the Englishman's tongue made the printed words jumble into one incongruous blob.  

"C'mon, let me hear that pretty voice." The scotsman cooed, the heat of his breath continued to rain down your sensitive being as he leaned even further into you. The soft pressure of his knees noted and quickly forgotten as his eager hands slipped under your shirt; the calluses of his palms rubbing against the softness of your skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake as they inched up to the flesh on your chest.

The harshness of his palms encased the fat of your chest, harsh thumbs circling around your flattened nipples until they hardened into pebbles under his roughened touch. "Keep on talking, pretty girl, don't quit on us now." The words escaped his lips in a taunting coo as his grasp remained on your breasts; kneading the mounds like dough as his grasp remained on your nipples in a tight pinch, tugging and swirling them in a manner that teetered between the realm of pain and pleasure.

"I...you...shit..." The word left your lips in a breathless prayer, a plea for both mercy and for the relentless teasing to not cease. The sturdy grasp you once held around the bounded paper now forgotten of, the book cast aside as your grasp delved between your thighs; tangling in the hair of the man who was insistent on devouring your cunt whole. The soft prick of your nails embedding into his scalp caused Simon to groan in pleasure against your cunt, a sensation that made your inner walls flutter around his tongue, and further fueled his ministrations.

His tongue thrust within the walls of your womb like a man dying of thirst lapping at the sea; rapid, quick thrusts as his tongue continued to curl, swirl and jut within your shivering walls. The weight of his head shifted slightly, giving him a better advantage of assaulting your most sensitive spongy spot in a more strategic manner—causing the tip of his nose to press firmly into your clit as he continued the relentless dance of pleasure within your core.

A familiar heat began to spread throughout the center of your stomach, your gaze whitening with emerging stars of pleasure as the two men continued the onslaught against your tits and core. Each motion, every breath and movement swayed you on the tightrope of pleasure as the web of pleasure continued to weave itself deeper, and tighter within your very being.

As Simon continued his endless assault, the constant pressure and shifting of his nose into your sensitive bundle of nerves added a bit too much fuel into the flame of pleasure. It burnt far too brightly, the sensation almost a sting of pleasure rather than a tingle.

A new, strange pressure began to rise within the center of your being. One that ached with discomfort and a need for release, though it felt that the only way it could escape was through a sudden burst.

The grasp you held upon Simon's head loosened, quickly jutting to the front as your palms pressed frantically against his forehead. The weight of your body arched backwards into the sofa, attempting to pull your leaking cunt out of your lover's mouth before the dam burst open. But he was not having it.

His hands suddenly slammed down around your hips as he yanked you forwards, as if you were a stray kitten being yanked off the street. The notable weight of your legs hung completely over his shoulders, your ass lifted slightly off the plushness of the couch as he devoured your now airborne pussy.

The heels of your feet repeatedly tapped against the toned flesh of his back as you squirmed against his hold, the size of your eyes widening to their limits as they darted around the room rapidly; yet your other lover assisted Simon as he held you in place with a mischievous grin.

"Shh, let it all out." The Scotsman cooed, the corner of his lips curved into a darkened grin as he watched you struggle with the overwhelming build-up of pleasure within you. "Go on. Be a good girl and give Si a drink. He's worked so hard, hasn't he?" The taunts did not cease, the flesh of your face burnt brightly; a raging fire that not even the slickness of your sweat could quench.

Your palms frantically grasped at the sofa, yet you could not withhold one as the slickness of your palms allowed every hold you gained to slip through. There was no escape from pleasure.

A slew of incoherent, primal sounds left your lips; mixtures of pleads, curses, and choked sobs as the blinding light of pleasure grew brighter and brighter within your view. The familiar ring of static enhanced, drowning out Johnny's taunting coos as the sensations within your body reached a head.

With a final, choked sob of Simon's name; the raging fire of ecstasy engulfed you. It felt as if you were weightless, yet heavier than a stone at the bottom of the sea—you could feel every motion, every pleased growl Simon made as he drank down the endless stream of your pleasure, yet you no longer felt the fabric of the couch beneath you.

The normally masked man did not cease his assault on your body until it went limp within his grasp. The walls of your womb still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure, attempting to milk his tongue the very way it mindlessly milked their cocks not too long ago; a sensation that caused Simon to grin against your cunt for a split second before he pulled back. "Fucking delicious..." The lust-filled words rumbled throughout the center of his chest as he rose slightly from your thighs, not bothering to remove your legs from his shoulders. "...but we're not done with you yet." A statement emphasized by the imprints of their cocks straining against their pants; throbbing with need, stains of precum already seeping through them, hungry gazes burning into your exposed figure.

#kinktober taglist:

@sim4player , @aphroditeandfreyjas

[rottencherrypie]

#kinktober 2025 || three days of kink

cherry's first kinktober‧₊˚🕸 Hello, loves, and welcome to my first year of kinktober masterlist!

cherry's #kinktober taglist

═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════

oct i. oral sex, voyeurism, nipple play, held down 🕸 Simon 'Ghost' Riley + Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

oct iv. pegging, name calling, dom/sub, anal 🕸 sub!Kili Durin

oct vii. housewife, surprise sex, creampie, size play 🕸 husband!Clark Kent

Huge thank you to those who answered my super secret poll and gave feedback on the possibility of a kinktober! <3

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Date Night (Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader)

Summary - Date night with Gotham's infamous billionaire.

Warnings - Smut (leans a bit more spice imo), language, fem!Reader, afab!Reader, boyfriend!Bruce Wayne, dom/sub undertones, public sexual acts, slight voyeurism, sex toys (vibrator), slight power dynamics (Bruce is in control of the vibrator), orgasm denial, edging, slight humiliation (if you squint), minimal editing (I needed the idea out of my head asap).

Pronouns & POV - None used, third-person.

Word Count - 1,900+

A/N - This is not my usual sphere of fanfiction, but I am sick, on my period, and fucking Bruce Wayne keeps haunting my dreams even though I haven't watched anything DCU related in ages??? If one of you manifested this, then here you go darling. (Seriously, he will not leave my dreams alone.) As per usual, the character has no defining features with the exception of "supple thighs" (don't ask), soft lips, and nails long enough to dig into things. Smut below!

Read on AO3

The soft echo of sirens wailing in the distance fluttered throughout the night's air. A symphony accompanied by the gentle clatter and clink of cutlery, alongside the soft chatter of fellow guests who dined amongst you.

A sound once normally so mundane, almost peaceful, now felt like a thousand pins and needles on your skin. As if hundreds of eyes were on you, yet there was only the heat of a singular gaze upon your shifting figure.

Tonight was a rare night. A night so rare you would have held better luck winning the lottery than dining with who you are tonight, with your billionaire boyfriend Bruce Wayne.

Bruce was a very busy man, if not by his daily activities then surely by his nightly ones. But this evening, he had managed to find an ounce of time with your breath on it, a mere slither within the grand scheme of his endless schedule—and he was not going to allow this slim opportunity to go to waste.

Amongst his chaotic life, Bruce Wayne had learnt to master the art of multi-tasking. Whether it be business calls while showering, to trading stocks while crimefighting. He knew how to make every moment of the day count; especially tonight.

The corners of his lips threatened to quirk into a faint smirk as he watched  you shift upon the plush, velvet seat for the tenth time that minute. A thin, sheen layer of sweat glistening upon your forehead, allowing the warm hue of the candles' fire to shimmer upon further illuminating your gorgeous features.

Though your hands were hidden beneath the table, he knew they were firmly grasping at the flesh of your supple thighs by the slight raise of your shoulders, and the faint strain within your neck.

It was a divine sight. A sight more delicious than the expensive meal that sat on his plate.

"Is something the matter?" He questioned. Though his lips did not curve, the tone of his voice held a hint of a smile, a hidden smugness at your current state as he feigned concern. "Is dinner not up to your standards? I'll flag the waiter over and—" "No!" The word fell from your soft lips a bit too quickly. The flesh of your cheeks heated brighter than the candle flames that illuminated the restaurant, as the word echoed throughout the murmuring restaurant. All eyes falling upon you for a brief moment, burning into your very being, yet disregarding you as quickly as their attention was brought to you.

"I mean, um, no." You corrected; the tone of your voice softer once clearing your throat. Yet the fire within your cheeks continued to rage on, as you shifted in your seat. Over and over again.

"Really?" The billionaire questioned, the corners of his lips finally giving to his smug amusement as they curved upwards. The single word, one of knowing, was quickly followed by the faint, almost indistinguishable, click beneath the table. 

The same click that caused your current discomposure.

Prior that night, as you were preparing for the rare, special occasion of a date night; a small, black box was found upon your bed. One wrapped in a silken bow of your favorite color. 

You had expected the contents of the box to be that of a necklace, or perhaps a new set of lingerie he wanted you to wear for later activities, but you found something far more bold within the box's walls. Resting on the internal silken padding was a slim, silver vibrator.

It was not large enough to cause discomfort or unease when using, yet it was still a gift you had not expected from your beloved. Within the lid of the box, you found an envelope with a wax seal—a little bat sealing the contents of the envelope tightly.

On the card were two simple words: "Wear this."  it was not a request, not a suggestion, rather a thrilling expectation. The tabooness of going to dinner with your beloved with a vibrator inside, knowing that no one would be the wiser that your core was being stretched faintly at the very request of your lover was arousing enough to make the application of the toy easy.

It was chilled compared to the warmth of your inner walls, a shiver roaming down your spine as you pushed the toy past your entrance. It held a bit more weight than you had expected, enough to make its presence known yet not enough to shift the manner in which you walked or sat. 

The very notion of having it in you as you continued to prepare for the evening was deeply arousing; your inner walls fluttering around it as an excitable, almost nervous warmth spread throughout the center of your chest. A tingle of lust and nerves dancing throughout your veins at the very taboo nature of the act, blissfully unaware of the toy's full capabilities.

It was not until you had gotten into your lover's car that you learnt the truth of the request.

As the driver had begun to pull out of the elaborate garage, Bruce began to pull something out as well. At first, you had not fully noticed it—it was something faint, a small rectangular shape that you had assumed was mints or the small pager he kept on him (which you never fully understood the use of a pager, but it was Bruce), but soon you heard the faint click of a button being pressed.

A sound not uncommon when being driven, but there was no divider raised from that click. No air conditioning being fiddled with. No request for a new stop, yet a command was still made. A command within you.

The vibrator within you soon buzzed to life, dancing within the dampness of your core. The faint hum of movement within you forced a gasp out of your lips at the sudden sensation, an act you desperately tried to cover with a fake cough once you noticed the driver’s concern gaze on you from the rear view mirror. A faint heat began to rise within the flesh of your face as your head whipped over to Bruce; a smug twinkle flickering within his eyes as he looked your figure up and down, drinking in every ounce of you.

No words were spoken, none were needed, the air between you said enough. You wanted attention, you’re getting it.

The vibrator was toyed with throughout the torturously slow drive to the restaurant. Bruce had requested the scenic view be taken that night, an act you found so sweet and meaningful when he had told you as he led you to the garage earlier—yet you now understood his true intentions as the humming within you roared louder.

The vibrations echoed throughout the walls of your cunt, shaking rapidly within it as he continued to tap at the small plus sign on the thin remote within his palm. There was no rhyme or reason for the continuous clicking; at first you thought it was out of habit as he often tapped at his phone throughout the day, though the darkening within his eyes showed he knew exactly what he was doing and merely wanted to watch you squirm.

It felt like ages, yet not enough time at all when the driver finally pulled into the lavish restaurant. The very restaurant you sat at now, with the same pair of dim, hungry eyes watching you squirm within your seat. The faint prick of your nails embedding themselves into your supple thighs was the only thing grounding you in the reality of what was transpiring; the only thing preventing you from breaking in front of some of Gotham’s most elite.

Your face contorted, scrunching in fixation as your lips parted softly to allow slow, unsteady exhales to flow forth. Your brow wrinkled, nose scrunched ever-so-slightly, and pupils blown out from lust as you tried to stifle each and every sound that tried to claw its way out of your throat.

Though, your struggle did not cease the billionaire’s ministrations: it encouraged them. 

The heat of his gaze continued to burn holes into your figure, watching every squirm and wiggle with rapt attention as he continued to slow speed up the vibrator. His thumb would flick between the plus and minus button, giving you an ounce of relief for a few moments before returning to the relentless pace of the humming within you.

It was deliciously tortuous. 

The mere knowing that within a moment anyone could come over and see your distress, see the remote in your lover’s hand and put two and two together was as arousing as it was taboo. 

The flesh of your inner thighs meet each other in a tight squeeze at the thought, sealing the vibrating silver bullet within you as your hips began to mindlessly roll in sync with the sensations. The desire to withhold your sounds was waning by the seconds; the weight of your head beginning to droop slightly to one side showing you were beginning to give to his unspoken control.

The vibrator continued its artificial thrusts within you, rubbing against your textured, sticky walls in a steady hum muffled by your walls. Each rock and roll of your hips increasing the friction, guiding the vibrator to reach your most sensitive entry spots to guide you closer to the pools of pleasure so close, yet so out of your reach.

But, just as you began to sink into his wordless control—to slip further into the taboo—a faint click was heard and soon the humming stopped.

The brief relaxed expression on your face rewound itself into one of confusion. Your lips had only begun to part to question why he had stopped, when he raised a hand to flag a waiter down.

The waiter appeared as quickly as his hand had risen, though it was expected as he was Bruce Wayne. There were words exchanged, yet you could not fully hear them; the ringing of missed pleasure still echoing throughout your skull as you watched half-heartedly as things transpired before you.

The blurred act of the cold, untouched meals being removed from the table and the causal exchange of your lover paying for the dinner happened so fluidly, that you had almost missed the sight of him rising from his seat to his impressive stature. The candle light illuminating the shadows of his toned figures, emphasizing his strength beneath his buttoned shirt as he held out a sturdy hand to you.

“We’re going to be late for the gala.” A simple sentence that barely registered in your mind. A gala. He stopped your pleasure for a gala?! 

The warmth of irritation began to spread throughout the center of your chance, though it was not given a chance to replace the lingering pleasure that resided in it as another faint hum began to stir within your walls. A soft gasp fell from your lips at the sensation, the size of your eyes widening to their abilities as your gaze snapped up from his calloused hand and to his face. A faint smirk outlining his lips as he nodded his chin in a jerking motion, showing you to take his hand.

“And I expect you to be on your best behavior.” The tone of his voice was a low, commanding hum. One that sent a shiver down your spine and made your inner walls flutter around the vibrating metal within you.

This was going to be a long date night.

Tag list:

All — @lady-haitani , @animal4princess-blog , @nikkii-yaps , @bohoooitsme

Want to be added to my taglist? Find it here

Want to be removed, were tagged by mistake, or want to update what you are tagged for? Find it all here

Want to be cool and do a super secret poll? Find it here

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Warmth and Relaxation (Bilbo x Reader)

Summary - A warm fire, the autumn breeze, and finally a moment's rest...or so it seems.

Warnings - Smut (leans more MA than R, but still rated R for safety), language, afab!Reader, female genitalia (reader), male genitalia (Bilbo), cock warming, reader lowkey being a brat, exhausted!Bilbo, after BOTFA, minimal editing, stress written.

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person

Word Count - 1,100+

A/N - I had this idea for a while and no character to directly put it on, until I saw a handful of requests for Bilbo in my inbox, so...here y'all go <3 I was stress writing this because it is almost a month away from my 25th birthday which has been giving me a quarter life crisis, so I used this as a distraction. The reader has no defining traits, I know it is not technically fall for me for like two more days...but let a girl live. Smut/Spice under the cut.

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad (N/A)

A familiar crackle of fire danced throughout the air, a tune accompanied by the faint flicker of pages turning in an unsteady beat. There was no rhyme, nor a reason, for the way at which the fire swayed or the pages turned—they merely transpired as they were meant to.

Sounds were not the only thing held within the autumn evening’s air; a mixture of scents accompanied the gentle, mundane tunes within the warm glow of controlled fire. The sweet scent of apple and cinnamon was the most notable, pouring out from the kitchen as a fresh pie cooled upon a countertop. Next was the familiar, old scent that came from the Hobbit hole; a mixture of old books, old wood, and a twinge of dust seemed to stain every Hobbit hole since the moment it had been made. The soft scent of watered soil managed to creep in through the cracks of the front door, ushered in by the soft autumn breeze. The warm scent of fire was almost a mute scent, yet noticeable enough to tell when a fire had been set without opening an eye; a steady flame burning away at a single log to remain in control, the soft notes of char bursting with every crackle and spark the fire made.

Though, there was a subtle scent within the autumn air. A note that the Hobbit of the hole would desperately try to mask upon every clean; the faint scent of sex.

A scent more primal than others, yet more natural than all combined. A scent of pleasure and life. One that was typically more potent but managed to be more mute on this night.

Though the scent was there, there was no squelching of bodies meeting each other. No thumping of a bedframe, tables, or chairs. No panting, no moaning, but there was no full silence in the night’s air.

It was a faint, yet notable, whimper that fell from the Hobbit’s thin lips as he attempted to turn his page. The weight of his chin resting upon your shoulder, as the weight of your head rested upon his; his eyes attempting to peer over the length of your figure, yet his eyes struggled to focus on his page. 

A soft rasp vibrated within the Hobbit’s throat as he attempted to mask the sound that came from his lips, though you had heard it clearly enough, before he spoke. “Would you please settle?” An attempt to feign annoyance that fell from his lips so weakly, a desperation to remain in control as he continued, “I am trying to read, and your constant shifting is making me lose my pace.”, the words left his lips in an exhausted breath as his grasp tightened around the pages. The lids of his eyes threatened to flutter as you shifted your weight upon him once more.

An act that was priorly done for comfort, adjusting to the stretch of the Hobbit’s cock within the depths of your moistened walls, now down as a wordless taunt. “I am settled,” you breathed, the weight of your head shifting upon his shoulder allowing your breath to graze against the side of his neck—a shiver roaming down his spine as the faint heat caressed against the sensitive curve of his neck. “I just wish to be more settled.” A scoff escaped the Hobbit’s lips at the end of your sentence, his blue eyes looping in exasperation in their sockets before his gaze finally shifted from the inked pages and onto your face.

“I wish to rest, Y/N.” Though full of exhaustion, love still flowed forth with every letter that left his lips as he gazed, tiredly, upon you. “Then rest.” You replied, the corners of your lips curving into a faintly mischievous smile—the same smile he saw countless times upon the journey you had recklessly accompanied him upon, the very journey he was now exhausted from. “No one is stopping you.” “You are.” The words left his lips in an exasperated tone, the soft snap of the book closing within his hands echoed throughout the air. 

The soft thump of the leatherbound book meeting the old wooden table barely cut through the thickening tension within the air, as the Hobbit continued to gaze at you with his serious, tired expression. “You are with your obsessive shifting upon my lap, and the sporadic rolling of your hips whenever I am finally about to finish a page.” He huffed with frustration, but not with true anger.

He was exhausted, physically and mentally. So much had transpired, so much had changed and all he wished for was the comfort of his home without interruption.

The exhaustion in his eyes made your gaze soften, a silent understanding filling your chest as you began to shift your weight to slide off of him. Though, you had barely slipped his cock a centimeter out of you, before his hands found themselves on either side of your hips.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, his brow furrowing with confusion as you sat up straight upon him. “Getting off of you so you may read in peace…is that not what you wanted?” You replied, equally as confused as the Hobbit you called lover was.

“What? No, no.” The soft blur of his auburn hair shaking in disagreement filled your view, alongside the faint curve of his lips at your statement. “I can read another time. I can. I just…” An exhausted sigh fell from his lips as his gaze fell from your face, landing upon your right hip as his thumbs traced small circles upon the soft flesh.

“I…” The words caught in the back of his throat, before another exhausted sigh pushed them out. “I do not know what I want, but I do not want you to leave…” The weight of his hands tightened around your hips as the whisper of a confession fell from his lips. His tired gaze now softened, meet yours with a silent plea: don’t move.

It was not a request to give him space, it was not a subtle poke to tease; it was an exhausted lover, reeling in the weight of his adventure wanting to find some comfort and security in the weight of you.

“Alright.” The word left your lips in a soft breath, the smile on your lips softened further as the weight of your arms encased your exhausted lover—allowing him to rest the weight of his head against your chest, as the smoothness of your hands rubbed soothing trails upon the length of his back. “I won’t move.” A promise spoken as softly as the scent of rain that had begun moments prior.

At that moment, there was no war. No crown. No scars. Just a Hobbit and his lover, savoring the weight of one another underneath the soft tap of autumn rain.

Tag lists:

The Hobbit — @violetteshoneybee , @spaceagegoblin

All — @lady-haitani , @bohoooitsme , @animal4princess-blog , @nikkii-yaps

Want to be added to my taglist? Find it here

Want to be removed, were tagged by mistake, or want to update what you are tagged for? Find it all here

Want to be cool and do a super secret poll? Find it here

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Ecstasy

Summary - "I just wanna be your sweetheart..."

Warnings - Smut (some lean more steamy), language, headcanon-y not full smuts, fem!reader, afab!reader, mention of male genitalia (characters), mention of female genitalia (reader & Tauriel), vaginal sex, oral sex (female and implied previous male receiving), dom-sub dynamics, darker themes (teetering into dead dove territory if not there), dub-con aspects/dubcon?, choking, dollification, manipulation, mind control, hair pulling, manipulation, piercings, bodily fluid (reader squirts), lowkey sub!Kili (is it really a rottencherrypie fic without sub!Kili?), lowkey obsessed!Kili,lowkey obsessed!Legolas, thranduil being an ass, brat!Reader, sex worker!Reader, monster x human (azog), inhuman dicks (azog), power manipulation, power play, semi-public sex, implied creampies, and more.

Pronouns & POV - She/Her, third-person

Pairings - Thorin x Reader, Fili x Reader, Kili x Reader, Thranduil x Reader, Legolas x Reader, Tauriel x Reader, Azog x Reader (hear me out)

Word Count - 6k (you can see me slowly getting into the swing of things)

A/N - Hello, my darlings, it has been a while. I apologize for disappearing, I was struggling and needed a step back from everything. I had realized that I was no longer enjoying writing and felt more like I was performing rather than creating, and felt like I was losing myself so I needed to find myself in the hopes of finding joy in writing again. I still have no clue how to use an emdash for anything other than aesthetic purposes...I think it looks pretty. This is not requested, I just like the song ecstasy by SUICIDAL-IDOL and the lyrics gave me this idea. I am a tad rusty, so my apologies for that (I have solely been writing a lot of Joe Goldberg and Steve Rogers stuff...for personal reasons). But, onto the oh so familiar part of this, the reader has no defining traits other than long hair to pull, soft skin, elegant limbs (whatever that means) and plump lips. This smut leans a bit darker with some characters, you have been warned! Azog's part is very manipulation heavy and darker theme wise, you have been warned! Smut below!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad (N/A)

-thorin

"Kiss me on the lips, choke me on the floor..."

The dwarven king of Erebor is a man of honor in public, but a man of depravity behind closed doors. He is the essence of the man who would treat his woman like a queen, but fuck her as if she meant nothing to him than a whore at a brothel; hard, fast, brutal.

It was not out of hatred, nor spite. No, this was how the king showed his undying devotion to his beloved queen. It was something unspoken between royals, an act so delicate, leading to something—they assumed to be—so heinous in the eyes of their elven guests.

A tender kiss in the midst of a heated meeting. The prickle of his bearded skin would rub against your softened cheeks, as his roughened lips meet the smooth, plumpness that was your own. A moment of calm, or rather a moment to prove who you belonged to, lingered amongst the growing, irritated voices of royals within the dwarven halls. The taste of meat and ale transferred from his tongue and onto the smoothness of your teeth as he swiped it against the pearly gates to your mouth, seeking out access to the moistened caverns within your lips, all whilst dreaming of the moist caverns hidden between the flesh of your thighs.

A kiss that was far more tender than the ones you had experienced when you were choked upon the very floors the varying royals now squabbled upon.

The calloused embrace of his palm wrapped around the length of your neck, a firm pressure placed upon it—not to entirely restrict the flow of your breath, but as a silent reminder of who you belonged to. His lips sought out your own, mashing together in a frantic manner like harsh tides against the rocks of shores—a manner frantic, yet as natural as the primalness within the many walks of life among the earth.

His tongue would swipe against the lower flesh of your lips, not in the act of a request for entry but rather a demand—or rather an acknowledgement of how lucky you were to welcome the king's tongue into your mouth. As your tongues entwined in the familiar dance of passion, the assault upon your inner walls did not cease: the bones of his hips snapping into the flesh of your ass, causing the heavier flesh beneath your skin to jiggle with every sudden movement he made as the thickness of his cock would continue to carve away at the inner caves of your walls.

The back of your head rubbing against the textured floors beneath you, being able to know which corner of the king's throne room you were being fucked upon merely by the subtle change in the manner of how your skull glid against it. The calloused grasp around your neck was the only thing preventing your neck from straining as it continued to crane back—a lifeline of stability for both yourself and the king as he continued to pound within your inner walls; an unspoken security that even within his roughest moments, he still had your best interests at heart...even if you left with a bruised arse in the end.

──────

-fili

"Lights out, you don't tap out..."

The golden-haired prince was a tad more determined than his uncle in the realms of the bedchambers. Though his uncle was a bit rougher around the edges, he needed breaks: unlike the golden-haired prince.

The prince was relentless in his efforts when his mind was set upon a goal, whether it was gaining your hand in courtship or how many times he could make you break before you sobbed for mercy. When he had his mind set, there was little that could deter him.

These acts normally panned out rather well for the prince: he had won you over, proven his abilities as heir to the throne, and shown himself to be an agile fighter in battle through his determination. So, when the prince had set his mind upon spending an entire day and night pleasuring you, there was little shock in the matter that he had managed it.

The topic did not arise until after the third time his tongue delved into the dampened walls of your womb, lapping up the endless stream of your lust as his growls of unfiltered satisfaction from your arousing flavors encased his moistened muscle. It was a simple question—or rather gasp, "Surely you have duties today, my love?", that quivered out of your lips as your thighs quivered around the sides of his golden mop.

And though his face was buried within the drenched, sensitive flesh of your cunt: you could feel the wolfish grin of his thin lips against your own sensitive lower ones as he spoke, "My only duties today are that of your pleasure, my queen". The vibrations of his voice against your drenched hole would be enough on its own to push you over the edge, but the title he had used—the promise of what you would one day be—threw you faster than you had planned.

The essence of your pleasure rushed out in a roaring gush, drenching the golden locks around his chin as he snarled in satisfaction: his calloused digits still curling themselves within the moistened grasp of your walls, milking out the last droplets of this act of pleasure as his head rose from betwixt the flesh of your thighs. His dampened beard was a visual sign of what he had done to you through the blurred haze of pleasure, while the darkened hue of his ocean eyes and the twisted grin upon his lips showed there was much more to come within the hours.

A sign proven to be true as day began to fade to night, the squelching click of coupling echoed throughout your chambers for the entire day as darkness began to creep into the sky. Your mind was in a haze, your body both burning with the fire of pleasure but chilled through the endless waves of release the dwarven heir had relentlessly gifted you. "Ah, ah, ah," The prince would tut, your legs draped over his shoulders—the heels of your feet bouncing against the toned flesh of his back as he continued to pound into you, "Just because the lights are going out does not mean you get to tap out. Eyes on me." A command that would cause your exhausted, lust-driven gaze to flicker onto his face.

A look of smugness and primal desire spread upon the beautiful carvings of his face as his pace slowed for a moment, granting you the ability to be anchored in reality for a mere moment before his attack on your aching hole restarted. There was no tapping out with him.

──────

-kili

"You're my everything..."

When it came to the youngest royal of Erebor, when he loved, he loved hard. He was the hopeless romantic of the three men. He had devoted himself to finding the 'one' the moment he had heard tales of it from his mother, deeming that he would become the man his 'one' had deserved.

All the acts he did were not for fame, nor was it for the glory or boasting he could so easily do; though that did not cease him from boasting when he had the chance. They were for his 'one', for you.

The moment the prince first saw you was the moment he knew you were his, and he was yours. It was a casual glance you had given him in your mind, a mere 'oh, okay, another dwarf' as you examined the company, but to him it was destiny unraveling before his eyes: it was the moment he became hopelessly devoted to you.

He became your shadow, your guard, your everything. His eyes were always upon you—even when you had desired privacy—and his presence was not far from you, whether it be the battlefield or where he sat during a meal; he was always there. At first, it was an annoyance; you found his infatuation a bit irritating as you wanted nothing more than to proceed with the journey and return to your life...but he soon became desperate to prove his devotion to you.

It began in small acts—giving you more servings when he was dishing out meals, giving you extra wrappings when you were injured instead of rationing them, to allowing you more time to bathe when he needed it more—but soon turned deeper. A passing comment of frustration of the inability to relieve yourself with so many ears around, quickly turned to the youngest prince, wrapping his calloused palm around your wrist and dragging you off into the woods away from the ears of the company, before kneeling before you, as if he was a lowly mortal before a goddess begging for a blessing, and dipping his head beneath the fabric of your gowns.

Before confusion could gain residency in your mind, the prince's wet tongue began to lap against the length of your tender cunt—granting you the relief you had been aching for this entire journey. His long licks gliding up towards the sensitive bundle of nerves that was your clit, soon his lips found themselves encasing it as he sucked against it; yet your entrance was not neglected. The slight pressure and stretch of his thick, calloused fingers splitting open the moistened walls of your womb made your toes curl within your boots.

The weight of your head met the back of a rough oak tree as your fingers found themselves beneath your gown, entangled in the prince's locks as he continued his ministrations of pleasure. Every suction and swirl of his tongue, to every curve and thrust of his fingers, was all a silent devotion to you; a wordless promise that he would do everything in his power to satisfy you. A promise met with a silent plea for more as your hips rose and fell against the patterns of his tongue and fingers, your grasp upon his head tightening—causing your nails to prick against his scalp—as you began to guide him in the ways of your pleasure.

Another act the prince deemed as a sign that you were his, and he was yours: just from your primal need for more.

The sounds of your cries were barely muffled by your free hand, the pitch rising as your pleasure grew, as concerns of the others faded into nothingness, as you felt the creeping prickle of release begin to make its way up from the tips of your toes. A familiar knot woven tightly within the pit of your core, stretching and straining with every thrust of the prince's fingers until the dam finally burst with a final snap.

Your chest heaved in pleasure, as your thighs trembled around the sides of his head, as the waves of your orgasm wracked throughout your body. The grasp you held upon his head tightened more, digging your nails further into his scalp, causing the prince to whine against your cunt—vibrations that made your walls flutter around his thick fingers before he slowly pulled them out.

When the prince finally arose from the cloth shield of your gown, his face and hand were covered in the nectar of your pleasure: his pupils blown with adoration as he remained kneeling before you, awaiting for you to speak. And when you did speak, it was a breathless word, "why?".

A question met with an equally breathless reply, "Because you're my everything.", with the most dazed, lovestruck eyes. He was a fool, yes, but from that moment on, he was your fool.

──────

-thranduil

"Drag me around, push me right against your door..."

The relationship you held with the elven king was complicated. When things were good, they were incredible: you had been spoiled with lavish gifts, had servants tending to your every whim, and had the king of Mirkwood at your beck and call. But things were bad; it was more your own doing.

It was not that you sought out fights; just that they were easy to pick, especially when the king ignored you for so long. Though you had some understanding of his duties as king, the sudden shift from being able to dote upon your every whim and bring you to heights of pleasure no other could give you, to having to plead to be seen by your lover and having to fight off the chilling embrace of the night with your own fingers was...irritating.

Something that grew more infuriating with time as the king expected you to return to the routine he was so used to: you eagerly on your knees, mouth wide open, awaiting him to fill it with the mass of his heavy cock after not seeing you for several moons. But, there was one thing he had severely underestimated: your ability to remain a 'good girl'.

The desire to be good did not disappear overnight—you still eagerly awaited the familiar tang of his cock within your mouth, knowing it would soon stretch out the desperate walls of your cunt—but the signs were also not subtle that you were beginning to rebel against him.

No longer did you await him in the gowns he had sent to you before his return; instead, he was lucky to find that you had even put on the jewelry he had requested. No longer did you greet him on your knees at his door, allowing them to be bruised by the hours of waiting; you were found either applying lotion to your elegant limbs or resting on the silken sheets of the bed before grabbing a cushion and tossing it in front of him, before kneeling.

Subtle acts that the king was not ignorant of. No, he took mental notes of your rebellion.

In the king's mind, it was not only a slight against his appearance within the woodland halls; it was a slight against his control over you. The signs were subtle that the king was scheming to break you back into shape; the tick of his jaw when you were not wearing a gown he had sent, the narrowing of his gaze when you tossed a cushion near his feet, the boredom in your eyes as you choked upon his cock as if it was a chore and not an honor. Signs you had managed to miss in the midst of your self-righteous defiance, something the king was glad for because nothing could compare to your stunned face the day he decided to fix your attitude issue.

It had begun as normal; he had arrived to find you rubbing lotion onto the smoothness of your legs in a bored manner, and not in the gown he had sent. The muscles in his slender jaw clenched, the brightness of his blue eyes dimming as your gaze lifted from the flesh of your legs and onto his annoyance-riddled face—an exasperated sigh slipping from your plump lips as your gemstone colored eyes looped in their sockets.

You did not have a chance to grab the silk cushion beside you to throw at his feet, for the king moved in a blur, and before you could process it, his slender fingers were woven into a tight grasp, planted firmly at the back of your head as he yanked you from the comfort of silk and dragged you across the floor.

The cream you had been rubbing onto your skin to soften it made it nearly impossible to stay upright on the flooring, causing you to slide against it—almost bashing your face into it—as the king continued to drag you towards a wall. The sting of his grasp was the one thing that grounded you in your shock, confirming that this was truly transpiring.

The flesh of your lips were stuck in a stunned 'o' shape, a sight that made the king snarl in annoyance towards you. "Don't offer me your mouth now, slut." He hissed as he pushed you up against his door, his muscular body trapping any form of escape as he yanked you into standing by your hair; the sting of pain warping into...pleasure.

"You want attention that badly? Fine, you'll get it." It was not fully a promise, nor an entire threat, but rather a mix of the pair; just as the night following was a mix of both pain and pleasure—your every hole stretched, bruised, filled, and fucked to its limits as a mixture of sobs of apologies and cries of pleasure danced throughout the ancient halls. A sign of the king's power, and a warning to all those who try to defy him, that though you left with a bruised cunt and stretched hole, they would leave in a far less pleasurable state than they had arrived if they went against his command.

──────

-legolas

"I'm your little doll, come and play with me..."

Throughout the many things the elven prince possessed, control came in far and few quantities. Though he was respected, and most of his every whim acted upon, he had no sense of it in his own right—the servants obeyed his father, the guards only followed orders in fear of what his father might do, and his life, its very essence, was just another act of duty.

He felt weak, powerless. A desperation to hold something of control, something entirely his own that no other could refute as an extension of his father's power, rose as his age did. And that desire ended up trickling onto you.

It began subtly; it was a simple denial of your requests for a break, something innocent, no one batted an eye at—not even yourself, though your exhaustion made you more dazed than anything. Then it was the changing of your uniform while the others were left unchanged—an act that momentarily raised brows, but was later brushed off as a minor flaw in your previous attire. But little did anyone know, the prince's thirst for control was rising faster than it could be quenched.

It did not take long for his subtlety to fade, his control over you growing more diminishing in the very nature—questioning your thoughts, insisting you be served differently than you had requested, to even changing the times at which you rose and slept. He was undermining every aspect of your very nature and thought, and yet, you felt oddly flattered that the prince of Mirkwood began to focus his attention on you.

It was strange, you would not deny your confusion with his sudden fixation, but you would not deny the perks that came with it: new gowns, better living quarters, better meals, and healing. You were both a royal without a title and yet still a worker within halls that were becoming your own: you were there to serve, but serve only him.

It was a conflicting matter in your heart, as your devotion to the king fell under question, but in the same breath, it risked upsetting the prince if you confirmed you sought his father's approval more than his. As if the very thought that the confirmation from your employer that you were doing a good job was a horrific act, worse than spitting on the grave of his mother.

For months, you walked the fine line between servant and toy for the elven prince, until one evening when you returned to your quarters to find the prince sitting upon the plushness of your bed. The silks spread upon it were of your favorite color, one you had not known how he had known, but he did, the plush mattress sinking inwards at his strong weight as he sat at a corner edge as if he had been awaiting your arrival for some time now, despite being the very one to dictate your schedule.

The shock that had washed over you lasted a few moments before you began the regular greeting as was expected of you, lowering your head in a polite bow as his title began to slip through your lips—but was halted by the creaking of the bed as he rose from it, and the delicate pressure of his slender finger against your lips. "I have a request of you", he began—the tone of his voice held the same serious, regal air as usual, "but this must not leave your chambers, or else." The subtle threat sent a shiver down the length of your spine, causing a familiar moistness to rise in the sensitive flesh between your thighs at the darkened tone.

"A request of me?" It was meant as a statement, but left your lips in the form of a question as your mind roamed wildly with all possibilities—had you offended the prince, or had he needed assistance sewing a damaged tunic? Whatever his request, you would surely not deny it, as that would be a grave insult not only to him but to his father as well. "Of course, my prince. I am more than happy to serve you." A sentence that would soon describe the essence of your existence, but I am getting ahead of myself.

The corners of his thin lips curved into a darkened grin for a moment, a flash of excitement sparkling beneath his darkened eyes before the clearing of his throat stabilized him. "It is a different kind of servicing...", he trailed off, yet his gaze never left your own. "...one that only you I trust to do properly. Do you trust me?" The question had barely left his lips as the blur of your head bobbing in agreement filled his view, a mindless nod that sealed your fate as the prince's little doll.

Your existence was no longer merely scrubbing floors, mending tunics, and ensuring that food was properly washed for meals; you were now his little toy to play with. You were on his beck and call, his pretty little doll who dressed how he desired, spoke how he desired, and—most importantly—did what he desired.

His commands were law, holding stronger weight than the commands of his father in your mind. After all, it was the prince's cock you choked upon every night, not his father's.

You were his good girl, his source of control. No matter how inferior the prince felt, he knew he could slip into the privacy of his chambers where his little doll sat waiting on his bed—so pretty, so eager to please—and fill her every hole with his seed as she sobbed pleased cries of thanks and how wonderful he was. He always had you to play with.

──────

-tauriel

"Piercing on your lip, it's perfect. Never seen a girl this perfect..."

Time away from the woodland halls had shaped Tauriel in ways few could expect: the once regal, poised guard turned into something more feral. It was not solely in the way she held herself—finding herself free from the rules that once commanded every aspect of her life—but also in her appearance.

It was something small, something unheard of in the realms of elves—a lip piercing. A piece of metal that curved around the plushness of her lips, causing all gaze to fall upon them as she spoke—whether it be victories being recounted or discussion of the weather, all eyes were upon it.

It was the very thing that had caught your attention across the way in the brothel. You were there as a tavern girl, never taking a client of your own—not that you were opposed to the act, you merely weren't interested in the clientele that frequented the old, wooden halls until she arrived.

She had requested a pint of ale; the aura around her was tired, yet her eyes were full of hunger for something other than food. Eyes that burnt into your back the moment you had turned to fill the glass, feeling the heat drift down to the flesh of your rear.

It was meant as a simple exchange, passing over the glass and asking if she wished to pay for the ale now or rather start a tab for her stay, but life doesn't always go as expected. The moment you had begun to reach the glass towards the countertop in front of her, her slender, lightly calloused hands wrapped around it—encasing yours with it as her emerald, hungry eyes burned into your figure.

Savoring your every curve before flickering up to meet your gemstone pair. "How much?" The question left her lips as smoothly as the ale you had poured, one that left you taken aback for a brief moment before you gave her the price of her drink. The corners of her lips curved in amusement as a faint rumble of laughter vibrated through her chest, her gaze never leaving yours as her grasp around your hands tightened. "Not the drink. How much for you?"

The question left you in a mixture of shock, confusion, and flattery; no other patron had asked for your prices, nor had they held your hands or looked at you with such a passionate manner as you had served them.

"I, uh, do not know." The admission seemed to humor the previous guard even further, a look of disbelief flashing within her eyes before a twinkle of smugness followed. "You do not know your own prices, or do you believe I do not have enough to pay for your services?" Her question was simple, a distraction really, as she easily took the glass from your hands and raised the amber liquid to her lips. Your gaze flickered down to her neck, watching how the liquid moved down as she swallowed, gulp after gulp.

With an inhale, you confessed what was taboo in the business of taboo. "I have never had a client before." The simple sentence made the elf pause, her eyes momentarily widening in shock as she looked you up and down—as if intrigued and offended on your behalf that you had never been prompted before—before a darkened smirk spread across the plumpness of her lips.

"How lucky for me", she spoke as the curve of her lips deepened into something more inhuman, "here I had stopped for a drink and a bed to be warmed, and now I get to be a first client? How lucky for me." There was little time for rebuttal or refusal as the elf dropped a hefty bag of gold upon the wooden counter, her head nodding back to a room she knew was free—as she had not heard a single sound of pleasure escape from it—before rising to her feet. "Come." She ordered, the glass still in her slender hands as she walked to the room she had rented—a command so alluring, so promising that you could not help but trail after the gorgeous woman.

And that was how you found yourself in this position: your limbs tied to each bedpost, glistening cunt on full display as the elven woman stared down at it hungrily. With a final gulp, she emptied her glass mug of ale and placed it down on the nightstand nearby; the floor creaked as she inched closer to the heavenly sight of your bare cunt dripping under the chilled caress of night air. "Mm, look at this..." She hummed, a single slender digit delving between the sticky lips betwixt your legs, bumping against the sensitive bundle of your nerves as she rubbed it up and down. "I've never seen a pussy this perfect...never seen a girl this perfect." She corrected herself, the smirk upon her lips deepening as she inched closer to the dampened flesh of your cunt; the bed creaking under her weight as she kneeled upon it before her head delved forward, not wasting another moment to dive her tongue into the hole that was weeping for her.

A groan of satisfaction vibrated against your core, causing your limbs to tremble within the tightened ropes as she continued to devour your cunt. The squelching snarls of her satisfaction were almost louder than the mewls of your own, as her tongue continued to dance and flick within your sensitive inner walls; the piercing on her lip bumping against your sensitive flesh with every turn of her head, causing you to jolt slightly at the sensations until it soon became another twist in the dance of pleasure. A dance that would be revisited whenever the elf found herself near your realm—one she sought out more often than her homeland.

──────

-azog

"You're so crazy, manipulate me. Fucking chase me, fucking break me..."

Finding yourself within the grasp of the orcish warlord was not something you had believed possible when you had agreed to join the company. It was a single misstep, a mistake against your fellow company, that left you stranded and taken prisoner by the grey orc, by the hands of his son.

You had believed your life was over, attempting to find peace with the fact that your head would soon be upon a pole as a warning to your friends of their fate, but death never came for you.

Instead came manipulation. It was not the kind you had expected for the orc warlord, but rather...pity spoken in broken common tongue.

"They leave pretty woman to fend for herself. Not even try fight for her." He snarled to his men, his inhuman eyes burning into the flesh of your figure. "What men are they? They are weak! Fools!" His voice boomed with rage, one that danced throughout the air and found home within your heart.

On some level, he was right. Even if he was manipulating you, he was right: they could have ensured you were with them, they could have fought for you, but they didn't. The seed of hatred had been planted into the center of your chest, turning into a sproutling of resentment at the very dwarves you swore to aid: the ones who disposed of you as easily as they disposed of their waste upon their trail.

With time, it bloomed into a raging garden of anger as your view shifted from seeing Azog as a brutal, power-hungry orc who had ravaged the dwarves' homelands and killed the past king, to the orc who had saved you from the harshness of the elements or worse.

He was crazy, he manipulated you, but he saved you.

Initially, it came as a surprise that you were treated fairly in his camp; you had expected harshness, torture, or even pure brutality from the other orcs, but they seemed to fear you—or fear what touching you would lead to. You were fed fairly, clothed properly, given a good resting area, and heard with your concerns—something Azog brushed off with his followers, calling them weak when they dared complain about a missing limb but barking orders to get you new stew if you disliked the slop served to you.

It felt more like home than it did with the dwarves, safer than when you were with them. You were no longer hunted; you were protected. No longer were there vague promises of power; you had power. And all you had to do was spend a few nights attempting to fit the orc's mass into the walls of your womb without waking the rest of the camp—though he eagerly tried to get you to be louder for the others to hear just how virile their leader is.

It was different than being with a man, not only by how large and intimidating the orc was by height, but by how massive and different his cock was by texture. His girth was so large that each time it felt like you were a virgin all over, being stretched to your limits as the sting of his cock had split you apart; it was as painful as it was pleasurable—a sense of fullness no man had given you before as he easily reached the most sensitive depths of your core when only half way in you.

At the base of his impressive length was a strange sight for you, something that would inflate, almost trapping him inside of you as he flooded your womb with his orcish seed—always snarling something in his tongue with a darkened look of glee in his eyes as he continued to pound into you at a relentless speed, pushing his cum deeper into your overly stretched walls.

And the texture of it was...strange. It was not a horrid sensation; in fact, it was far more pleasurable than any you had felt before—it was merely different. It was as if every curve of his cock held texture, every vein a direct engravement to shape the walls of your womb into his own—to mark you in a manner that no other cock could fit into so that only he could pleasure you—and reach the most hidden spots of pleasure before you could even breathe his name.

However, your brief stint of pleasure was soon overshadowed by another run-in with the same company that had abandoned you, according to your orc lover. A mixture of expressions greeted you as you sat behind Azog on his prized warg, a symbol that you yourself were a prize, but to your old friends, it was a sign you were a captive.

The blank look in your eyes when they called your name was taken as a sign that he had broken you, though the only way he had done so was the times he made you bounce on his cock. They believed it was their duty to 'save' you from the orc warlord, not questioning once if you desired to stay with the man they claimed to be a monster.

A fight arose among them, one that had left you knocked off Azog's warg as it had been struck by an arrow the young dwarven prince had fired into its leg, giving the dwarves ample opportunity to rush you away in your dazed state as the fight continued. Fire began to engulf the makeshift battlefield, flames of the trees rising so high that the orcs had no choice but to retreat to reassess their battle.

The very act that Azog had ingrained in your mind as an act of shame, something to hold against others, as it was a sign of weakness. A twinge of pain flickered in your head as you watched your orc lover retreat as his manipulation began to fade, and a sense of dirtiness began to spread throughout your core.

Had you been used? Did he mean any of it?

Despite the waning control he held over you, you still fought against your old friends, demanding they leave you alone as they desperately tried to speak to you—believing you had been brainwashed, how right they were, but how wrong they were at the same time. A familiar warmth of rage began to spread throughout the center of your chest as you continued to break free from the haze of Azog: he left you, he abandoned you like they did.

The seed of rage had been planted within your heart, beginning to form roots within the soil as you sat awake further away from your dwarven companions: watered by the disgust of your actions as you stared at the stars in the sky...stars that had begun to dim.

The heat of a familiar breath tickled the back of your neck, your head quickly whipping around at the sensation, greeting you with the sight of the orc warlord who stared down at you with that familiar dark smirk. But, instead of the typical glee you had once felt when he looked at you, a sense of dread arose in the pit of your stomach as you stumbled onto your feet before dashing into the forest—knowing deep down there was no use with the speed of his warg, but you had to try.

You knew he would fucking chase you and fucking break you if it was the last thing he did. After all, you were his perfect human pet—his perfect prize, and he couldn't let his hard work be for nothing.

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[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Tag Team (Tauriel x Reader x Kili)

Summary - A new night means a new opportunity for pleasure with your elven and dwarven lover, but this time, something new is brought into the mix.

Warnings - Smut, language, afab!reader, fem!reader, mention of female genitalia (reader), mention of male genitalia (Kili and a strap-on), weird descriptions (would I not be me without them?), threesome, Tauriel has a strap-on, lowkey sub!Kili (one day I will make him not a sub, one day), slight sub!reader, slight dom!Tauriel (dommy mommy), sort of dark!Tauriel (I was ovulating, leave me alone), oral sex (Kili receiving), mention of cum (a lot of cum), reader squirts, degradation (reader receiving), praise (reader receiving...conflicting smut lol), pet names (reader receiving),Tauriel getting a majority of the attention (seriously could just be a Tauriel smut if you forget about Kili), cum swallowing (not sorry), implied aftercare (I wrote too much and wanted to post this so no aftercare scene but after care is important!), and potentially more.

Pronouns & POV - None (but reader is called a good girl), third-person

Word Count - 4,100+ (this was meant to be shorter but I got carried away)

A/N - Heyyy, besties~! Guess who's alive and is about to make it the world's problem *insert kissy face*. But in all seriousness, I do apologize for disappearing for so long, several things happened since I disappeared but I am somewhat back now with this smut that was suggested from the previous suggestion box! "Basically a part 2 to the "Bring a Friend" (anonymous). Thank you for the suggestion, I have been wanting to do a part two (and now maybe a part three) of Bring a Friend since I had first written it; I apologize it had taken me so long to write, a lot of personal stuff went down (including a power outage when I was wrapping it up), but I hope it was worth it. I did try something new with the spacing, and a few newer things writing wise, I was overcompensating a lot because I felt like my writing was more subpar than usual. Reader has no defining features other than soft lips, round ass, and hair that can be grabbed at/tangled in. Smut below the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

A familiar beat fluttered throughout the air: it was one known well, one that stained the halls—and the floors—with the essence of lust. It was typical for the tune to be followed by the deep, steady beat of a headboard thumping against a wall.

Yet this time, the erotic melody was not led by a thump. No, the melody that trailed after that lustful tune was that of mewling.

An erotic sound easily flowed forth from the dwarven prince's thin lips; his mouth hung open in a gasp, resembling a fish plucked out of water gasping for air, as he was whisked farther into the alluring embrace of pleasure. The weight of his head fell back slightly as the sway of satisfaction roamed throughout his sturdy frame; the sharp center of his neck pointed toward the ceiling above, causing the auburn waves of his hair to flutter down his glistening shoulders, the ends of the smoothen locks trickled low enough to graze against the toned flesh of his upper back.

As the erotic tune of the prince's moans continued to flutter throughout the air, there was a melody that had yet to trail against it—that of yours. As it had been once before: the sounds of your satisfaction had been stifled, muffled by the warmth of flesh.

Though, it was not identical to how it was once. No.

Instead of the sweetened tang of elven flesh coating the moistness of your tongue, the taste that flooded the warmth of your mouth was different. It was far saltier than the taste of elf you had been accustomed to, but it was not the first time you had downed dwarven cock—but it was the first time it prevented your moans from dancing throughout the night's air.

The length of the prince's cock was a decent size, it was not large enough to cause pain as it drilled into the moistened cavern of your mouth, however, its girth was of nothing you had experienced before. The corners of your lips strained around the mass of his hardened member; the inner, moist flesh of your mouth being stretched to its limits as it encased the dwarf's throbbing cock.

As the length of his cock continued to get acquainted with the warm, moistened caress of your mouth, his calloused hands found themselves entangled within the texture of your hair. The grasp his calloused hands held upon your locks was firm, yet not painful; it was tight enough to keep himself steady—whilst also giving him the leverage to puppet your head to his pleasure—but it was not harsh enough to cause a hiss of displeasure to vibrate against the girth of his cock.

The corners of your stretched lips began to overflow with saliva as the dwarven prince's hips continued to buck into the warmth of your mouth; the light tap of his balls bounced off of your chin, causing the sound of flesh meeting moistened flesh to echo throughout the air—an echo that was accompanied by another, far harsher tap of toned hips meeting the rounded flesh of your rear.

A sound met with an equally harsh touch; as the dwarven prince managed to keep his grasp upon your head gentle, despite the roaming lust within his veins, it was a far different tale when it came to the elven guard who lingered behind you.

It was tight; the tips of her fingernails sunk into the flesh of your hips, pricking at the fiber of your being with a bitterly erotic sting. And firm; within the tightened grasp of her palm, you found it nearly impossible to move farther than an inch from her firm and steady hand. And most of all, possessive; any attempts you made—and failed—to inch away from the roughened pace of the elf's hips, she would easily pull you back with a firm tug—the weight of her figure pressing into you as she leaned down, the flesh of her firm breasts grazing against the glistening flesh of your back, as the heat of her breath caressed the shell of your ear. "Where do you think you're going?" She'd breathe: the warmth of her words entering your very being, causing shock waves of arousal to roam throughout your body in the wake of her growled question.

The pace the guard's hips held was not like that of the dwarven prince; there was no slowness, no rhyme or rhythm behind her thrusts as she pushed the silicone cock further into the stretched, leaking hole of your core. Her movements could only be described in three words: quick, sloppy, and feral.

The false cock would continue to carve itself inside of the slickness of your core; a sensation that was ever so strange, yet eerily familiar to you. It was not that you had such an item used upon you prior—though the elven guard had such a thing secretly stashed amongst a chest of weapons—no, the fake cock itself was more than just its name. It was a replica of the very cock that filled your mouth.

It was all but identical to the prince's cock; from the large vein that curved upon the center, to every divot and curve bestowed upon the silicone. The only way you knew it to be false—other than the beautiful elf behind it—was the inability to feel the throb of the prince's heartbeat within the sea of silicone.

A pleased growl rumbled throughout the center of the elf's chest as she continued the onslaught against your dripping cunt; the smoothness of her firm breasts grazing against the sweat-dampened flesh of your back. The thrusts of her hips were harsh, each thrust pushing her weight further into you—ensuring that her cock reached depths that the real one had failed to do prior.

No mercy was shown upon your leaking core as the guard shifted her stance, the powerful pumping of her hips matching the rapid beating of her heart as the weight of her body drifted backward. The slight pressure of her firm breasts eased off of your glistening back as her spine stood tall, reverting to her perfect posture—even as her hips continued to bounce off of the flesh of your arse. "Fuck..." The word would leave her lips in a breath as her gaze flickered down to the sight of your stretched hole: admiring how it desperately clung around her cock, puckering around the smoothness of silicone as it hungrily swallowed down each inch with an eager squelch.

"Just like that, pretty girl." The grasp she held upon the softness of your hips would tighten as the praise left her lips in a purr; the tips of her nails embedding themselves into the delicate flesh—a sensation that caused a hiss to vibrate against the prince's throbbing cock. "Such a good girl, taking us so well." The guard would continue to praise you, the words falling from her lips as fluidly as the motions of her hips—quick, deep, and possessively.

The harsh snap of her hips meeting the rounded flesh of your arse continued to echo throughout the room, though the tune was arguably more gentle in tone than it was in sensation. The unbridled, feral pace held within the elf's hips would jolt you forward with every thrust, pushing you further down onto the prince's cock. The tip of your nose would be pressed firmly against the toned flesh of his abdomen as the elf's thrust jolted your forwards, making you down another inch of his cock; an act that caused the throbbing, angered head of his manhood to tap against the back of your throat.

The act of the prince's tip ramming against the back of your throat caused a forced gag to roam upon the length; at any other moment, the action of gagging would cause repulsion within the prince. He would have turned up his nose in disgust and shrunk away from the sound, yet within that moment it was different.

Rather than disgust, the prince found arousal in the fact that it was him who you choked upon—his cock that you could barely swallow down, his cock those erotic vibrations of hesitation rang upon.

It was him you drooled upon, him who stretched the flesh of your mouth to its limits—him who caused those tear-streaked cheeks and watery eyes who bore up at him, glazed over with nothing but lust.

"Fuck..." The word slipped through his thin lips as he gazed down upon his creation, upon his goddess: it sounded closer to a mewled whine rather than that of a coherent word—the single syllable hovering upon the softness of his thin lips before it found itself fluttering into the air to meet the poorly muffled gag you spewed upon his cock.

The sound of panted laughter soon accompanied the primal sound the prince had left within the air, the guard's chest vibrating in amusement as the pace of her hips quickened—refusing to give your cunt a moment of mercy as you continued to choke upon the prince's cock.

The sight of the guard laughing as she pounded into your aching core urged the dwarven prince's hips to quicken in pace.

It was a sight all too tempting, all too irresistible to the prince; the way her fiery locks caressed the softness of her face, her forehead glistening with the moisture of her efforts all the while her firm breasts jolted with the harsh effort of her hips.

And you, his beautiful goddess, did not aid in quenching the fire of the prince's passion as his eyes flickered down to meet yours—the way those beautiful gemstones stared at him so mindlessly, so full of trust and lust; it made his hips move on their own accord. Yet, the act was not met without consequence.

As the prince's cock continued to carve itself a home within the moistened flesh of your mouth, all moisture was forced from it due to the fullness; liquid followed forth from the corners of your lips, the clearness of your saliva tinted by the milkiness of the prince's precum—the taste of the liquid was a salty, bitter tang that made the slickened walls of your core clench around the smooth thickness of silicone within.

The milky mixture continued to coat every inch of your mouth; there was no tastebud spared of the fate being drenched with the essence of the prince's pre-pleasure as his girth continued to glide within the warmth of your mouth. And with the consistent movement of the dwarf's eager hips, soon enough your chin was not spared either—the opaque mixture continued to spill forth from the corners of your lips as gravity soon led it to the point of your chin, slowly beginning to drip down the length of your neck as the speed of the prince's hips refused to cease.

"Fuck..." The word once again left the prince's lips in a mewl as the pace of his hips refused to falter; a mindless chant of pleasure that sounded more acquaint to a sinner who had finally found salvation within the loving grasp of a god—or rather, the dampened mouth of a disheveled goddess.

"Do it again..." The prince encouraged, no, pleaded with the elven guard as he shifted his head back into place. No longer did the sharp point of his neck point to the stars, nor did the lids of his honey-colored eyes remain closed; instead, they were wide open, boring into the emerald pair that the gods had so lovingly bestowed upon the elvish guard—a beautiful pair that shimmered with lust.

The corners of the guard's lips began to curl in amusement at the dwarf's plea; finding humor amongst the sea of pleasure at how easily she turned an authority of power into a pleading mess by pleasuring another.

The grasp she held upon the flesh of your hips tightened as the dwarf's desperation hung within the air, the tips of her nails embedding themselves further into the plushness of your skin with a harsh pinch—causing you to jolt forwards and hiss against the prince's length. The curled sea of hair that protected the base of the prince's cock would rub against your lower face, causing your nose to scrunch slightly at the sensation whilst the vibrations of your displeasure echoed upon the mass of his length.

"Do what again?" The guard questioned; though her tone held innocence, it was feigned—the words no more than a taunt that weighed heavy within the lust-thickened air.

"Use your words." She would purr, giving the illusion of choice, yet it was clear the coaxing statement was more than just that—it was a thinly veiled command. A command that shone through clearly within the gaze her emerald orbs held: sharpening within the dimness of the room's faint lighting, the orange hue of fire danced upon her features—emphasizing the sharpness in both her gaze and her features through the warmth that danced upon her face, and in the darkness it left in the areas it refused to touch.

A strained, pathetic mewl fell from the prince's lips at the command. The weight of his head threatened to tilt back again, yet he managed to keep it steady as he met his elven lover's burning, emerald gaze with his own desperate, honey-colored one.

The flesh of his palms grew slick with sweat as they tightened around the various textures of your hair—an attempt to dry his palms and keep himself stable as the joints within his knees threatened to give out.

"Make her choke on my cock." The words fell from the prince's lips alongside a slew of small, needy whimpers and moans—as the sounds flowed out of the prince's lips as smooth as honey, the essence of your pleasure continued to flow forth from cunt.

The wet, squelching click of your pleasure weighed heavily within the air; the essence of your pleasure slowly rolled down the silicone length as it continued to carve itself a home within the warmth of your walls—droplets of your sweet nectar dripped down onto the floor, a small puddle of pleasure pooling upon the old wood.

"Please..." The breathily whined plea was all it took for the guard to cave to the prince's request—after all, she was merely withholding to hear the sweet symphony of his desperation.

A familiar melody fluttered throughout the air; the tune of panted laughter flowed forth from the guard's soft lips, her chest vibrating with slight amusement as the pace within her hips began to quicken once more.

"There it is. Such a good boy." The purr of the guard's words did not linger within the air for long as they quickly found themselves masked by the harsh thwack of her toned hips meeting the supple flesh of your arse.

Her weight shifted forward, allowing the smoothness of her breasts to graze against the sweat-dampen flesh of your back once more as her thrusts turned harsher—more primal if that was even possible.

Mercy was a luxury not bestowed upon your desperate hole as the guard continued to carve her false cock into the depths of your core. The squelching slap of sex danced throughout the air, accompanied by the muffled gags of your moans against the prince's cock you choked upon; as a familiar soreness began to spread throughout the sensitive inner flesh of your cunt, a similar one began to spread throughout the muscles within your jaw—weighing down upon it heavily as the muscles grew tense throughout your trembling figure.

It was as if the very fibers of your being were being stretched and filled to their limits—by the false cock that pounded away within your core, thumping against your sweet spot in an endless assault, and the real one that continued to smack against the back of your throat; the bitter, salty taste of pre-release continuing to bombard your tastebuds as an endless stream of saliva and the prince's nearing release continued to flow forth from the corners of your lips.

The subtle weight of the guard's chest was now fully pressed against the slickness of your back, allowing the softness of her breasts to rub against your back with every harsh thrust of her skilled hips; pressing you further into the prince's cock with every motion of her fluid hips.

A familiar static sensation began to roam throughout your veins, as the weight of your being felt both light as air and yet as heavy as steel—a paradox in every meaning of the manner, a sensation so hard to explain yet well-known by many. As the prickle of static continued to vibrate throughout the fibers of your being, the guard pressed further against your back; as the pressure of her body against your intensified, the harshened grasp she held upon your right hip dropped.

The loss of contact gave you a brief moment of clarity amongst the sea of pleasure; allowing a sense of confusion to arise amongst the rising waves of nearing release, yet it soon came to a crashing halt as the smoothness of the guard's palm found itself between the dampened flesh of your thighs—hovering a mere inch away from the heat of your aching cunt.

The tip of the guard's smooth thumb had soon found in your soaked, sticky folds; your body bucked against her palm at the sensation of her thumb simply toying with your sensitive parts—sliding up and down the sticky slickness of your inner folds in an almost painfully slow caress.

All the while, the silicone tip of her cock continued to ram itself against the most sensitive, spongey spot within the depths of your twitching core.

Your inner walls began to clench and quiver around it; a mindless, primal attempt to milk the false cock—an action that would bend the prince to your will, urging him to bring you to the brink of sweet release, yet the guard could not feel a single thing.

The vibrations of the guard's laughter rumbled against your back as her other hand remained firm on your left hip; feeling the desperate tremors of your needy form.

"Such a desperate thing." She'd coo into your ear; the heat of her words caressing the shell of your ear as she punctuated each syllable with a harsh thrust. "Trying to milk my cock, so pathetic." It was as if the onslaught of her disparaging words unlocked something deep within you; the walls of your leaking core continued to clench and release around the fake cock, desperately attempting to persuade the elf into gifting you the release you so hungrily craved—despite the fact she could not feel a single thing.

"Just a pathetic little slut, aren't you?" A question you had not expected to answer, yet as if acting on its own accord—a strained mewl of agreement vibrated against the prince's cock, further proving the sentiment.

As your vibrations of agreement rang upon the prince's cock, ones of the guard's laughter continued to rumble against your chest as another breathless laugh fell from her soft lips. "What a good slut you are." The praise was not just in words, but in sensation as well as the tip of her thumb finally made contact with your aching bundle of nerves.

A pleased exhale escaped from your nostrils as your eyes began to loop back into your skull, crossing in the process as the muscles within your body began to both ease yet tense at the same time. The tip of her smooth thumb pressed firmly into your twitching bundle of nerves; her motions equally as untamed as those of her hips—massaging sloppy, small circles against it.

Though there was no rhyme or reason within the motions of her hips; she had managed to align each thrust with the motions of her thumb. An act that the prince reaped the rewards of as your muffled sobs of pleasure continued to echo upon the length of his cock, while your cunt sobbed upon the elf's false one.

It was all too much to handle; the head of the false cock continued to pound away at your most sensitive spots as the tip of her thumb continued its ministrations against your swollen, twitching clit. The waves of your pleasure continued to rise, sheathed behind the dam of pleasure that the guard continued to pound away at—slowly cracking down the walls with each harsh clap of her hips against your arse.

Yet, your attempts to withhold pleasure all came to a crashing halt from two measly sentences: "Let it all out, pretty girl. Soak my cock like the good girl you are."

A command not needed to be repeated, as the dams of pleasure quickly burst open at her purred approval with a roaring gush around the fake girth within you; rolling off the smoothness of silicone, adding to the growing puddle of depravity upon the floor—as well as drenching the guard's thighs within the process.

It had felt as if your body was drifting away from you, being whisked up into the night's air by every thrust of the guard's hips, yet somehow still grounded enough to feel the animalistic thrusts behind you—and the squish of dwarven flesh within your palms as your hands clawed at his toned thighs for stability. You could not remember when you had first clung to the prince's legs for stability, yet you were certain it was somewhere between the elf leaning against you or her thumb meeting your clit as that was when you felt the prince's balls tighten as they smacked against your chin.

As you were whisked away in your own realm of pleasure, the prince was quickly sent off on his own as well; guided to the mythical realm through the heavenly vibrations of your choked moans against his cock, and the erotic sting of the tips of your nails digging into the toned flesh of his thighs.

It did not take long for the warmth of his seed to flood your mouth; the sudden volume of which forced a thick mixture of saliva and his essence to stream out of the corners of your lips—following the path the previous mixture had left prior.

The prince's cock rested firmly within the warmth of your throat for a few moments, forcing you to down the unpleasantly addictive taste of his salty seed. A breathless chuckle rumbled within the dwarf's sturdy chest as he felt the subtle glide of your nose scrunching upwards in displeasure at the taste; knowing that the taste of him was guiding you back to reality.

"Good girl." The praise left the prince's lips in a breathless whisper, as he shifted the weight of his stance backward—allowing his cock to slowly ease out of the length of your throat. It soon left the warm caverns within your lips in an erotic pop; a string of saliva and his pleasure connecting his cock to your lips for a moment before snapping, causing the mixture to drip down your chin and neck.

"Such a good girl." The guard would praise in agreement with the prince, as the smooth caress of her hand departed from the aching slickness of your folds—soon finding itself upon the center of your chest in an attempt to keep your quivering form steady. An onslaught of coughs and gasps would fall from your cum-drenched lips, the weight of your body quivering with the guard's sturdy grasp as you struggled to compose yourself from the aftershocks of your pleasure—and the taste of the prince's.

"Do you need a moment, darling?" The guard would ask, her voice much softer than it had been moments ago as the soft glide of her hand traced circles upon the center of your chest—the essence of your pleasure being wiped upon you in the midst of the tender act. "Deep breaths now, love." The assuring words brought a sense of stability within you, grounding you back in the sense of her loving embrace as her false cock remained stagnant within the walls of your womb.

"There we go, nice and slow." The prince urged gently; though his hands were calloused and a bit harsh, his motions were tender as he delicately wiped the mixture of drool and cum off of your lower chin with his thumb.

Slowly, the pace that you breathed began to even out as you found yourself back within the security of your body. The tingle of pleasure roamed throughout your veins in a more muted tone as your lovers softly tended to your trembling figure.

The ringing within your ears slowly dissipated, as you tuned in on the sounds of your breath—harsh yet turning steady, short yet full. It was loud, yet quiet; a peaceful harmony that dared not to be broken.

Tag lists:

The Hobbit — @violetteshoneybee , @spaceagegoblin

All smuts — @lady-haitani

Want to be added to my taglist? Find it here

[rottencherrypie]

hey just wanted to ask if you did some kind of tag lists or anything? if so, i’d love to be tagged in your Kili x reader works please !!! Don’t want to miss a single one 😌

Hello, dear! I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to get to your ask, but I also thank you for the lovely idea of a taglist. I have been debating making one for a while now, so your question was the perfect nudge to get me working on the form for it!

I will add you to the Kili taglist, but if you want to fill out the form for any other characters or fandoms, I will link it below for you and for others to find as well!

want to join the taglist or learn more? simply click over here: cherry's smut taglist

Thank you so much, dear! I hope you are having a splendid February, and if you celebrate Valentine's Day that it is full of much love for you! <3

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Tip of His Tongue (Legolas x Reader)

Summary - Another inexperienced prince learning how to pleasure a woman.

Warnings - Smut, language, afab!reader, fem!reader, mention of female genitalia (reader), oral sex (reader receiving), weird descriptions (like always), lowkey brat!Legolas, slight edging (possibly), teasing, face riding, inexperienced!Legolas, dom!Reader, sub!Legolas, dom/sub dynamics, a hint of praise kink if you squint (Legolas), implied squirting (Legolas drowns in it, RIP).

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person

Word Count - 3,000+ (almost 3.1k but a little under)

A/N - Another suggested smut! "legolas learns to eat pussy. that's it." — (anonymous) Thank you for the suggestion, I hope you enjoy! I apologize that it is taking me a while to get smuts out, my health got a bit wonky which made it hard for me to focus on writing for long periods of time. I did manage to get through some other non-writing projects that had been in limbo, so it was not entirely wasted time. I am still in the process of writing some suggestions as this is being written, so thank you all for your patience and for your kindness! I am horrendous at replying to asks, but rest assured that I have seen each one and will be hoarding the kind words like a dragon hoards treasure (because you all are precious gems <3). Reader has no defining features other than soft lips, a round ass, and I will die on the hill that Legolas would not care if you smoother him. Smut below the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

As the chilled caress of night air roamed against your skin, allowing the sensitive buds upon your chest to harden beneath the bitter nip of its touch, a heated gust cast down upon the exposed flesh of your cunt—shielding it from the night's bitter touch.

It was an uneven—anxious—breath. It rained down upon your glistening hole, causing it to appear as if it were sparkling beneath the orange hue of firelight, yet ever so slightly shielded by the shadow that loomed above. The warming caress of heated breath inched closer to the moistened hole—seeming to be drooling in anticipation under the anxious heat of the elven prince's breath as his lips neared it.

The elven prince's lips parted slightly, allowing the tip of his tongue to slip through the pearly gates of his teeth—swiping at the flesh of his lower lip as the weight of his head delved further between the plushness of your thighs—seeking out the sweet nectar hidden betwixt them. The warmth of his breath inched closer to the source of your lust; the tips of your toes curled in anticipation as the heat continued to rain down upon your eagerly awaiting hole.

A wait that was not for long, as the prince's restraint had begun to fray the moment he had laid eyes upon the delicious sight of your exposed cunt—drooling and eagerly awaiting the moistened caress of his unskilled tongue.

The wet glide of the elven prince's tongue swiped against the sweetened tang of your nectar; the act was a sudden, almost sharp, swipe. It was unplanned, a test of his actions as his ocean eyes bore up at you—sparkling amidst the sea of eagerness was the twinge of desperation as he awaited your response.

"Slowly." The word left your lips in a gentle breath, nearly sounding amused as you began to instruct the typically skilled prince. "Follow my lead." The bed let out a soft creak as your weight shifted upon it—your back curving forward, allowing the wetness of your arousal to press against the prince's tongue, flattening the moistened muscle slightly in the process for better leverage.

It did not take long for the air to fill with the harmony of the wooden frame creaking in sync with your weight as you rose and lowered the length of your cunt against the wetness of his tongue. The taste of your arousal was distinct; it was sweet whilst also holding a bitter tang amidst the sea of other various flavors, ones the elven prince had never tasted in his life prior—yet now they coated every taste bud upon his unskilled tongue as you guided him in the dance of oral pleasure.

Amid your guidance, the grasp you had mindlessly placed upon the smoothened sheets beneath you began to ease. A singular hand lost all hold over the luxurious cloth and quickly found itself tangled within the sea of silken locks upon the elven prince's head—furthering the leverage you held upon him as you continued to puppet him to your pleasure.

"There we go," A familiar heat began to spread throughout your hips as you breathed that small praise, yet your motions did not cease. "something like that..." The words were nothing but air escaping your lips as your neck began to crane backward, the weight of your head seeking out the plushness of the pillows beneath him as your hips continued to rock against the elven prince's face.

The praise was not lost within the chilled embrace of the night's air that it was breathed into: as ever the eager student, the prince began to mimic the motions you led him in moments ago. And it had started on a good note; the wetness of his tongue continued to lap against the length of your cunt, savoring the sweet nectar that seeped forth from it—acting much like a spoiled cat would with some cream. The motions were as slow as you had shown him, copying the exact motions you had done prior in the dance of pleasure—licking from the very top of your folds, swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves within them, and then slowly lowering to the hole that drooled so prettily for him.

Yet, the elven prince quickly found his pacing, growing more and more confident within the folds of your wetness.

It was a gradual change, the course no longer fixating on the entirety of your cunt as it quickly began to fixate on one location in particular—the drenched flesh that surrounded your leaking entrance. The sensitive circle of flesh leaked eagerly in anticipation as the focus fell upon it; it yearned for the internal caress of the prince's tongue—or other appendages—yet it was left in that state as the moistened appendage refused to delve within.

No. Rather than be embraced by the sweet, warming embrace of your inner walls—it remained upon the thin outer layer of flesh, merely circling it. The tip of his tongue grazed against your needy hole in a slow circle around the sensitive lining of your wetness, allowing it to catch every droplet of your sweet nectar as it escaped from your center.

"Fuck." The word escaped your lips in an irritated breath as the weight of your hips began to quiver from the slow strokes of the elf's tongue. Yet, the sound of your irritation did not seem to sway the prince from his actions, rather, the sound of your displeasure appeared to further his ministrations in tracing circles around your sensitive opening.

"Move." You instructed—the word escaping your lips in a mewled tone. The swaying of your hips grew more mindless against the patterns of his tongue, attempting to lure him into the warmth of your center. Yet the attempts were unfruitful as the wettened muscle of the prince's mouth refused to delve within your depths of pleasure, regardless of the beautiful ways your hips swayed against the smoothness of his face.

It would always be a breath away, the glistening entrance practically rested upon the tip of his tongue, allowing the elf to apply the faintest amount of pressure against the willing, needy hole as it flattened against it—the very first taste buds upon the tip becoming coated with the taste of your lust in the process, yet the others only lingered with the memory with the sweet metallic taste of your arousal. As before any further could become soaked in your arousal—to become welcomed in your caverns of pleasure—the prince's head would shift in the slightest of manners, refusing to give you the internal caress that you so desperately craved.

The warmth of pleasure that had once spread throughout your body began to shift into another heat, irritation.

A groan fell from your soft lips as the weight of your hips shifted against the moistness of his tongue, nearly chasing after it as you yearned to have the twitching muscle slide into your aching core. Yet, much to your dismay, the prince continued to lead you in a game of cat and mouse; shifting, swaying away from your pleasure—inching back the moment before his moistened length could sink into the overflowing fountain of your lust.

Fine. If that was how the prince wished to play his hand.

The grasp you had held upon the back of the elf's head began to tighten, at first a warning grasp to remind him of his place—yet you were soon able to see that a mere squeeze was not enough. It quickly firmed, knuckles clenching around the smooth locks as the tips of your nails began to dig into his sensitive scalp—the bitter sting of them lighting piercing the flesh of his head allowed for a hiss to vibrate against your moistened hole. A sensation that caused a shiver of pleasure to roam down the length of your spine.

"Up."The singular word hard barely lingered in the chilled air long enough for the elf to process it before the sudden, sharp tug of his golden locks forced his head backward. The action exposed every inch of the prince's slender neck to your eye as his head craned backward, yet your gaze fell upon the center of his neck—watching as the ball beneath his skill bobbed as he swallowed down a breath, as he anxiously awaited what would follow.

"Now." The elf swiftly rose from his knees at your command, his ocean gaze never leaving yours as his body straightened from the old, wooden floor beneath him—the grasp you held upon the back of his head never ceasing as he did so, merely tightening as you, yourself, shifted into a more comfortable seated position upon the bed's plushness—the blue heat of his ocean-colored eyes burnt into your exposed flesh as the prince eagerly watched how it shifted upon the softness of the bed beneath you.

"On the bed." The elven prince followed your second command as swiftly, and as eagerly, as he had followed the first. The anxious heat of anticipation emanated off of his tall, slender form as he inched closer to you; soon joining your side upon the softness of the mattress. The bed groaned as the weight of his body sat beside you, the mattress sinking inward slightly as he shifted upon the bedding as expectancy arose within him—the tight grasp you held upon his silken locks remained tight throughout this.

The tips of your nails found themselves digging deeper within the sensitive scalp of the blonde's head, embedding themselves with a snug pinch as the weight of his head was suddenly pulled backward—forcing the elf down upon the mattress. The curve of his back pressed firmly against it, his once burning gaze upon you now forced upon the sight of the old ceiling above whilst your grip remained firm upon the elf's head.

"And here I thought you would be easy to teach." The corners of your lips threatened to curve into a smirk, twitching in anticipation as you gazed upon the once powerful elven prince who laid weakened within the clutch of your palm—neck craned, eyes wide, and breath hitching within the back of his throat. Yet, you had managed to keep the corners lowered; wishing to keep your enjoyment of the elf's teasing secret.

"Regardless," The mattress creaked as your position shifted upon it, yet this was not any mere position that your body had contorted into. No. "you will learn." The weight of your heavenly figure had departed from the plushness beneath you, finding itself onto the sharpness of the elf's face—straddling it.

The plushness of your thighs encased the sides of his face, the heat of your cunt a breath away from his thin lips—lips which glid against your moistened folds as you lowered yourself upon him. The softness of his lips parting sent a shiver down your spine as the tip of his moistened muscle slid out from between the pink gates of his mouth—it swiped against your leaking entrance as if seeking permission to delve into the drenched cavern of your lust. "All the way." A command that did not need to be repeated, nor did it need to linger within the air for a moment longer as the length of the elf's inexperienced tongue dove into the wetness of your center.

A sensation you had been yearning for since this had all begun.

The act was not as swift as when the prince's tongue swiped against the length of your cunt—a shiver ran down your spine at the reminder of the act—it still held a decent pace. Every centimeter of the moist muscle eased into the warmth of your pleasure, lingering within the grasp of your welcoming walls for a few moments before the next slowly took its place within your depths.

And though the action was gradual, the elven prince adjusting to how the tang of your arousal coated every bud upon his tongue as he sunk into you, he did not dare to tease you any further—not wishing to anger the woman who straddled his face.

A satisfied groan rumbled deep within your chest, the noise slipping through the softness of your lips upon an exhale as the weight of your head fell backward—neck craning just as the prince's was—as you sunk further into the wettened internal caress. The flesh of your thighs tightened slightly around the sides of the elf's head, applying a faint pressure to his sharp, sensitive ears as you danced upon his tongue.

As a steady pattern began to form within the mindless swaying of your hips, the prince's moist muscle began to explore the inner workings of the walls of your lust. The patterns and pace he made held no true rhyme or reason—a swirl here, a flick against there, and darting in any position he could—but soon, one began to form as you led him in the dance of your pleasure.

The grasp you held upon the elf's head tightened, the tips of your nails piercing against his scalp—enough to leave angry reddened marks in their wake—as the puppeteering of his head returned. An act that caused the pleasurable vibrations of the prince's pained hiss to echo against your wet folds; the tips of your toes curling at the pulsation against your cunt as the dance of pleasure began to rise in tempo—soreness be damned.

As your hips rocked and rolled with rising speed, the bed continued to creak and groan under the vast movements, the weight of your cunt pressed further into the curvatures of his face, sinking into the sways of pleasure. An act that the prince met with the quickening motions of his tongue inside the walls of your sopping entrance. It jutted, flicked, and swirled within—soon finding itself scraping against the most sensitive spots within your core, before returning to the unplanned swirling within the hold of your warmth.

It danced within you, similarly to how you danced upon his face, guided by the silent symphony of pleasure—a tune heard by known yet known by all, accompanied by choruses only the soul knew to vocalize into the most beautiful, strained tunes of lust-driven gratification.

"Shit—" The word found itself caught within the back of your throat, hovering within the length of your neck for a few moments before it was pushed out by the rushing sound of pleasure that was your strained moan. The pace at which your hips moved had begun to shift as the heat of soreness within your hips began to burn with a new warmth—the warmth of nearing.

The fluidity of your motions began to lack, turning to sharper—almost stuttering-like—motions as the weight of your body pressed further onto the elf's face; the pressure of nearing completion made it hard to care, let alone pay attention to, keeping the prince's airway free—but he did not care.

Emboldened, the prince's slender hands found themselves upon the rounded flesh of your rear. The tips of his fingers dug into the plumpness of your arse, pulling it further against the smoothness of his skin whilst you continued to ride his tongue to your pleasure—his tongue curling inside of the walls leading towards your womb, scraping against one of your many sensitive spots.

A gasp fell from your lips at the sensation, a sound that soon masked with a deep groan of pleasure that rumbled forth from the center of your chest; the pace your hips held was fast and sloppy—the weight of your cunt pressed firmly against his parted lips, the essence of your pleasure coating his amateurish tongue whilst it continued to curl within you.

As the familiar tingle of pleasure began to rise from the tips of your toes, the piercing grasp you had held upon the prince's head had managed to tighten further, the skin around your knuckles tightening—almost revealing the bone—as you held onto his golden locks as if they were your only anchor from being whisked away into the sea of pleasure. The weight of his head rested within your palm as the weight of your cunt rested upon his lower face. The motions of your hips turned from that of stuttering into bucking motions, jolting up into the curving of the wet muscle as it scraped against one of your sweetest spots. The pleasurable tingling that roamed throughout your veins swiftly turned into the scorching burn of anticipation.

The static's intensity grew harsher, the burn within you brighter than that of a bonfire as every flick, every curve of the prince's novice tongue added tinder to the fire that spread rampant throughout your veins.

And, with the final flick of his tongue, you were consumed by the fire of ecstasy.

The familiar embrace of pleasure turned all to static, even the sounds of your incoherent moans as they danced within the air—and the hiss of the prince's lips as your nails continued to claw upon the back of his head, further angering the reddened marks the tips of your nails had left behind prior. All sensation had left your body; it felt as if your very essence had been whisked away within the chilled night's gentle breeze, yet still grounded upon the elf's face as your pleasure rained onto his tongue—drowning him in your pleasure, as you sank into the sea.

It felt as if all time had stopped whilst also speeding up all at once. As if you were everything, but nothing.

The sounds that escaped through your softened lips were incoherent, primal—a song from your soul orchestrated by the unskilled prince's tongue.

The bitter nip of chilled air slowly guided your essence back into your quivering form, the fire of pleasure being quenched by its numbing caress—yet the heavenly tingle of ecstasy continued to dance quietly within your veins. The sensations within your body slowly began to return, the weight of your figure feeling as if was weighed down by many heavy stones as you struggled to lift your quivering form off of the elf's face—the essence of your pleasure trickling forth from the corners of his thin lips, rolling down his sharp chin as he swallowed down a mouthful of your liquid ecstasy.

The bed creaked loudly as the weight of your body flopped onto it, the burning heat of your exposed form emanating beside the elven prince's head; the sound of your shared, uneven attempt of returning breaths danced within the night's air—both stunned at the prince's prowess.

He was truly a natural at his craft.

[rottencherrypie]

how many kids do thranduil and the reader have in ‘overbred’

Hello dear! The amount of children is up to each individual reader's interpretation, though it could be read as them having at least one child together (or a brief mention of Legolas) towards the end.

So, in short: it is any amount each reader chooses as Overbred will be a one-shot (unless I decide to make a second part in the future).

Thank you for your interest in my writings, I appreciate your time. I hope you have a lovely week <3

[rottencherrypie]

In your opinion how old is the company in human years ? ‘cause like saw something saying kili and filo were 18 and 19 and my 22 year old ass fell off the seat

Hello, dear! I have been dying to talk about my headcanon ages for the company, so thank you for this ask! I rambled on a lot, so my apologies for that, but here are my opinions (and a few chaotic reasonings) on their ages! (Fingers crossed I remembered them all and did not mix-up any names!)

Bilbo - Mid thirties to early forties; around the age most people would deem as a true "adult" and to be expected to know what you are doing with your life. (he does not) Still has whiplash from being called "sir".

Thorin - Around mid forties; old enough to be taken seriously and seen as a "stable adult" whilst also old enough to have any stupid thing he does excused as a "mid-life crisis". (cries when he is not carded for a drink but is also offended when you do not card him for his drink; there is no winning.)

Fili - Around his mid twenties; old enough to be seen as more mature, but also young enough to go to college parties without sticking out like a sore thumb. Still has the metabolism to drink all night without a hangover, but is slowly starting to get the aches and pains associated with aging. (He was horrified to learn that with aging means slower healing.) Is a couple years older than Kili (about two to four years older; old enough to have memories of baby!Kili and to say "when I was your age" to Kili and somewhat be taken seriously, but most of the time is met with "I know, I was there!")

Kili - Early twenties; about twenty-one to anywhere around twenty-three. He is in the peak of being seen as an adult during somewhat serious things (i.e. making doctors appointments by himself) but is also not trusted with actual serious things or view points (hears "you'll understand when you're older" more often than not). Very much golden retriever frat bros energy with him and Fili, though Fili is always pulling him out of some sticky situations.

Ori - Early twenties too; about twenty to twenty-two, just a little bit younger than Kili (but Kili always gloats about it and says "when I was your age" and describes what he was doing a few months ago.) Sweet baby boy is treated much younger than he is simply because he is the company's "baby", but is also treated with a bit more seriously than Kili (simply because Kili pulls way too many pranks). (Side note; Ori absolutely runs a little crochet and knitting business, absolute craftsmanship. An absolute beast on Etsy.)

Dwalin - Late forties to early fifties; older than Thorin but young enough to be going through similar life events. Is taken very seriously (and sometimes does not know why), can easily pass for mid forties (secretly has an intensive skincare routine). (Will become very insulted if you refer to him as an old man...but also calls himself an old man when he pleases.)

Dori - Sixty-five; that is the age he gives over and over regardless of how many birthdays he has had (he will never reveal his true age but many guess it is actually early seventies). Is old enough to remember baby!Thorin (and the chaos he caused). Still has energy to go on adventures...but might need several breaks and promised rest stops just in case. (His bones ache, give the man some pain killers and a heating pad.)

Nori - Late thirties to early forties; was old enough to hold the babies of the group (Ori, Kili, and Fili) but still young enough to be paid to watch them. Sort of grew up around the babies of the group, so they often went to him for advice (and their secrets). Is on the peak of having any actions he does that are a bit "out there" as a mid-life crisis but not just there yet.

Bofur - Late thirties to early forties; just like Nori, he was old enough to hold the babies of the group and young enough to be paid to watch them. They also went to Bofur for advice, but also for the cool toys and trinkets he made (would also do numbers on Etsy). Is a year or so younger than Nori, so has to deal with the "when I was your age" nonsense from him.

Balin - Early to mid seventies; was in his mid-thirties when baby!Thorin was born (and how he adored the little dwarfling...even if baby!Thorin was notorious for pulling hair with an iron grasp) and is seen as a father figure to many of the company. Very wise, but would absolutely fall for those pop-ups on websites (Balin, the hot singles are not in your area! It's a trap! Save yourself!). Would accidentally post photos of himself on TikTok with a weird sound automatically added to it, or accidentally go live when trying to take a photo/video of something. (His posts would thrive on r/oldpeoplefacebook)

Bombur - Late forties to early fifties; the man is peak father energy. Gives "the one cool dad at the soccer games with all the drinks and snacks" vibes (you bet your ass he memorized everyone's dietary needs and allergies, and buys/makes appropriate snacks.) Was old enough to remember baby!Thorin but could only hold him while sitting with several different adults in the room. (Once tried to waddle off with baby!Thorin and take him to the kitchen for snacks, accidentally caused chaos as everyone though Thorin got kidnapped for a second. He had good intentions.) Is seen as a "trusted adult" but also the "cool adult". Is trusted with various secrets (even when he would rather not hear them).

Bifur - Early to mid fifties; a few years older than Bombur, think old enough to be seen as the "cool older kid" back when they were young. Gives me the vibes of someone in between generations and is constantly dragged into the nonsense of "only x kids remember y" and then being told he isn't a real "x year" kid because he was born very late in it. (It gives him a larger headache than the axe in his head.) Does get bad hangovers, but that does not stop him from chugging as much ale as he can get his hands on. (Regrets it the morning after.)

Oin - Mid seventies; is viewed as a senior citizen and hates it...until he gets a discount, then he will play up the age card. Remembers everyone as a baby (and their awkward teen years), and is in the weird in-between of being viewed as a wise adult and being seen as a frail old man (call him an old man and he will bonk you with his ear horn). Surprisingly does not get hang overs and is pretty energetic for his age (for the love of the gods, do not mention his age). Will tell you stories if you ask, especially if you ask him about what has changed in Erebor (will give you a guided tour that ends with you running after him as he speeds through the halls). (Somehow I can see him being a really popular Twitch streamer, that is the only time he finds it acceptable being called "grandpa" by anyone other than his grandbabies)

Gloin - Mid sixties; was a surprise baby (about ten years, if not more, between Oin's birth and his), but was cherished for it. Could easily pass for mid fifties, but has the actions of someone older which gives it away (was very confused when Kili said he knew Gloin was older because "he walks like an old man", proceeded to practice walking for an hour). Can reveal Dori's real age, but doesn't for fun. Would post those weird thirst traps on TikTok (also wood chopping videos and just videos of him ranting about stuff only two people know about, but would have like 200k+ followers for some reason.) Was blessed with the good genes (does not gray regardless of how stressed he is...lucky bastard). (Is still viewed as Oin's "baby brother" despite them both being old men, it is precious)

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Overbred (Thranduil x Reader)

Summary - The elven king enjoys internally marking what is his...even if he had already marked her several times prior.

Warnings - Smut (pretty much pure porn with a sprinkle of plot if you squint), language, afab!reader, fem!reader, breeding kink (heavy breeding kink), heavily implied and referenced previous sex, mention of male genitalia (Thranduil), mention of female genitalia (Reader), mention of a womb (Reader), rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, sub!Reader, dom!Thranduil, wife!Reader, husband!Thranduil, slightly implied mom!Reader (could be read that way if you squint near the end?), overstimulation (RIP reader's pussy), possessive!Thranduil, potentially dark!Thranduil (could give off that vibe), lowkey mean!Thranduil (I do not know how that happened but it did), slight feral!Thranduil, mention of bodily fluids (a lot), delayed orgasm (Reader, I do not know why I keep writing delayed orgasms recently),pet names (Reader is called pet, pretty girl, and a good girl), creampie (so many creampies you could open up a bakery), breeding kink, lowkey claiming kink (is that a thing?), doggystyle position (or at least bent over), slight praise kink, slight semi-public sex (the elves can hear y'all but they mind their own business), mentions of pregnancy, and maybe more.

Pronouns & POV - She/Her, third-person

Word Count - 1,500+ (took me way longer to write than I'd like to admit)

A/N - Another suggested smut! "I'm not sure if you're alright with it but like them trying I conceive or something similar to it?" — (anonymous) I feel like this smut went a bit off from the original suggestion but I made sure to keep the breeding kink aspect you requested! (I am still trying to figure out the best way to add in request prompts and their kinks!) The reader is described to have a plump ass, soft lips, hair on the back of their neck, and being overstimulated from previous sex; other than that there is no defining features. Smut below!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

A layer of sweat glistened upon your quivering form, sweaty palms sliding against the silken sheets beneath you —struggling to keep your plump arse in the air as was instructed by the elven king. The squelching click of pleasure danced throughout the woodland halls, catching within the sensitive ears of whoever dared near the elven king's chambers—yet they all knew better than to interrupt the king in the midst of breeding his wife.

His seed sloshed within your quivering inner walls, swishing against them with each snap of the king's hips as they jutted against the plumpness of your arse—jolting you forwards, causing your chest to graze against the smoothness beneath you. The pace his hips held was steady yet feral.

It appeared that the king had lost all care of how much of his seed leaked from your womb—the inner flesh of your thighs now drenched in a thick, creamy layer of whiteness as he pushed rope after rope into your overflowing cunt. No, it was no longer about simply breeding you; it was about owning you.

A low growl escaped from the king's thin lips as another stream of his release flooded your overworked cunt; making it feel as if it would burst at the seams at any moment. "Mine." The heat of his breath tickled the back of your neck, causing the hairs upon it to stand up as a shiver roamed down your spine—though that was hard to see among the sea of quivering you faced.

A strained mewl of pleasure fell from your soft lips as you felt the angered head of his cock ram against your most sensitive, spongy spot for the hundredth time. The sensation made a tingling arise from the tips of your toes, one that was once pleasurable but now came with the burn of overstimulation.

Your breath hitched within your throat as the tips of your nails dug into the smoothen cloth beneath you—piercing into the fibers of the silken sheets as you felt the king's hip bones jut into the flesh of your arse. The outer ring of your cunt felt as if it was splitting at the seams, stretched to its limits, as it choked upon the girth of the king's length.

It sobbed upon the hardness of flesh; a once drool of pleasure had quickly turned to a waterfall of nearly torturous arousal. Every inch of your being, every fiber and cell within your flesh and bone, felt as if it had been set ablaze by each stroke of your overworked inner flesh.

"Thranduil..." His name left your lips in a strained cry, choking within the back of your throat as yet another forced moan bubbled to the surface—your hands clawed at the silk beneath you, sliding slightly under the moistened grasp of your palms as you desperately attempted not to get whisked away by the raging sea of pleasure.

"That's it." The heat of the king's purr grazed against the shell of your ear as he leaned closer, pressing even more of his weight into every deep thrust—your inner walls split to their limits as an endless cascade of his seed dripped onto the bedding beneath you. "Cry for me." The heat neared your ear, inching closer and closer as the squelching slap of sex danced throughout the air.

Desperate to keep the burn of pleasure at bay, the grasp you held upon the sheets tightened further—a faint tear of the silken cloth briefly hung within the air before being masked by the slapping sound of the elven king's hips jutting against your plump arse.

The grasp of your hands was not the only one that tightened within that moment; your inner walls clenched around his length, allowing you to feel each ridge and vein upon it—feeling the racing beat of his heart within each throb of his speeding cock. The muscles within your jaw began to clench at the sensation. The hypnotizing beat of his cock accompanied by the relentless assault of the throbbing, mushroom-shaped head against the most sensitive spot within your aching core, was driving you toward the edge faster than you could resist.

A feral snarl rumbled within the elven king's chest as he leaned further into you, pushing you onto your forearms—nearly flush against the bed—as he continued his relentless actions. The bed creaked and shook at an alarming rate—the thumping of the headboard almost masked the booming slap of the king's full sack against your ass.

"You're mine." The snarled words made a shiver roam down your spine—and your inner walls flutter around his throbbing length. "Only mine." He continued, punctuating every syllable with a sharp thrust of his hips. "Mine to love. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed." He continued both in speech and punctuation of his hips.

Tears began to prick within the corners of your eyes, threatening to overflow as your molars clenched around the flesh of your inner cheeks. "Gods! Thraduil, I—fuck!" The sudden pinch of his teeth nipping against the lobe of your ear jolted you forwards, allowing some of his length to slip out of the sticky warmth of your cunt in the process.

"Where do you think you're going?" He breathed against the shell of your ear as one of his slender hands grasped onto the flesh of your hip whilst the other slipped beneath you—creating a barrier between you and the bedding. The pressure of his palm beneath you pressed against your lower stomach, feeling the slight protrusion of it due to the endless bouts of seed he had shot into your womb.

As the king held you in his firm grasp, his throbbing cock continuing to carve away within the depths of your inner walls, the burn you had kept at bay for so long quickly grew uncontrollable. It was as if every cell within your being was vibrating as the burn spread throughout your core, seeping into your veins as hot tears began to stream down your cheeks.

The grasp your molars held upon the inner flesh of your cheeks returned, muffling the strained sobs of your pleasure behind the pearly gates as you writhed within the king's grasp. Every inch of you felt hot—as if it were on fire.

Beads of sweat trickled down from your forehead, catching within your furrowed brow as your face contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure. The grasp your molars held upon the inner flesh of your cheeks tightened, allowing the familiar metallic taste of your blood to coat your tongue. Yet the burn of your pleasure quickly masked the sting within your mouth.

The king's hand began to slowly glide lower, a sensation almost missed if not for the bunching of the sheets beneath you. His hand continued to inch lower and lower, the tip of his calloused thumb sliding against your quivering flesh as it followed the path down to your soaked folds—sticky and raw, the slightest movement of his thumb sent shock waves throughout your body.

His thumb did not stall, finding its way between your folds as it sought out your aching, overworked clit.

It did not take long for the roughness of his thumb to press into the raw, twitching bundle of nerves. The slow massage of his thumb against your clit caused all breath within your lungs to stall in the back of your throat as the burn you desperately attempted to resist finally took control.

A strained sob forced itself through your plump lips, the weight of your forearms giving out as the sweet nectar of your pleasure flowed forth—enlarging the growing puddle of pleasure beneath you. A white, creamy ring of the mixed pleasure between you two wrapped around the base of his cock, slowly dripping onto his sack as he continued to thrust into you—soon to add to the large stain upon the bed.

A familiar ringing filled the air as the weight of your body slumped further against the dirtied silk, pressing the flesh of your face into the drool-soaked pillow before you—the heat of your breath bouncing off the smooth pillowcase, catching on the stickiness of your sweaty skin as you mewled in pleasure against it.

The deep rumbling of the elven king's laughter managed to break through the ringing that filled your ears, an anchor throughout the sticky sea of pleasure.

"We're not done yet, pet." Thranduil breathed into your ear, furthering the quivering of your overstimulated figure. The pressure of his rough thumb never ceased from your clit, turning the quickened patterns into drawn-out ones as the pacing within his hips began to slow—giving you a brief moment of clarity. "We must ensure you will be round and full with my seed. You want that, don't you, pretty girl? To birth more heirs for the throne? To be swollen with my child once more?" The weight of your head mindlessly bobbed in agreement against the smoothness of the dirtied pillowcase.

"That's my good girl. My perfect girl. So good for me." His praise replenished your energy, ensuring you could last another round with the insatiable king—blissfully unaware of how many rounds were to come.

[rottencherrypie]

Hey I could be completely wrong but are you @decayedcherries on TikTok? There aren’t many hobbit or lotr fan accounts and I just thought the names sounded really similar.

Anyways I absolutely love all ur stuff on here and am currently binge reading it all to feed new recent my obsession with the hobbit/lotr, specifically thandruil, thorin, Legolas and kili 🤭😩

Hello, dear! I am so honored that you enjoy my writings, and you are correct; I am @decayedcherries on TikTok

I have been meaning to make a post on there about returning to writing fanfiction for a while, but I have been struggling with edits lately. Regardless of that, it is a pleasure to have you here <3

I am sending you lots of good vibes and well wishes; I hope you enjoy your stay in my chaotic little nook of the internet <3