#wuhluhwuh

[deathsdollhouse]

Happy pride month !!

[blackkatdraws]

[Toon x Mobster] oh my yuri

[newtestvment]

putting my obscure doomed yuri in the void and hoping someone recognizes them

[bunnygirlonthemoon]

“yes ma’am” chill I’m easy

[potchi-fics]

note; another one?

tw; public shenanigans, yall do some freaky shit in a locker room, hockey player vi eats your pussy

      figure skaters and hockey players don’t mix— at least, that was what vi kept saying to herself before she crashed into you during practice.

she was blindly following her puck, not noticing that she had overstepped her line on the rink, sending you both flying to the ice floor. but before she could complain, the wind was knocked out of her. 

and nope, it was not from the fall, but from you looking so pissed at her, looking like you’re about to gut her and feed her intestines to herself.

“what— ow,” you slowly push yourself up, eyebrows furrowing, “watch where you’re going.”

      oh dear lord up above, it didn’t even register to her that you were berating her; it didn’t register that her coach was yelling for her to apologise, to get up, and to get back to practice.

it never even occurred to her that you’re jabbing your finger at her chest because she feels like she’s looking at an angel, a gorgeous, angry angel.

maybe she’s just gay, but your facial features, your voice— everything about you seems ethereal. 

you snap your fingers in front of her, successfully catching her attention, “hey, hockey girl, are you listening, or did you get a concussion?”

“...yeah,” she answers breathlessly, her gaze still focused on you, lips slightly parted, “i– erm, i’m really sorry. i wasn’t really looking at where i was going. are you okay?”

      she scrambles up to her feet, her gloved hands taking a hold of your forearms as she gently pulls you up.

you were about to scold her again when you caught her sheepish yet apologetic smile. she’s kinda cute, you think to yourself.

“i’m fine, thank god cus you are huge. how about you, are you okay?” so you opt to cross your arms and lean your weight on one leg, looking up at her.

vi takes off her helmet nervously, revealing her handsome, pretty face. okay, maybe she can slam herself into you; you wouldn’t mind anymore. “yep– yeah, i’m fine. i’m really sorry. you’re not hurt? are you sure—”

“hockey player, stop rambling. i’m fine, really. can you just watch out where you’re going next time?”

      there it is again, your aura? is it because you’re so pretty? is it because of the tights and turtleneck you’re wearing?

she feels like a pervert for letting her gaze roam your body, imagining how soft you’d be under her calloused hands.

vi’s throat bobbed up and down, her lips going dry, her tongue felt like its dead weight. everything about you is perfection, fuck she’s so gay.

you, obviously, see your effect on her; she’s not really subtle. 

you take advantage of it.

hours later, with no one around anymore, you’re sitting on the bench in the locker room, legs spread as vi’s fingers dig into your thighs, gripping it with so much force that you’re sure it’ll leave marks. 

what is she doing, you ask? she’s greedily lapping up at your cunt like she’s starved for years. her mouth is doing wonders to you— you honestly didn’t expect her to be this good. you didn’t expect her to grab your turtleneck by its hem and push up to reveal your lace black bra; you didn’t expect her to shove your pants down.

“taste so good,” you hear her murmur against your pussy, her tongue circling your clit, “taste so fucking good.”

      not only is she whipped for you at first sight, vi’s pussydrunk. she’s desperately spreading you wider, forcing you to accommodate your position, but thanks to you being a figure skater, you’re flexible than most people. 

your quiet whimpers and broken moans give her the motivation to keep going, even when her jaw is aching and begging for a break, vi does not care at all.

the way she don’t give a fuck as long as you’re feeling good, as long as you keep mewling out her name, as long as your cunt is clenching around her tongue, as long as you cum on her tongue. she does not give a fuck.

so imagine the pride she felt when you writhe against her tight hold, pussy gushing out cum onto her tongue, making her groan in satisfaction at your taste?

she’s not the only one.

as soon as you look down, chest heaving and pussy sensitive, her broad shoulders flood your brain. even under all that bulky clothing, it’s clear that she has a broad back. and you can’t help but fantasise about using it as a leg rest while she devours your cunt.

maybe figure skaters and hockey players do mix well.

[justgirlythings]

having my wife react to my old justgirlythings posts

my TikTok & Instagram: @beckcamps

[eightsh8pe]

Sweetest

Genre: Smut

Length: 1k words

Nmixx Kyujin x Le Sserafim Eunchae

(Author's Note: Thanks to @azelfty and @erospandemos for beta <3)

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚✩࿐

For most, Friday nights meant partying. Bad decisions that'll wash over by Monday. Breaking off the shackles of humanity to get more wasted than humanly possibly. For Eunchae and Kyujin, Friday nights are for breaking out their favorite fluffy blanket—the one with the big wolf on it—and snuggling up on Eunchae's balcony underneath an audience of stars. Every Friday without fail, exactly in their assigned spots: Kyujin, the big spoon, and Eunchae, the little one.

Kyujin snuggles closer, nose pressed against the neck of her lover. "Did you get a new perfume?" Her soft voice sends tingles down Eunchae's spine.

"Nah," she responds. "I did get a new shampoo though. The grocery story ran out of what I usually get."

Kyujin takes another whiff. "It's nice. Strawberry?"

Eunchae nods, her brown hair tickling Kyujin's cheek. Another deep inhale, and all of a sudden, strawberries are all Kyujin can think about. Strawberry smoothies, bagels smothered with cream cheese and strawberry jam, those healthy cereals her mother buy with all those dried strawberry pieces. She couldn't get enough of it.

"Do you like it that much?" Eunchae giggles. "I'll buy it for you next time I go grocery shopping."

"No, no, it's just—"She sniffs right on her scalp"—it's just nice. I can't explain it."

"What shampoo do you use?" Eunchae shifts in her arms, and all of a sudden finds herself counting each individual eyelash lining the top of her cat-like eyes (She got to 10 before losing count).

"I don't know," Kyujin whispers into the narrowing space,"it changes every few weeks."

"It's nice," she guesses. It's hard to focus when her eyes are on those soft lips. Every week, Eunchae makes an effort to try and memorize each crease on them. Long, short, short, that one's a bit longer than the first, and she loses track all over again as the thumping in her ears persists. With legs tangled and arms enclosed, the interior of their shared wolf blanket feels like a sauna, both girls trying to outlast the other in the growing heat.

"My tummy feels funny," Eunchae admits. In response, Kyujin runs her hand underneath her shirt like it's a physical issue she can solve, feeling the way Eunchae tenses under her palm.

"Feels fine to me."

"You're stupid," she says, but her face is all smiles as Kyujin goes higher, higher, dragging against the gentle divots of her abs, and stopping at the hem of her sports bra. "Can't even figure out what shampoo to buy."

"What's wrong with a little exploration?" She teases her nail along the elastic, snapping it gently against Eunchae's skin.

"Nothing, really." Eunchae shifts closer, pulling Kyujin's thigh to her waist. "Are we still talking about shampoo?"

"A subject change would be nice." A soft press against her lips later and strawberries are on Kyujin's mind again. "Strawberry lip gloss?"

"That was a coincidence," Eunchae chuckles. "Do you like it?"

"Hmm, I should try it again just to be sure."

The air fills with the pucker of sticky lips and hushed giggles. Kyujin pulls close, and Eunchae lets her, lost in the headiness of being touched in ways only she would know. Beyond this balcony is nothing; irrelevant. Everything they need is right here, underneath the blanket with the wolf on it.

Eunchae whines. "You're gonna make me wake the neighbors again."

Kyujin has her chest pressed against her lover's back, hand trailing down to the waistband of her sweats. "Don't blame me because you can't keep your mouth shut."

"I'm the one that has to deal with them when you leave." Despite her protests, Eunchae spreads her legs, craving sweet release after such a long week. Another whimper escapes her lips as Kyujin invades her most intimate area with her delicate fingers.

She knows exactly what makes Eunchae tick: the sensitivity of her nipples, the speed she likes to be fucked silly, down to the crescendo of her moans as she approaches her climax. Kyujin gets drunk on the scent of strawberries, hands moving with a mind of their own on the body she's loved a thousand times before. All Eunchae can do is submit to the constant stream of dopamine.

"Shit, fuck," she slurs, vocabulary dumbed down to the essentials. She presses back into Kyujin, desperate to be touched, to be loved, to be fucked by her expert fingers. "God, you're so good…"

"I know," Kyujin smirks. If nothing, she takes immense pride in being able to see her like this—like putty in her hands, undone in all the best ways.

Eunchae turns her head. "Kiss me, please, I—" Her lips are claimed in an instant, moans suffocated by Kyujin's tongue. Against the whistling winds, all that can be heard is the hot stickiness of Eunchae's cunt, barely muffled by the blanket. The melody of their lovemaking is a secret only meant for them; whatever the neighbors argue is up for speculation.

Kyujin slows her pumping, down to occasional swipes against her lover's sweet spot. "I'm fucking starving for you," she huffs, trailing kisses on her throat, down to her soft breasts, lower still until she's hidden under the blanket.

Before Eunchae can even complain about the loss of Kyujin's fingers, her sweats are pulled to her ankles, and a tongue slides up her soaked thighs.

"Oh fuck, Kyujin," she moans, barely keeping it together. Without a kiss to keep her silent, she cups a hand over her mouth; it's all for naught as a flick of Kyujin's tongue against her clit turns her into a siren. Her poor neighbors.

Eunchae's words dissolve into vague grunts of "fuck", "yes", and "right there", her voice climbing up the register to that note Kyujin likes. She eats up her girlfriend's pretty heat, chasing that sound that lets her know she's done a good job, ready to drink up every last drop of her honey.

And Eunchae is gone; lost in a strawberry-scented bliss; another eventful Friday ends.

[makiscence]

A few sketches of my wife Betty Bed :) 💜 My C0mms are open!

(Close ups and no glasses version under this!)