savourism

❛ on & off ❜ㅤ

[servicpop]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ call the doctor ! ❜ㅤ

⠀𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⠀bottom male reader & ftm reader blog ! internet doctor — oc writer — casual appointments

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❛ my diagnosis is . . . ❜ㅤ

⠀ㆍ rules⠀╱⠀masterlist⠀╱⠀status : mostly-ia

© servicpop — all rights reserved : do not republish, translate, edit without permission

[servicpop]

i will hopefully be a lot more active when cyberpunk edgerunners 2 comes out … and on my side blog too

[servicpop]

Almost sweet if u squint Callahan??? I'm in heaven 🥹🥹🥹 this is the nicest I've ever seen him omg 😭 ur writing just gets better by the fic I swear

-💋anon

thank you anon !

can you tell i was really going through something at the time haha…. i just wanted to write comfort with an older man

i was also listening to buffalo 66 by nessa barrett which had me in the mood to write something a little softer and yearn-y if that makes sense…

[servicpop]

ॱ़۫. something softer callahan x m reader

water drips off the edge of the porcelain tub, meeting the floor with tiny splashes. there’s already water damage in the cracks of tiles, but callahan doesn’t bother to call a repairman for it.

“what’s up with you?” he speaks, without the usual bite in his tone.

his brows are furrowed, but not with his routinely frustrated expression. he has that face of concern stuffed beneath a gruff exterior he tries so hard to maintain. it’s difficult when he has a naked thing in front of him with water streaking down the jut of collarbones and rounded shoulders.

“nothing,” you breathe back, the exhaustion weighing your eyes, and similarly your will to bite back something witty.

callahan is equally as naked as you, as one is in a bath tub.

“you’re quiet,” he notes the obvious, his fingers wading through the water before they surfaced. you expect him to reach for the soap behind you, but he doesn’t, he reaches to the side of your neck, fingers smoothing over to your nape. he holds firmly, not tightly, enough to feel the gentle thrum of a heartbeat against his fingers.

“you’re not sick.” he was feeling for a fever, or so he tells himself. “you’re not cold either.”

“tell me what’s wrong, tired?” a familial warmth bleeds through his tone, almost fatherly if you rubbed the sleep from your eyes enough for them to blur.

you don’t respond. callahan sighs, pushing his free hand through his hair.

“c’mere.”

you feel the warmth of his palm spread to your back as he pulls you in, his hands constricting around you until you filled out the space he made in his arms. he pushes your head a little too stiffly into the crook of his neck, feeling your wet forehead slap against his skin a little too loudly. he grunts something, which you take as an apology when it likely wasn’t.

he cradles the back of your head, fingers threaded in your hair. he’s never held you like this.

you turn your head to him, maybe to see if he was playing with you, if he was pulling a smile too wide for it to be genuine. but he wasn’t, his eyes met yours and you could see the minuscule twitches, the way that age ebbed away at features that would’ve been sharper if he was younger.

“what do you want?” he murmurs, his thumb wedging under your chin to hold it up a bit more—just so your eyes could meet more levelled.

“what do you want from me?” his words are a little more punchy; he had dug up a small bit of his morals that you seemed to nibble away at each time he came home just to be met with you.

“nothing,” you repeat quietly, and you both know it’s a white lie, yet he still holds you, even dips his hand underwater to pull up your thigh against his.

“you don’t mean that.” callahan inches forward, meeting your lips as he grumbles, “you’ve never been genuine in your life.”

you taste the faint traces of an unnameable alcohol on his lips, darted out your tongue to wet his bottom lip, and he reciprocated by nipping at the corner of your lips. callahan’s hand sweeps over your back, sliding his fingers downwards. the water slows his movement enough that you don’t notice until he prods a finger at the muscle.

“water isn’t too great.” he mumbles under his breath, pushing against the resistance until your body lets him in.

he’s impatient, evidently so as he slips a second finger in, curling against tight walls to coax them looser. your small gasps wisp past his ears, and he feels himself twitch. he pulls his fingers out and replaces it with the tip of his cock, rubbing the head along the curve of your ass before nestling it against the hole.

“don’t try to move if you’re tired.” being considerate, maybe.

he pushes in with a bit of encouragement from his hips, sliding home as he fills you, tip pressing just below your prostate. you’re already groaning, breath hitching, walls fluttering and squeezing against his girth.

“you can handle yourself better,” he groans, pushing that little bit upwards until he hits that spongey part. you keen, head now fully planted on his shoulders and your fingers rake faint dents into the muscle. you muster out a curse, only for callahan to promptly shut you up by rolling his hips upwards.

water threatens to spill over even more now as he grinds slowly, pushing his tip against that sweet spot of yours. he grips the curve of your ass roughly, spreading you so he could fuck up a smidge easier. your dick rubs against his pelvis from the proximity, his dark hairs that trail from his navel downwards add a delicate friction to the underside of your cock.

“f—fuck,” you punch out, dick leaking against callahan’s happy trail.

you tilt your pelvis to grind into the coarse hairs while the detective chases that movement with his hips. callahan burrows himself as deep as he could, gripping your body and pushing you down against him as he spurts cum into you in stuttered pulses.

you whine against him, not like you could really fight back since he’s got an arm around your back and his hand grips your nape, effectively holding you down against him. the pressure of your body and his pressing down on your cock short-circuits your brain, and you’re suddenly leaking cum all over callahan stomach.

“no point in taking a bath now,” callahan exhaled through his nose, “‘right, gotta drain the tub and hop in the shower.”

he catches a glimpse of your face that expects more and more of him in the corner of his eye, and he pushes you away with a palm against your cheek.

“you’re done for tonight, sleep it off kid.”

[servicpop]

Is this account abandoned? :(

i check my inbox once in a while . . . i haven’t had any motivation to write for ocs though T T

[servicpop]

your fics are so good .,.,.,.,,,,.,.,.,.,.,. they're so tasty I'm going to eat all of them..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sometimes I stay up late reading them cos your fics >>>> boring sleep

thank you T T but get your sleep ! my fics will still be up the next morning

[servicpop]

holdin’ hands enjin x reader ། ݊ ݂𓏼 ftm or fem afab reader, smoking, understimulation, orgasm denial

He’s nursing a cig in his right hand, keeping it nice and steady between his fingers as his other arm curls underneath your leg. His hand came out from underneath to pat your naked thigh, kneading the fat with his tattooed fingers. Sweat still clung to your skin, sticky, but Enjin’s didn’t particularly mind since he was cozied up by having his head rest on your inner thigh.

He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling with his eyes closed. He shifted to push your legs a little wider, pinned to the white sheets as he blew out the smoke right over your cunt. The soft wisps of ashy air flicked at your sensitive lips still slicked from before, making your legs tremble under his tight grip.

“Cute,” he purred like a lazy cat. “You like that?”

Enjin shifts again, smoothing the hand cradling his cigarette over the lump of your pelvis—he coos a small apology when a bit of fallen ash makes your stomach flinch and flutter. He leans up to take another drag, sucking in the smoke and letting it fill his mouth before blowing it out along your pussy. It’s a concentrated blow, enough pressure to have your fingers rasping against the sheets and your hips bucking up into seemingly nothing.

“You’re squirmin’ so much doll,” he snorts, pulling your fingers into his as he locks your hand in place with his thick knuckles. “Just be still f’me, be good.”

Enjin does it again: takes a hit, hovers over your sex and blows the smoke out. He even sneaks a kiss to your folds: open-mouthed and addictive as he traps the smoke before letting it disperse when he pulls back.

It tickles and he’s not even touching you all that much.

Enjin glances up at you, chuckling at your fluttering eyes and that sweet blush on your cheeks—he would put a strawberry on you and eat you up like a shortcake if he could.

“What’re you laughing about?” You frown, and Enjin squeezes your hand a little tighter.

“Nothing. Besides the fact that you look like a quivering pup.”

The cherry breathes a bright red, and Enjin exhales it to the side, just brushing against the curve of your thigh as he sighs like teasing you had taken a toll on his energy. He finally traces his hand lower, down the plane of your belly and to those curled hairs he threaded his ring and pinky finger in.

A skinny stream of gray dances in the air-conned space while Enjin finally pats a thumb against that throbbing clit he’s been eyeing the whole time. His movements are frustratingly slow, lazily ghosting his thumbprint over your nub, only to squeeze your hand and pull away when you canted your hips up. It’s like he’s handling a bubble underneath his fingers and any sudden movements would make it pop.

From gentle circles, he moved to sliding his thumb in between the silky crevices of your labia, just barely swiping along the outside. You feel almost embarrassed under his eyes—he’s only really staring at your cunt, weeping under his touch.

It’s slow, but it’s something. He rubs along your slit a moment more before pulling away when starts to feel you get a little too wet.

He straightened up his back, fixing the shirt strewn over him in a lazy attempt to cover up before crushing the cigarette on the ashtray nearby.

“Sorry to get you so worked up baby.” He wore that stupid grin of his, patting your thigh and pushing himself off the bed, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” A kiss, “Don’t miss me too much.”

[kentocentric-deactivated2025121]

﹝ ANAL TRAINING ﹞ 4.2k wc

ftm reader × kento nanami ╱ anal fingering. anal sex. rimming. praise (both ends ♥︎ doms deserve some love too!!). prone bone + doggy style. multiple orgasms. pet names (baby boy + prince + my love + pup). ass slapping. soft dom nanami. lots of sexual fluff. so much attention to detail to his baby and their needs. he's so gentle it actually makes me dfjghsdfdgfkh (╥﹏╥)

currently thinking thots about kento nanami anal training his puppy boyfriend for the first time... how he'd have you sprawled out flat on your stomach over his knee, spine curving into a beautiful arch as rough palms fondle the mounds of your ass.

it would draw a helpless whine from your lips, the air heavy with the scent of sex and him and your arousal, as a slow, sonorous hum spills from his throat. he’d murmur how perfect you are, how sweetly obedient you're being for him, each word soaking into your skin like pure acetone, burning tenderly until his name is the only thing you can breathe.

then his fingers would move with quiet patience, easing you into the rhythm of his touch — they'd be gentle, a little teasing at first, but gentle, the calloused ridge of his pads grazing the sleek curve of your ass, tracing beads of sweat before circling your rim in slow, sinuous spirals.

“k-kento…” your voice breaks as a shiver crawls through your spine, your body tensing as he toys with you, opening your hole with dilatory care. your clit thrums with fervor, throbbing in time with the slothful motion of his thumb as your boy cunt glistens, lips parted and weeping gloss that slides down your thigh in thin, shining trails.

“does that feel good, my love?” he breathes, voice rough and low, lips threaded with a smile. he presses gently at your entrance, enough to make your hips jolt and your breath hitch.

“mmm… yeah… kind of—” you gasp, rising to seek his friction, your body trembling beneath his dominance. every sound of praise that falls from his lips settles against your skin in a blanket, the ache of anticipation coiling deep within your stomach.

you needed him inside of you — you didn’t know how, only that you did, badly. every nerve begged for release, the soft taunt of his fingers no longer enough to quiet the hunger burning low in your gut.

and you were so unbearably curious about how it would feel — would it sting, that first, slow push in? would it ache in that sweet, dizzying way that blurs the line between pain and pleasure?

you pictured him deep inside your gut, bottomed to the hilt, his cock filling your ass until you could feel the weight of his balls pressed flush against your cunt lips.

and the heat of him... the stretch of it... the smell of his body... the way it might make your breath choke and your body come completely undone with the shock of being so utterly claimed.

“i’m ready now,” you chirp, voice shaky as you brace your elbows on the couch and lift your hips higher, offering yourself to him where he sits. your front spreads further this way, and nanami swallows hard, the bob of his throat thick with restraint. he straightens his tie, a nervous, deliberate quirk, before a quiet laugh escapes through his nose.

his palms ghost over the curve of your ass with featherlight intention, tracing each cheek as though mapping territory. “i haven’t even worked you open yet, prince,” he chuckles, the endearment abraded by the edge of his desire.

“i knowww…” you whisper, shame colouring the sound, “it just felt so good when my clit rubbed against your knee while you played with my ass…”

“yeah?” he breathes, the word rasped with a half-groan, his control fraying at the edges as he feels his cock jump. he can sense it in the sharp taut of his jaw, the way it tightens as if to hold himself together against the pull of your sugary-sweet honesty.

beneath you, he’s impossibly hard, the heat of him radiating through his slacks, the heavy lump of his cock nudging against your ribs each time you shift. you feel the twitch of him there in urgent and pulsing ripples, and the sound that leaves him is barely human, all gravelly and needy, low like a defeated huff.

he watches the small, involuntary wiggle of your asshole — how it flutters open, then puckers closed again, shy but knowing, like it’s winking up at him. he watches the way you part your thighs, not subtle in the least, too.

nanami drags his index finger down the seam of your boy pussy, grazing your clit before sliding through your drenched folds, while his thumb circles your rim in lazy, wilful strokes. the gold of his watch catches the living room overhead light, glinting each time his wrist flexes, seconds slipping away as fast as his composure was.

he shifts then, guiding you until you’re on your hands and knees — back still curved, face soft against the cushions, and he’s behind you, his breath steady and low.

“feeling okay?” he asks, voice husky with care, each syllable brushed in warmth as he places a pillow underneath your stomach.

it’s impossible not to melt beneath that tenderness of his. his restraint is maddening, that kind of gentle discipline which feels like admiration — a man who touches only when granted permission, who treats your consent like something pure.

and when you give that to him on a silver platter? he takes you completely. a respectable man, they say. but the moment you tell him he can have you, every trace of composure is gone and out the door.

now you’re on all fours in dogyy position.

“i’m going to see how many fingers i can fit,” he murmurs, voice thick with inhibition, soft but edged with ascendency. “does that sound like something my boy wants?”

you nod, too eager, the realisation finally hitting that he’s going to open you up to take him, that this isn’t teasing anymore. the thought makes your stomach twist, heat spiralling that makes you dizzy.

“mhm…” is all you manage, the sound small and tremulous. he strokes your rim, tracing slow circles before pressing the slick edge of his middle finger against you.

when a margin slips in, you jounce, the movement sharp, more from surprise than pain. the sensation is strange, foreign, intimate in a way that makes your pulse skitter. it doesn’t hurt, not yet; it’s a stretch, yes, but one that didn't feel unbearable.

he eases the finger deeper with slow scrutiny, his other hand resting between your shoulder blades to steady you, caressing unconsciously as he focused on opening you up for him. no twisting, no curling, just that straight, deliberate slide, following the natural line of your insides.

every breath he takes mirrors yours, his focus anchored entirely on your comfort, the steadiness of him more arousing than any roughness could ever be. he was treating you with such delicacy, even though his own temperament was wearing thin.

each second draws out longer and longer — his thick, bumpy finger inside you, unmoving, letting your body learn the shape of him, letting you breathe through the unfamiliar ache. and somewhere beneath it all, that quiet, insistent thrill builds; the ache of wanting more, the knowledge that this is only the beginning of what he is about to give you.

it makes your clit throb, and you whine.

nanami stills, his finger buried deep inside you, the sudden pause making the air feel a momentary heaviness between you. you croon, a breathy, broken sound, glancing over your shoulder to meet his gaze — cheeks flushed, lips parted, a sly gleam flickering in your eyes. it’s a look that pleads yes.

his throat works around another quiet swallow, adam’s apple dipping as a faint colour rises beneath his own cheeks. he smiles incredulously then, warmly and small, restrained and almost shy — the kind of smile you wouldn’t usually see wrapped around a man of his age.

“you’re so worked up,” he rasps, voice dipping an octave, threaded with a line of affection. “are you enjoying it that much?”

“is it that obvious?” you manage, your voice soft, teasing, trying to stay composed even as your body betrays you.

he exhales sharply, the sound half a laugh and surrender, and reaches to adjust his tie again, that habitual little tell that always his motives away.

“yes, baby boy,” he sighs, words dragging slow and deliberate. “it is… and also— i can’t seem to hold myself back.”

you let out a quiet, knowing giggle. “this was meant to be a lesson, not a game.”

“it still is,” he answers with that small, devastating smile, his palm smoothing over the curve of your ass, gentle first, then firmer.

and then he brings down a palm against it, the sound of it meeting your skin cracking through the room, not harsh but deep, the echo of it lingering like a heartbeat. the sting blooms and fades into warmth, and you can’t stop the way your boy cunt flutters, dribbling wetness down your thigh. your ass tightens around his finger in reflex, gripping him as though begging not to let go — your body’s own trembling confession.

this was dragging on too long now.

after a moment’s pause, he adds another finger, and then another — until three thick digits stretch you wide, gliding deep with a salacious, wet sound that makes your breath falter. he pushes them apart slowly, deliberate and merciless, forcing your body to yield and open up. your toes curl tight at the sudden pressure, and the cool air slips inside the tender heat of you, a violent shiver racing down your spine before you can catch it.

“y-yeah… that’s good… mmm,” you manage, voice cracking, head dropping between your shoulders as you brace yourself on your forearms against the sofa. your hips move of their own accord, rolling back into his hand.

nanami’s restraint wavers again just as he composed himself priorly; he spreads your ass wider, thumb pressing outward to expose the glistening colour of your rim, and then drives his fingers in again until the thick ridges of his knuckles grind against you. the pressure burns, sweet and filthy, and your legs lift instinctively, trembling. he curls his fingers inside you, dragging them just at the right angle, and the sound that spills from your throat is a hearty moan.

you grind down against the cushion beneath you, the rough fabric catching your clit in small, desperate flicks, the friction unbearable.

“ah-hh, hnnh ngh,” your noises melt into the air, each one more desperate than the last.

“k-ken… ngh-t-to—” his name from your lips spills like honey, thick and syrupy, sticky with want. he hums at the sound, the deep rumble vibrating through his chest — pleased and proud with his work.

“you’re being so good for me,” he drones, voice low and frazzled with heat. “sitting so still, taking it so well. i think…” his fingers twist just a little, enough to make you gasp “you deserve a proper reward now, don’t you think?”

before you can even breathe an answer, he’s got his hands beneath your hips, palms strong and steady, lifting you easily by the soft dip where your thighs meet. he raises your ass to meet his face, his breath ghosting over your skin before his lips find you in a slow, reverent kiss pressed right to your rim — and then he lowers you back down as if nothing happened.

heat floods your face, that shock of realisation burning through you. it’s too intimate, too much — like he’s kissed your mouth, like he’s claimed something far deeper.

he chuckles, low and throaty, clearly amused by your stunned silence. “i should’ve used my tongue to open you up instead.”

“no,” you blurt, too quickly, the word cutting through the thick air.

no — that thought is filthy, too filthy, not in the usual obscene way but in how intimate it feels. why would he want to taste you there? why would he… and yet the image of it won’t leave your head. you tell yourself you’re fine with this, that it’s enough because it truly is. he is taking care of you with such love that it makes your heart, your cunt, and your head hurt.

“you should put your big fat cock in me instead—” the words stumble out before you can stop them, breathless and precipitous.

“yeah?” his accent wraps around the syllable, lazy and teasing, head tilting slightly as he drinks in the sight of you… flushed, fidgeting, wanting, needing, begging.

god.

the silence that follows stretches heavily, until you hear it: the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the drag of leather sliding free from his slacks. the sound alone fills your stomach with more butterflies, your breath catching.

he sets it aside, then rolls his shoulders back a little in a slow motion, before taking hold of you again. his fingers spread your cheeks wide, the stretch making you gasp as the cool air brushes your hole, leaving it open, vulnerable, glistening.

you try to close around nothing, a natural bodily response, but all it does is make you flutter, make that tight ring of muscle wink up at him. his composure slips for a heartbeat; a pulse of desire hits him so sharply it’s almost painful.

the soft rasp of a zip fills the space, drawn precisely as his gaze fixed on you the entire time. his eyes travel down your body, from the tremble of your back to the glossy lips between your thighs, the swollen nub of your clit glistening as it smears the sofa beneath you. the sight disentangles him completely.

when he finally frees himself, you hear it before you see it — the wet sound of his cock sliding against his palm, the faint hitch of breath from his throat. he’s hard already, thick and leaking, pre glistening at the tip of his bulbous crown and dripping down the veined length. his balls hang heavy, tight with the weight of an overdue release.

but he doesn’t rush — he wouldn’t. not with you. this wasn’t about greed or hunger; this is control, patience, and most importantly: teaching. it’s a lesson in restraint as much as it is in pleasure.

he knows the truth, though, that once he pushes even the smallest part of himself inside the gates of heaven, once he feels that impossible heat close around him — all that restraint will burn away. and when it does, it’ll be over for the both of you.

he shifts closer until the heat of him crowds you, his cock nudging against your entrance, the swollen head brushing through the slick folds of your boy pussy, prising you open like a venus fly trap. he grinds there, lazy and teasing, dragging himself against the soft seam between your two holes — that tender stretch of skin quivering with every stroke.

the tip finds it again, grinding, pressing, leaving trails of his salty-sweet pre smeared over your rim until the skin flushes deep crimson. each touch sends a pulse through you, a tremor that makes your thighs shake.

“i’m going to push in now,” he speaks, voice laced with restraint. “tell me if it hurts, okay?”

you nod, breath quivering out in uneven bursts. and before he can move, the words slip from your lips, “thank you for being so gentle with me.”

he pauses, caught completely off guard, gaze falling to your curled form, the way you look back at him through half-lidded eyes. his heart twists at the sincerity in your tone, a rare, quiet fondness rising like warmth behind his chest. a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, one that softens him entirely and reaches his eyes.

“you’re so adorable,” he hums, leaning down until his chest presses to your back, his breath fanning across your neck. he kisses the corner of your eye, light as a sigh, then tilts your chin forward with two fingers. one slips between your lips and you close around them. “now relax… and lean forward for me.”

he rocks his hips, sliding the length of himself through your folds again, catching your swollen clit deliberately this time, dragging up and down until his tip nestles once more at your rim.

and then, a deep, careful push.

the crown slips in first, forcing your hole to stretch around the intrusion, the tight heat resisting before giving way. the sound is wet and perverted, and the breath leaves your lungs all at once. he hisses between his teeth, feeling your tightness grip him, the strain of it almost shattering his composure.

he leans back, palms spreading your ass wider, watching as his cock begins to disappear into you — inch by slow and agonising inch. the sight alone undoes him.

you choke out an ugly sort of noise, the sound of something breaking loose inside you.

“h-hhuhhh—ahhh—”

and he stops, gives you a moment to adjust, breathes against the back of your neck.

“so good for me, pup,” he rasps, voice harsh and trembling with a painful effort. “almost… there. hmm..” sweat beads along his temple, gliding down to his jaw as he loosens his tie with one hand, shoving messy strands of blond hair from his eyes.

another push, and another inch goes inside, and you gasp sharply, “h-hurts…” your voice cracks on the edge of it.

“i know, i know it hurts,” he murmurs, his hand smoothing over your hip. “but you’re doing so, so well for me.”

you nod, frantic, focusing on the rhythm of your breath as your body adjusts, muscles fluttering around him.

nanami is big — you’ve always known this, but now, with him buried halfway inside your ass, the size feels inhuman. it’s too much, too full, like your body’s being remade to the shape of him. the pain burns, bright and sharp, but beneath it, a thread of pleasure begins to unfurl — a low, molten ache that coils deep in your belly, spreading through your chest until you can’t tell one from the other.

it makes your head dizzy.

the saturation dripping from your boy pussy only helps a bit, easing the drag as he presses further into you, his hips rolling with a slow and steady precision. he hadn’t even needed to make you cum first — you were already wet enough, ready enough, taking him deeper and deeper until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

“it… oh— ahhh—” your voice quivers, words lost to the sounds tumbling from your throat as half his cock disappears into the tight heat of your body.

“you’re so… fucking tight,” he groans, the curse torn from his chest like it costs him something. and you rarely hear him cuss like that. the sound of it sends a rush through you, your stomach flipping in dizzy waves.

he’s panting now, every muscle tense, his self-control hanging by a thread. the urge to thrust, to bury himself to the hilt, rushes through him, but he stops, holding himself there, steadily.

and when your hand reaches back, fingers brushing his wrist, he stills completely, head lowering, eyes meeting yours from the ceiling. he looks at you like you’re something to worship.

what a beautiful sight indeed.

he’s fully inside you now, his balls pressed flush against the slick of your boy cunt, his cock buried so deep in your ass that his pelvis rests heavy against your skin. the stretch is overwhelming, a fierce, trembling fullness that steals your breath away, that leaves you shuddering beneath him.

he stays there for a moment, one arm caged around your waist as if he’s afraid to move, afraid to break whatever fragile spell binds you together. he can feel you, hot and clutching around him, that tight velvet grip which makes his pulse race. it feels like you’re swallowing him whole, keeping him safe inside you, cocooning him.

beneath him, you’re shaking, hands clawing at the sofa cushions, searching for anything to anchor yourself to. your fingers twist into the fabric, knuckles white, lungs stuttering for air. getting your ass filled by nanami’s cock like this? is definitely not something for the faint-hearted.

but you’re not weak. you’ve proven that now — that proof written in the sweat he pulled from you, in the way you take him despite the ache, despite the sting.

he begins to move, slow at first, gentle as breath, the careful rhythm of a man who knows the weight of his own strength but doesn’t want to unleash it on you. you hold onto his wrist, fingers curling tight, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his skin.

he presses closer, his chest flattening against your back, his breath ghosting the nape of your neck. he drives you forward into the cushions, the pillow beneath your stomach crushed under the combined weight of both your bodies as he presses you in prone bone. each motion drags him deeper, the blunt head of his cock pushing into that soft resistance before sliding home again.

“you feel so tight and warm inside,” he groans, voice raw, the words barely a whisper against your ear.

if you didn’t have a voice kink before, you had one now — how he strained against you felt heavenly. it turned you on more knowing this was affecting him just as much as it was affecting you.

your reply dissolves into noise, your thoughts splintering as he moves with that perfect, deliberate rhythm, pulling out until only the swollen tip remains inside you, then sinking back in with a slow, devastating thrust.

each stroke hits deeper, smoother, his pelvis slapping faintly against your skin, the slick sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. he flattens you beneath him, pressing you down, folding you into the heat of his body — and in that moment, you are nothing but a pliant little thing below him, and the endless, rhythmic drag of him inside you.

“p-please— k-kento— my c-clit…”

the words tumble out of you, broken and pleading, and he understands instantly. one of his hands slips beneath your body, finding that nub at the apex of your folds. his fingertips circle it in slow, wilful motions, and the effect is immediate — you tighten around him so fiercely that he groans, his pace faltering into something shattering, each thrust a languid grind that pulls a cry from your throat.

oh yeah, he thinks, that’s it — that’s exactly it. your body caught beneath his, pinned and pliant, taking everything he gives without an inch to spare.

“u-up a little…” you gasp, voice high and shaky, and he chuckles low in his throat, the sound rich and fond.

“bossy, aren’t we?” he teases, but still does as he’s told, his thumb sliding higher, pulling back the soft hood of your clit until it’s bare to his touch.

the pressure there is tormenting. the moment he presses down, your body arches, legs lifting from the cushions, toes curling in the air as your first orgasm hits. 

“ahh— hahhh— hhnngh!” your cry melts into the air rawly. he keeps moving through it with measured movements, fucking you gently as you convulse beneath him, as your hole grips and flutters around his cock.

he scrutinises you — every twitch, every shiver, every helpless clench, eyes dark and hungry and greedy. “good… good, that’s it, pup,” he murmurs, the sound deep, a hum that vibrates against your skin with soft dominance.

your body is still shaking, trembling with aftershocks, when his rhythm shifts again — deeper and quicker than before, the smooth glide of his cock turning into short, eager thrusts. he barely pulls out before sinking right back in, each movement firm and purposeful. it isn’t brutal, though; something sweeter and more consuming.

it feels like love fucking — the kind that takes you apart piece by piece, like he’s making love to you, that presses him against you in every possible way. his hips roll, grinding into you, pushing deeper until the head of his cock finds a tight corner inside you and presses against it.

your breath catches, your eyes roll back, and when he finally nudges past that knot, the air bursts from your lungs in a shattered moan, body quaking.

and then he spills inside you — a deep, shuddering release that tears through him and drags another earth shattering orgasm out of you before you can even think. it hits like lightning, sharp and consuming, your vision white-edged as your eyes roll back, the sound leaving your throat something helpless and vulnerable.

his cock throbs as he empties himself, hot ribbons of cum painting your insides, flooding you until you can feel it — thick and molten, seeping deep, then spilling back out to drip between the two of you. the warmth of it runs down your thigh, thick and indecent, mixing with the shine of your own release that left your boy cunt untouched.

nanami leans back slowly, chest heaving, sweat tracing down the lines of his collarbone that dipped under the blouse of his dress shirt. beneath him, you lie half-conscious — body lax, hole still fluttering faintly around him, fucked open and glistening. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, a small, sated smile tugging at his lips, utterly unbothered by the dazed state you’re in.

you’re spent, your hole well used and well fucked, your mind dumb and stupid and full of cock, thoughts nothing but echoes of his name. every inch of you aches, yet there’s a strange, drowsy bliss in the aftermath, in the weight of him still inside you — you hold the remnants of his release like a trophy.

your first time, and he’s left you ruined… but it was a success, in its own filthy and beautiful way. you can’t help but wonder what he’ll teach you next — what more there is to learn at the hands of a man who never learns how to stop spoiling the one he loves.

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does cole cry easily.. 💭i want him to cry and baby him

yes absolutely ! he was never taught “ men don’t cry “ so he cries when he feels like it

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Service..!! Can I please get advice and tips on writing? Specifically how to write like you. I've been reading your works and your works inspired me to want start writing for the first time..!

i’m so happy i inspired you to want to start writing !

My main tips is mostly to imagine it happening to you. For example, if you’re writing about grabbing an apple and eating it, I usually think of how I would grab an apple, how it feels under my fingers, what little quirks do i do with the apple (like if i rub an apple to see how smooth it is etc), how it feels against my teeth and the taste !

Focus on the little details of what happens when you do something, like the strain in your eyebrows when you furrow them.

My writing style is heavily influenced by the senses. I really love writing about taste, touch and scent more than i do sight and hearing! Even if you’ve never experienced it, just by imagining how you THINK it would smell or feel is enough to write good descriptions.

I also like to avoid unsophistication in my writing, I just prefer a more mature and refined style than casual and informal ( though i usually write more casually for fics )

My other piece of advice is to not hold yourself back with a certain style and just write. You can easily come back and better that sentence you didn’t like afterwards, just worry about putting down what you want first!

That’s pretty much it for my style , writing is really all about how you view the world !

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knight’s duty knight au > vallen ( oc ) x bttm prince m reader

Vallen’s eyes were sharper than the sword he wielded, and his voice was as polished as his metallic armour.

‘The prince’s favorited’ they called him. And they weren’t wrong.

On a particularly warm spring evening, Vallen found you slumped against a window peering out to your garden. Your palm pushed against your cheek, and you sighed dramatically enough to draw his attention towards you. He found that amusing, leaning his forearm against his sheathed sword as he slowly approached you. Vallen stopped an inch before you, his eyes drawn to the vast garden before shifting his gaze to the pouty prince on his velvet chairs.

“What’s the matter?” He asks.

“It’s too sunny to go outside,” you huff; the sun had never been kind to your skin.

“But do you want to?”

You nod.

“Then I don’t see why not.” Vallen brings up his palm for you to take, smoothing a thumb over your knuckles as he gently leads you to the door connecting to the garden. His heavy armour rattles as he pushes the door open for you, bowing his head slightly as you walk out under the sun. Your eyes twitch and ache as the light practically blinds you, and you’re close to just turning around and walking back inside before something shades you from the harsh rays. Vallen had extended his arm out above your head, using his gold embroidered mantle as a makeshift parasol.

“Better, my prince?” He coos, his sleek armour glittering under the sun’s refraction. Vallen is quick to point out a bed of roses where one had bloomed before the rest. He curls his arm towards you, guiding you gently to draw your attention to the red flower.

You’re about to lean down, to pluck the rose from the garden before Vallen flicked his gloved hand against yours, stopping you from doing anything.

“You’ll get your pretty silk pants dirty if you bend,” he scolded, and where he had slapped your hand away, though incredibly gentle, Vallen smoothed his palm over your knuckles as if to soothe any lingering pains. He knelt down himself, harsh, jagged armour meeting the soil with a moist crunch as he pulled the flower out from the ground.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, taking the beautiful rose into your fingers, waving it under your nose to catch a sniff of its floral scent.

Vallen stood, his eyes narrowed down to the stem of the rose still earthy with dirt, “We should go back inside, I’ll handle the rose. You just focus on not having ladybugs crawling down your fingers” he flicked his finger at the small ladybug now making its way down your wrist, scoffing with a small smile as you jumped.

The rose settled inside a glass vase on your nightstand, sated with the amount of water Vallen had given it with.

His armour was discarded on the floor beside the door, lying useless now as his focus was on your body. Vallen trailed his fingers down your bare stomach, having a smile twitch his lips when you visibly shuddered and your chest heaved with each deep breath. He thought it was painfully cute. Vallen hadn’t opened your shirt fully, leaving the sheer fabric to pathetically cover the rest of your torso. He could still see the subtle swell of your chest and the pinkish blush covering your shoulder-down.

“Cold?” He purred, his hands slipping underneath both your trousers and your underwear to cleanly pull them off your legs. He guided the clothing down to your shins until they tangled at your ankles. “My prince,” he chuckled, glancing at the cherry-red head of your cock and the pearly bead accumulating at the slit, “Eager, are we? Your humble knight, undressing you, turns you on?” You hate his tone, his cunning smile and his intensely honeyed voice. And you especially hate how he knows you more than he should.

“That’s not true,” you bite back, but your words waver under his intense stare.

“Is that so?”

He leans over your body to lather his hands with lubricant, and then he prods his finger at the tight pucker of muscle as if to test its resistance. He pushes once, twice and the third one lets him slip right past. Vallen’s free hand grasps your weeping cock, his thumb rubbing at the underside of your already sensitive tip. He applied the lubricant directly onto your heated flesh, elicting a loud whine as you feel the cool substance coat your dick.

Vallen is quick to slot another finger into your tight hole the second he feels your tender walls relax enough to let him. He curls his fingers, poking at your insides to find your prostate—its quite easy when your whole body jerks and pre-cum cascades down the length of your cock when he digs his fingers into a specific area. He presses deep circles against that sweet spot while his other hand pumps your slicked girth.

“My lord,” he sighs, almost dramatically, “I can’t do anything without your permission.” He’s a sly bastard and he knows it, swiping his index finger along the very tip of your cockhead, smearing the creamy liquid that bubbles out of it. “Tell me to let you cum.”

The words are lodged in your throat, and you’re only able to muster out a few broken grunts. Your back arches with each teasing circle of Vallen’s fingers abusing your poor prostate, the bed creaked in retaliation to your writhing.

“Vallen—“ You choke out, and he responds with a small ‘hm?’

“I need to hear words, your majesty. Use your words.”

A moan spills from your lips as you grasp at the bed sheets, curling the satin fabric into your fists.

“Do your duty,” you grit out, “And make me cum.”

“As you wish, prince.” Vallen leans his head down, kissing at your stomach while his fist tightened its grip on your cock, feeling your pulse throb against his palm as he jerked up and down. His fingers pushed deep thrusts, creating a wet, obscene sound as lube mixed with your own pre. You feel the fluttering sensation of your stomach tightening into a thick knot, and the pressure of Vallen’s soft kisses pressing down into your pelvis makes that knot unravel.

Your vision blurs as ropes of white splatter across your stomach, catching on the side of Vallen’s lip as he chuckles against your trembling stomach.

He pulls away to swipe the corner of his mouth with a finger, darting his tongue out to have a taste of his prince.

“Sweet as ever, my lord.”

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i never realised how much of an influence i had on some people T T to know that i’ve inspired at least one person to write their own ocs means the world to me ! please keep writing !

I’ll hopefully write one more fic and then maybe i will retire for a little longer . . .

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(Don't mind me also being a writer for having a ton of AU:3)

Ok but like I NEED all of your ocs being a knight. So picture it likeee this

Adrien

• He would absolutely be the type of Knight who would look over the reader, he took his job seriously.

• But he'd still tease the reader! I imagine them being childhood friends to be honest...

He's definitely the type to stick a vibrator on the Reader if he did something stupid.

Vallen

• GENTLEMAN. I don't want to repeat myself. Gentle. Man.

• He WOULD take the Reader's hand and just kiss the knuckles when no soul was looking.

He'd definitely be the type that would give flowers as a sign to; meet me later this evening in your room, my prince.

I'll probably make more, making them first;)

— 🎭

knight x prince aus are always my favorite ! ! I'll definitely write for some in the future since I love the idea so much !

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might write about vallen in this . . .

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Hiiiii doc!! I hope you’ve been doing good (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) You don’t have to reply to this or anything but I was just wondering, since it’s almost Halloween. What type of monsters would your OCS be? I love your works and I hope you know that you’re doing amazing! Keep it up! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

great question ! it’s been a while since I’ve done one of these !!

Adrien is definitely a ‘if i were a zombie, id never eat your brain’ kind of guy. He’d be stitched up from the neck with patches of different skin and blacked out nails, sort of like a frankenstein zombie!

I think Cole would probably be a werewolf actually ! I can imagine him turning when it’s a full moon, canines growing etc. he’d probably just hover in the corner of his house sitting with his face to the wall because he doesn’t want to hurt any of the farm animals or you !

Vallen is 100% a vampire. Pale, dark haired, sharp eyes is practically his description anyways! He’d live in a big secluded mansion and an intricately detailed coffin. I can imagine him having a liking to blood while remaining elegant.

Callahan is a hard one to be honest. I feel like he could be a grim reaper with a large scythe , but i’m not to sure

adefemi would be a mummy ! wrapped up in bandages, sleepy and lazy, he’d be the type of mummy to just idly stand around , not exactly hostile but would rip apart a good brain if close enough

Alastair would be a scarecrow ! Not sure why but I imagine him as those harmless scarecrows with straw hats and a cute face scribbled on though

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this is for anon who asked for callahan hcs but i rage quit when tumblr kept not saving my work T T

Callahan is a control freak—he’s a detective after all, needs everything prim and perfect, no evidence scattered or tampered with like it’s frozen in time to make his life easy.

And he likes it that way with you too.

He does this thing where he has you on the bed with your hands occupied with scrunching up sheets that would need to be re-bought from now clawed up they were. As he’s pushing into you, he’ll have a heavy palm fanned over your pelvis, pressing down on your stomach to keep you paralysed like a cat held up by its scruff.

Having you still and obedient despite your cunning face gets him off completely.

Even when you’re on his lap, back to his chest, his hands are curled around your wrists, holding them like he were the police cuffs himself. If your leg even moves an inch whether to jerk or just to tremble, he’d hook his own over your twitching leg to hold you down.

He’s not nice about it either.

“You move and I’ll chain you to those prison bars,” is something you often hear, knowing its far from the truth when he’s suddenly blowing a load into you

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tumblr keeps not saving my drafts when i write . . . so annoying T T

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lowk, your comeback (which im SO happy abt) makes me wanna start writing again

that means so much to me omg T T let’s start writing together again !!