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bunnypulp · 1 year

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Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

~4.8k // MDNI // exhibitionism // first times // pointless, shameless, let-me-fuck-that-man smut // reposted from ao3

“Shh,” he coos, slowing your hips from their desperate grinding. “Keep those pretty noises just for my ears.” His mouth quirks slightly, thumb coming to stroke over your bottom lip. “Unless you want to be caught.”

“Got room for one more?”

Your stomach twisted with nerves as the stagecoach you rode in came to a rickety stop, heart beginning to race when the lockbox in the back opened and a stranger's items were set beside yours. Your first long trip alone, and you’d be spending it in a small coach with an unfamiliar man. What if he was a road agent? Or if he tried anything on you? Simply someone annoying you had to put up with for the next however many hours to Saint Denis?

You watched out of the corner of your eye as a tall figure approached the side door of the coach, each step punctuated with the sound of clicking spurs. Spurs and no horse, you thought. The pages of the book you’d been reading were pinched between your fingers, mind racing through all the undesirable possibilities of who this man may be, what he might want, what he might do.

As the coach rocked with the weight of a new passenger, your stomach jumped, eyes finally dragging away from the empty seat in front of you to the man who will soon be filling it.

Tall, broad, and rugged, the brim of a worn hat covered most of his face, but the moment he looked up you felt yourself shrink.

The sharp jaw and downward slope of his pouting lips somehow came to contrast the otherwise austere appearance. He was terrifyingly handsome, what with the mean pinch in his brow and sheer size of him. Tall enough you doubted he even needed to use the foot pedal to get in.

But at the drop of a hat, his face had suddenly softened. The fear that had built-in your stomach since the slow of the coach had dissipated in an instant when you realized his shift in demeanor was to one of...nervousness.

“You okay with an extra passenger, miss?” he had asked, as if the decision was up to you. You’d explained to him it wasn’t a private ride, that the driver was welcome to take on any passengers he wanted on the way to your destination, but the man didn’t seem satisfied until you finally said, “Yes.”

You thought for a moment you’d have to ask him not to ride up at the top with the driver with how he deliberated whether to get inside the cart. All the while your eyes had been at the two guns on his waist. A man would be suicidal to leave the house without protection--be it from the wilderness or road agents or God knows what--but you’d rarely seen someone brandishing two. You thought for a moment you could make out the shape of a flower engraved on one, but before you could inspect it further the coach rocked to one side.

Your cheeks flare at the memory. You hadn’t meant your gasp to be rude. Arthur Morgan, as he’d since introduced, was not a slight man, but it was just the sudden shift of the coach that had spooked you.

You peer over the page of your novel at him, relieved to find him preoccupied in a book of his own. Not reading, though. Doodling, you think by the quick strokes of a short piece of graphite. What is the real mystery. The leather-bound book pulled close to his chest so as not to give you even the briefest of glimpses.

A shame, you think distantly, tucking your nose back into your pages. You’d really love to see what Mr. Big and Burly deems worthy of immortalizing on paper.

—

A yawn interrupts your reading, bringing forth small pricks of tears to your drooping eyes. The sky has long since lost its color, the inside of the coach illuminated only by the dim light of a lantern. Along with the light lost, the day’s heat has tapered off quite dramatically, the chill of the night settling in unapologetically. Stretching your legs, you feel goosebumps flush along your exposed skin even despite the shawl around your shoulders.

Tucking yourself deeper into the seat, your eyes flick over to where Mister Arthur Morgan sits with his hat drawn over his eyes. You envy the tanned sheepskin jacket he has on, keeping him warm against the elements. He’s probably as hot as a fireplace, you think with another yawn. Just how late was it?

He’s been asleep for hours now, not even rousing when the coach shook and jumped along the road. Maybe, if you just went to his side you could warm up and move back without him even realizing it. You doubt your smaller presence would rouse him any, not in comparison to the bumpy ride.

A nipping breeze decides for you, and you slink over to his side of the coach. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, the heat of his body drawing you in closer and closer. You were right, you think, eyes fluttering shut. He’s like a freshly stoked fireplace.

You wake up to a particularly harsh jostle, the coach’s wheels running over a patch of rougher terrain. Groaning quietly, you defiantly keep your eyes closed, set on falling back asleep, but a gust of wind slips in through the windows, pulling a shiver up your spine. You go to burrow closer into your seat, to the warmth accumulated there, but get pulled closer instead.

You’re barely able to rein in a gasp, eyes snapping open.

It doesn’t take but a second for your mind to catch up to reality, or for your eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the coach. Seeing your empty seat across from you and two pairs of legs spread out in front of you.

You’re tucked tightly against Arthur’s side, certainly not the position you recall before you had fallen asleep on him. Arthur’s heavy arm is folded over your shoulder. His relaxed hand barely grazing your exposed arm, but the sensation sends goosebumps over your skin. Your own hand is placed on his thigh, a comfortable resting spot but entirely improper. Snatching it away, you shift as much as you can to look at the snoozing man next to you. His green eyes are still closed, even breaths coming as quiet snores half of the time.

“Mr. Morgan?” you whisper, testing to see how deeply asleep he is. The only response given is another low snore. Squirming a bit to try and remove yourself, you squeak when his arm only tightens around you, sliding around your clavicle to lock you in firmer.

Accepting that the only way to remove yourself from the situation would mean to draw attention to it, you relax against him and try to will yourself back to sleep. Maybe he’ll lighten his hold sometime through the night and you could divorce yourself from this, pretend it never happened.

Until then, you wait.

And wait.

And--Arthur shifts, groans, adjusts his hat, then goes right back to sleep. The entire time his arm doesn’t move from where it’s locked around your body.

You stare longingly at the book across from you, hardly a meter away yet entirely out of reach. For a lack of anything better to do, you drum your fingers against your skirt, press creases into the satin fabric, and flatten them out over and again.

You eye the hand resting limply on the thigh farthest from you. Where his fingers are long and thick, with nails looking to be bitten to the quick, yours are dainty and well kept. Hands that have only known the scorn of a quickly turned page, or the prick of a sewing needle.

You wonder what Mr. Morgan’s hands know.

Your fingers lightly brush over his thigh, strong and thick underneath his trousers. Your whole hand couldn’t cover the top, even when you splay your fingers.

It’s mindless entertainment, but entertainment nonetheless as you measure the width of his thigh with the first knuckle of your finger, then with two pressed together. Rolling them over this way and back the other, skating them from your leg to his.

You don’t notice when his snoring stops, or the man’s breath goes deathly silent. Only when the large hand you were just studying wraps around your wrist do you realize he’s awoken. The yelp that nearly escapes you gets trapped behind his second roughened palm pressing against your lips, barely a peep hitting the open air.

Neither of you speak for several beats. Long enough that you feel your chest ache for the air you’ve been holding back despite your nose being uncovered. So long you begin to wonder if Arthur had simply reacted as a reflex in his sleep. Maybe you could still get out of this, gently pry his grizzly-sized paws off of your person and pretend this never happened.

But your blood runs cold in your veins before you can make that decision, a low growl rumbling right against your ear.

“Go ahead and explain yourself, girl. We both know that’s not where I keep my money.”

His hand moves from your lips to your chin, guiding your face towards his with a foreign gentleness. This close you can see the flecks of yellow and blue in his eyes; could count his lashes, if your life lasted long enough to allow it.

You try not to pant outright or look into his scornful stare, but when your gaze cast to the side his grip tightens--a painless warning, but a warning all the same. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

“I wasn’t trying to steal from you,” you quickly squeak out. The breath he huffs through his nose is warm on your face.

“I’m well aware. So,” his fingers squeeze on your cheeks, pushing your lips forward. “What were those wandering hands of your doin’?”

“I-I don’t--don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he repeats, a hint of amusement lingering in his tone. You nod your head as much as his hand will permit. “Then maybe you need a reminder.”

The hand around your wrist still trapping you against his thigh guides your palm up his leg--far higher than you ever traveled--and then back down again. Your eyes widen, snapping up to his own.

“I wasn’t--”

“Oh, but I think you were,” he says, guiding you higher again. Your hand passes over something underneath his pants. “Your wanderin’ hand caused quite the problem.”

The way he speaks, low and confident, sends a wave of heat through your body, melting the ice your blood had turned to when he caught you. It all pools hotly at the bottom of your stomach, scorches your cheeks. His eyes rake over your expression, face slowly but surely inching towards you. You can feel the heat of his breath on your wet lips, his nose brushing gently over your cheek. But just as your eyes flutter shut he removes his hands from you. Lets go of your jaw and places your hand in your own lap.

“Feelin’ a man while he sleeps is mighty improper, miss,” he says, voice devoid of its earlier gravely husk. “Best get some rest now so we can both forget about it.”

It takes you a long moment to fully register the switch in demeanour, your lips still parted, but for an entirely different reason. He was just going to...let you go? After that ?

Properly humiliated, you rip your gaze away from his profile, glance to the other side of the coach. The seat where you know you should retreat to, slink over with your tail between your legs, and pretend this never happened for the sake of propriety. You know this, and yet you keep yourself planted in the seat next to him, thoughts fuzzy and heart beating at a dizzying rate.

It’s hard to say what came over you. A fit of hysteria or complete mania, perhaps, but without his prompting you place your hand back onto his thigh, grazing it lightly over the swell of corded muscle there. It flexes involuntarily under your touch. “I don’t think I quite understand, Mr. Morgan,” you purr in your best seductive voice, leaning closer to him and pressing your breast up against his arm. You creep up his inner thigh until your fingers curl to cup the bulge that extends far closer to his hip than you expected.

The rush that passes through you when his eyes widen you’ve only felt once. When during a dinner party you snuck into the kitchen and split several bottles of wine with the help, giggling and drinking with them all for God knows how long. You spent the rest of that evening giving demure smiles and hiding behind your fan to conceal the dark red stains on your teeth. Oh, how it felt to do something frowned upon. To hide a little secret in front of so many people.

A feeling you’d much rather chase after than drown.

There is nothing modest about the smile stretched across your face now. The grin splitting your lips is salacious and predatory when you lean towards his parted mouth.

“What’s so improper about this?”

Your free hand snakes its way up his broad chest, grabbing onto the black neckerchief there and yanking on it to close the distance between your mouths.

The stubble on his chin and cheek abraid against your own, but his lips make up for it entirely; warm and supple and surprisingly soft. Almost too pliant at first, tentative and chaste, but when you move his bottom lip between your teeth it puts an end to that.

You have only ever read about men who kiss the way Mr. Morgan does. Dominating and firm but gentle and rich. You’ve kissed wealthy men before but never have had a kiss feel so luxuriant. As his tongue runs around the seam of your lip your mind is wiped clean of any memories to even compare him to. It’s shameless and near urgent, the way he tilts your head back to completely swallow you. When his tongue strokes against your own you let your lips wrap around it, sucking and licking and capturing him there to play with for as long as you please. He moans into your mouth, presses your body closer against him until he’s nearly pushing you down, and tangles his hand in your hair to assert himself back as the one in control.

You break apart purely out of necessity, wet and bruised lips parted to pant hard against each other. Mr. Morgan leaves you breathless once more when he moves you to his lap with such ease you’d think you were a child and not a grown woman.

“You need me to teach ya about improper?” he asks, mouth leaving hot and wet kisses along the column of your neck. You keen and tilt your head higher, giving him more room to explore.

“Would you be so kind, Mr. Morgan?”

“Arthur,” he corrects, teeth nipping at your exposed clavicle. The vibrations run down your spine like a silky cord.

You echo him breathlessly, “Arthur.” It sounds nice on your tongue; a handsome name. A strong name. “I’m afraid I’ve rarely been afforded the luxury of hand-on-hand instruction.”

He’s pulling down the neckline of your dress and exposing your breasts to the rapidly warming air inside the coach. You gasp, having only been this nude in front of your help before. There’s an urge to cover yourself, but you quiet it down when his warm, rough hands press them together.

“Then we better be real thorough, Miss.” He kisses your cleavage, tongue licking a line down your breasts to take a nipple into his hot mouth. You arch further into his touch when a hand moves to your bottom, kneading the flesh there.

He lets go of your breast with the barest graze of teeth, coaxing a whimper out of your throat. He chuckles from below you. “This okay with you, princess?”

“I believe there’s no backing out now, is there?” you jest.

His hands and mouth still, face lifting from your chest to look up at you with a sudden earnestness. “You call the shots, darlin’. If you wanna stop just tell me when.”

You blink at him, having not expected that kind of response. For such a tough and severe-looking man, you expected him to be the type to take what he wants. Maybe that was the initial appeal, but looking at his lust-blown eyes, now tempered with self-restraint, makes you all the more eager to be with him. Not sure what to say, or even trusting your voice to carry a sentence, you dip down and capture his lips once more, sweeter and slower than before. He takes the meaning and lets his hands continue their ministrations, pinching and rubbing and stroking against your breasts to find what pulls the better reaction out of you. Just as you pull apart the stagecoach hits a bump, jostling you two slightly. Arthur holds you steady against him, but in doing so presses you against his erection.

He groans deeply. A grin splits your face.

“Forgive my negligence, Mr. Morgan,” you purr, slipping your hands under both the straps of his suspenders and jacket, sliding them off of his shoulders. Your fingers flick open the buttons of his trousers with an ease that surprises yourself.

When your hand disappears under his trousers, you’re almost surprised by how heavy his erection is. It’s like velvet hilt beneath your fingers, hot and wet at the tip. You roll your palm around it before pulling him out.

“Despite all the erotic dime novels I’ve read I’m afraid none of them went into quite such detail,” you admit sheepishly.

Arthur grins, lopsided and lazily charming. “Let me show you.”

His hand folds over yours, gently guiding it up and down his shaft. You’re caught between watching his erection slip in and out of your hand and watching his expressions: The flutter of his long lashes, the burning red in his cheeks. His mouth remains parted to allow his deep breaths, but his teeth clench in a hiss when you dip your thumb into the slit, smearing the pooling liquid around.

“Move just like that,” he says, hand leaving yours to trail under your skirt and over your stockings.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” he asks, fingers mapping out the space between your parted thighs, slipping between the slit of your undergarments to brush over and part your folds. You shake your head, trying desperately not to whimper when his palm presses up against your core. “But you’ve touched yourself like this?”

You struggle to nod your head, not entirely due to his dizzying touch. Arthur notices this, latches onto it. “Say it, princess.”

“I-I’ve touched myself. Before.”

He hums, rewarding you with a large finger rubbing up against your wet entrance.“I want you to show me.”

Before you can question him, he’s removing your hands from his, wet fingers moving you so your back is in the seat. He kneels between your parted legs and hikes your skirt up your waist, untying your underwear easily to shimmying them down and off of your ankles. You fight against yourself to close your knees together tight, caught instead by Arthur’s deep green eyes locked with your own. “Show me,” he repeats, guiding your hands to the space between your thighs.

You want to be embarrassed, tell him this is the point where you call a recess, but with the way the heat in your stomach seeps down to your core, aching to be acknowledged, and Arthur’s reassurance of his own enjoyment, evident by the hand slowly stroking himself--you decide to chase after the feeling of wine stained teeth.

With tentative strokes, you begin pleasuring yourself the way you would in your bedroom back at the estate. Your fingers dip down to your entrance to gather the slick there and spread it over your clit, making gentle but firm circles over the small bundle of nerves. As you begin to build your familiar rhythm, your second hand rises to your chest, stroking and pinching your nipple. Arthur seems caught between the same binary as you: to watch your sex or to watch your face.

He decides on the latter, and to your further joy leans up to kiss you, his knuckles brushing against your own with every flick of his wrist. You moan against his mouth, less occupied with moving your lips than you are chasing after your pleasure.

When you feel your core begin to tighten, Arthur pulls your hips to the edge of the seat. He leaves your mouth to sink down, his face inches from where your fingers are making quick, tight circles.

“What are you--doing?” you ask, breathless.

Arthur looks up at you from where he kneels, taking in the look of genuine confusion on your face and smirks against your bare thigh. “Your dirty novels not tell you ‘bout this?” You shake your head. “I’d rather show you.”

Nothing he’s done thus far has been anything close to unpleasant and, as silly as it is to come to the conclusion now, you trust him. You move your fingers, mourning the loss of your budding release, and nod once.

“Go ahead.”

He smiles against your thigh, kissing you there before continuing lower. And lower. And lower still, until his breath is hot against your core. Before you can grow any more nervous and ask him to stop, you feel the flat of his tongue lick from your entrance to your clit.

You gasp, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. You’ve never felt anything like that before. His tongue is heavy and wet against you, soft lips bringing your folds into his mouth. Salaciously, he looks up at you from between your legs, and you can see his smile in his pretty green eyes. He repeats this once more, but stays at your clit, circling it with his tongue before lapping at it greedily.

Your fingers card through his soft blonde hair, careful at first not to pull, but too far deep in your own pleasure to realize when you do. He moans against you when your hips raise involuntarily to press impossibly closer to his mouth, hands roaming over your waist and to your breasts. You didn’t realize why he wanted you to pleasure yourself in front of him, but now you understand. Everything you showed him he took into account, using it to dangle you over the edge of an impossibly blissful sea.

Your mouth hangs open, keens and whimpers escaping without care as his dexterous mouth and hands strum your body like an instrument, unaware of just how loud they ring in the stagecoach until Arthur’s mouth pulls away and you’re brought back to a sane state of mind.

Without your permission a low moan pulls out of your throat, desperate and needy. Your eyes widen, suddenly sober to your unintentional reaction. Arthur looks to have sobered up slightly too, but when his green eyes meet yours they fall darker than they were before.

“Oh, you dirty girl.”

Arthur rises from his kneel, looms over you in the small space of the coach. Slides his hips between your thighs like the piece of a jigsaw puzzle, the warmth of his manhood hot and heavy over your mound.

“That really gets to you, huh? The idea of gettin’ caught in such an indecent position?”

You go to retort, save yourself the embarrassment of a misunderstanding, but you stop yourself short. There really is no misunderstanding. Arthur kindly doesn’t press the discovery, but you squirm all the same until his lips coax your mouth open and your thoughts away. All the way up until you feel the head of his cock presses up against your entrance and you gasp.

“I-I’ve never--” you’re quick to blurt, but Arthur’s quicker to sooth.

“I know,” he coos, looking at the swell of your mouth. “Ain’t no need for it, darlin’, just say and I’ll go back to what I was doin’ before this.”

You swallow against a dry throat, eyes darting over his face and waiting for something inside of you to say anything other than ��yes, yes, yes. It doesn’t come, and Arthur waits patiently for your answer. “Please. Keep going.”

The sensation of being filled--of being stretched. Nothing in your books gave it proper tribute. It’s a sweet, slow burn that you feel all the way up your spine; a heat that spreads through your thighs, up to your navel. Your fingernails leave skinny red lines along Arthur’s forearms, stopping only when he’s fully seated inside of you.

You come to a standstill, luxuriating in the feeling of the other. “You fit me perfectly,” Arthur whispers, grinding his hips against the plush of your ass. You gasp.

“You think I’m the one with the dirty mouth?”

He chuckles against your lips, kissing you once quick and hard before pulling back to give you a proper grin, “This is church talk, girl,” and thrusts into you.

You’re already so full of him, filled in a way you hadn’t imagined possible, and having him press deeper into you hits something that has you out of breath with pleasure. Your toes curl, fingers digging into Arthur’s strong shoulders. It’s so, so good--

And then he pulls back to properly thrust.

If having his tongue on you was the best thing you’d felt, having him bury himself in you over and over again is nothing short of heavenly. Each time it feels like he may be leaving, only to sink back in, you lose any sense. The hand at the back of your thigh, your ankles locked together, the sweat dotting your brow. It all feels like so much, and yet it waves to the background while Arthur takes you. You haven’t realized the noises filling the coach are entirely yours until Arthur quiets you with his tongue against yours. When your mouths finally pull apart the first thing back on your tongue is his name.

“Arthur,” you whimper, bottom lip catching between your teeth.

“What do you need, girl.” Your lips parts to tell him, but the words catch in your throat, another wave of euphoria hitting you when he presses all the way in and stills. Like this you’re so obscenely stretched and filled in ways you never knew you’d want to be, but he presses your hips back against him, pushing against your limit even further. “Tell me what you need,” he whispers, pulsing inside of you.

“H-harder.”

If the bulging muscles in his arms weren’t affirmation enough, the display of just how strong he is comes when his arms hook under your knees to push them back towards your chest, hands splaying along your upper back. You think for a second he’s going to throw you onto the floor and take you like that--something you’re surprised to learn you aren’t entirely opposed to--but instead of letting you drop he holds you just like that, supporting the near entirety of your weight in his arms.

You’re completely laid bare before him, legs spread lewdly for his viewing pleasure, hands too busy clawing at his shoulders and hair to cover your expressions from him, but it only makes the scorching need in your core burn brighter. He chuckles when you hook your feet over his shoulders, letting go completely to the obscenity of it all.

You think, at least. Then he starts to move.

His arms swing you back while his hips lift to meet you, thrusting inside of you with long, rough movements. The first slap of your arse to his thighs is loud inside of the coach, but not any louder than the sounds that rip from your throat. They only spur him on, working to keep a rhythm that has you useless in his arms.

“God!” you brokenly gasp, uncaring of your volume or the swear. “L-like that!”

“There you go,” he husks, hands squeezing you tight. Every part of you is overwhelmed by him, inside and out. His voice, his touch, his scent, his taste. It pushes you closer and closer to the edge, every sense heightened and primed as if with the sole purpose of bringing you over. That tempting line between wanting to remain in the rapture that comes right before your climax and needing to feel yourself fall apart. For him, on him, because of him.

The need only burns brighter every time you sink back down onto his length, his thick head pressing impossibly deeper inside of you and hitting every sensitive spot along the way.

You try to warn him, at least to keep him going long enough for you to claim your mark, but it comes out a broken mess. “A-Arthur, I’m--don’t, ah! Keep--“

“Let me feel you take your pleasure.”

And you do.

#arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 smut #rdr2 x reader #Bunny Writing #testing the waters here how thirsty is everyone #are the arthur morgan girlies still alive

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ratasum · 5 months

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I am thinking so much about Vezz lately. I really need to go back to finish his story that leads him up to meeting the guild sometime. The thing that always gets me is how he got into all this.

“Several blueprints were stolen from Snaff’s- from my lab last week. I’d been working on putting them in storage, but someone broke in while I was away dealing with a separate situation. They were some of his last designs before he-…” Zojja trailed off, and Vezz swore he heard her voice crack. She blinked hard, looking away from him for a moment before clearing her throat and continuing. “I want them back. And I want to put the hurt on whoever took them. I’m certain they’re working out of a facility up north of Ulta Metamagicals in the Brisban Wilds.” Now her determination made even more sense. Someone, possibly someone he’d known, had stolen something very dear to her. Her desire to get them back was completely understandable, but he couldn’t help but give in to a wave of confusion. “That doesn’t exactly explain why you would want me to help with this. I’m certain there are any number of geniuses who would trip over themselves to help you lift a copper piece, let alone go with you to retrieve Snaff’s last works. And yet you went through the trouble to come find me… an unwanted loner with a price on his head. I don’t belong in Rata Sum. I don’t belong in the Inquest. But you seem to think I belong… helping you. What’s your angle?” Zojja looked back at him, her expression strangely contemplative. “Because you’re someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain. If this works, I can get you in touch with a guild and some people that can help you. You don’t want to die at the hands of the Inquest, and I need help. Help that right now, you’re my only option for. And I think that in the end, this will be mutually beneficial for the both of us. But I’m not going to force you. If you’re interested, meet me at the Ulta Metamagicals lab and we’ll discuss this in further detail. Take care, Vezz. Try not to get killed, okay?”

#keeper vezz #bunny writing

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bunnys-kisses · 1 month

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the jailbird (2)

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

part 1 | original text post

cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, romance & fluff, smut, size kink, sane and consensual, roleplay, rough sex, spanking, bondage & gags, tattoo kink, dom!simon, sub!reader

bunny says: love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are encouraged!

living with an ex-convict was interesting. he still woke up at the crack of dawn, and as a result you were up too. he didn't know where anything was in your apartment, he hated that he had to wake you up but he didn't know where the spoons were.

you were happy to help him and spend some extra time together before you went to work. the more you were around him, the more you realized how big he was compared to you.

even his hands were much larger than yours. he loved to wrap you up in his arms and hold you while you were making yourself some breakfast. those strong tattooed arms around your middle as you flipped eggs.

sometimes he'd bury his face in your neck and visibly relaxed. he was still dealing with his fair share of trauma from the previous events of his life. and while it often left him stressed, he found comfort in you.

"you're my anchor, love." he said within the first week of his return to society.

you simply smiled and tried not to blush too hard as you said, "well, si. i'll happily be your anchor, as long as your mine."

"you're anchor, your rock, your foot solider, your lover." he said as he kept his gaze on you. since he had been living with you, you found his expression had softened a little. he could relax here.

"my husband." you reached out for him. he took your hand and kissed the top of it before he held it for a moment then returned it to you.

simon had a long road ahead of him, being on the inside for so long was going to cause some problems. but, he knew even if he had nothing. he had you.

it was almost five months into living together and he managed to get an interview working in small parts manufacturing. while it was tedious, they didn't need to look at his criminal record. which greatly excited him.

when he came home from the interview, he told you that it went well. that they seemed to like his dedication and were impressed when he mentioned his time in the military. he said, "got the whole 'thank you for your service'." as he held you and kissed you deeply.

it felt like your little lives were coming together. but the one thing you hated to admit to yourself. you sort of had a dark side, it wasn't anything too aggressive or 'evil'. you thought that simon was the perfect boyfriend, he'd never hurt a hair on your head.

but the idea of being with a criminal sort of had a sexy ring to it. to be with the bad boy. you almost felt embarrassed to admit it when he'd come home with flowers for you, or when he smiled at you. or when he held your hand when you went out. with you he got to be a person with love.

deep down you wanted to know the depths of your boyfriend. you wanted to know what a man like him, with his skill set, was capable of. you wanted it to burn, ache and hurt.

it took a lot of courage, you communicated with your boyfriend about a little make believe. while hesitant at first, he slowly started to warm up to the idea. you knew he was open to it when he came home from one, actually the first day at his job, with a bundle of bondage rope.

"the blue looks good on you." he remarked as he finished tying you up on the bed. he had your arms behind your back with you on your side and one leg tied to the bed post.

you looked at him, those eyes of yours were so alluring. you tried to move your leg but was stuck to the bed. he smiled down at you and tapped the ball gag in your mouth.

"but it doesn't matter what you want. right?' he asked, "i've searched a long time for you. you're not an easy woman to catch." he got between your legs, and hiked one leg over his shoulder as he started to aggressively lick your cunt. it was already dripping from the act of him tying you up.

there was no escape for you, even if you somehow got out of the bondage. he was almost twice the size of you and could do some damage if he wanted to.

you squirmed and whimpered around the ball gag as he took long, hard licks against your clit. he wanted to make sure his girl was wet enough for his large cock.

"maybe i should breed ya. bring you back to the boys all fat with my brats.' he purred, "i don't think they can throw ya in the can if you're pregnant. but who knows, you got pregnant by a thief." he continued to lick your sweet cunt. he was in heaven.

he really was so much bigger than you. he overpowered you, he could keep you down and fuck you until he had his fill, and there was nothing you could do about it. you were bound and gagged like a good girl.

he kept at it, he even teased your hole with his thick fingers until you were squirming more with your moans getting louder. he slapped your ass and gave you a stern look over your pussy. he gripped your leg over his shoulder. "shut up." he growled, "i don't need ya causin' a scene. i'd hate to go back to prison because you can't keep your trap shut up."

you hole clenched and he chuckled. he patted where he smacked and grabbed at the flesh before he went back to his feast between your legs. it didn't take long before the slick between your thighs got all over his face.

he pulled away and sat up on his knees. he stared down at you with your thigh wrapped around his waist. he was going to fuck you at a weird angle, but it was the only way he could keep his little prize tied up. he wiped is face, "you are the best thing i've caught." he said, "stolen a lotta loose change, but they're nothin' to the sweet taste of your cunt." he got his cock out his sweatpants and started to rub it against your slick pussy. he let out a harsh sigh from the sensation, "they should be keepin' ya behind the vault door." the tip slipped in for a moment and you clenched around it.

you whimpered and tried to pushed yourself down on his cock, but it was hard to do that when you were so tied up, he pushed the hair out of your eyes, your leftover wetness got on your cheek from his movements.

"but, you need to know." he said, "you're mine to do whatever to. your mommy and daddy aren't gonna save ya. you fell in love with a bad man and now you're lettin' him fuck your cunt raw. what's gonna happen at christmas when you're all swollen with my brats. riley boys are lil hell raisers." he went back to rubbing his cock up against your slit, "you'll be mine forever. my little prize. i should've taken ya a long time ago. just snatched ya up off the train. keep ya to myself." his tongue was getting loose from the buzz of pleasure in his brain.

you whimpered around the gag and almost cried out when he slipped his large cock into you easily. you felt it in your guts and his pace was much more brutal than the other times you've made love. that was the difference, you made love before. this was dirty, primal sex between a criminal and his captive.

the sounds of sex filled the air, paired with simon's heavy breathing. his heart was thumping steadily as he pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he loomed over you as he drilled himself into you. you were a comfortably tight fit around his cock.

you dug your nails into your palms from the immense pleasure and yelped when he slapped your ass. you whimpered when he leaned further into you to get closer into your personal space. his pace was brutal and it excited you.

"i'm a bad man." he said lowly, his voice close to your ear, "my worst crime is tainting such a precious angel." he held onto your calf as he bent your hips the closer he got. his voice was hot, "fill ya right up, make sure no other man has a chance to get ya knocked up." his tattooed hand went to your stomach which he gave a small rub, "my girl carryin' my boys."

your eyes almost rolled back from the heat in your body. you were almost drooling around the rubber gag in your mouth. it was dirty, it was filth. if anyone saw the state you were in, they would be shocked!

your head felt full of lust, you felt your lover so close to him. you knew despite the roughness and the harsh words, the entire scenario was safe. you knew you could get out of this if you needed to. but it wasn't getting to be too much, it was just enough.

the wetness between your legs and the flips in your stomach only excited you. to have such a large man be so domineering. it made you feel small in a good way. it was almost like being bound made you feel protected.

that you could lay yourself over to him and he'd cherish you. even if you were his little 'prize' for the evening. the hottest part was the pace at which his cock was battering your womb.

you whimpered against your gag and felt the heat rush through you. you held onto your palms as best as you could with your arms bound. the entire situation left you spinning, there was no wonder that orgasm crept up on you so easily.

with a loud moan around your gag, you climaxed around his cock. the tightness of your cunt mid-orgasm milked his cock till he was seeing stars. he came inside of you, his seed hit against the back of your womb.

the feeling of being able to do so left him a little slack-jawed. but he kept it together, even if his cheeks were flushed. when he finished, he slowly pulled out and started to untie you. his hands were shaky from the after effects of his orgasm.

he took the gag out of your mouth and pulled you in for a kiss when he finished untying you. he fell into bed with you and laid on top of the covers with you. he held you gently and kissed your face. he gave you gentle praise as he kept you in his arms.

when he looked at you, all was right in the world. you held onto him and pressed kisses against his face. after care consisted of tea and a small snack followed by a shower together, where he washed every part of you.

even though you were capable of doing it yourself, you still appreciated how detail orientated he was in the manner of getting you clean. little did you know that biology was working its magic and simon's seed found home in your cervix.

you better hope that the line about the riley boys being hellions was untrue or you'd have your hands full. it didn't help that when simon's hand grazed your stomach as he washed you that you blushed and tucked yourself closer to him.

mama riley did have a ring to it.

#jailhouse rock au #bunny writes #call of duty #reader insert #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #prison au #call of duty fanfic

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queenie-the-court-jester · 2 months

Text

yandere bunny hybrid x reader

A/n: the Intro was rushed because I got too excited to write the smut. Not proofread 🌺

Tw: noncon turns to dubcon, androgynous breeding kink, little dirty talk, he's a horny bastard. Mommy kink but it can be applied to any gender. Slapping body parts, he has a minor lactation kink. Mdni please!

★you met the little furball while you were out on a evening walk. It was the middle of winter and being cooped up inside the house all day was starting to get a little claustrophobic

★you didn't notice him at first since he blended in with the snow. Stopping mid-walk when you heard a weak little whine coming from behind you. Slowly turning around, you saw a pair of red eyes staring at you from beneath the snow

★approaching them slowly, you could finally see him more clearly. Milky white skin turning a light blue due to hypothermia. He didn't have the strength to run when you picked him up. Patting his head, you headed back home.

★giving him a warm bath and setting him next to the fireplace, you slowly nursed him back to health. He was very reluctant at first, but your touch was too comforting to pull away from. He hasn't felt this safe since he was just a baby bun! He stayed with you nearly the entire winter

★midway he starts to get himself familiar with your home, peeking under furniture and into rooms, he seemed to understand you when you'd ask him questions in English

"what's your name little fella?"

"cotton.."

★eventually you had to let him go back into the wild, just a month before spring arrived. He was reluctant but with enough convincing he finally left. Looking back at you from the forest edge, watching you wave goodbye with that beautiful smile he loves

❣️cotton who goes into heat early because he can't stop thinking of you. Burrying himself in his burrow, humping the air. Nothing is as soft as you and your bed. Nothing can make him feel as safe as your touch does

❣️he shoos any females who wish to mate away. Claiming he already has a mate. Oh he wished you'd come into the forest looking for him, to take care of him again as he fills your tight little hole up with his cum

❣️he spends most of his time shamelessly masturbating to the thought of you. His entire heat cycle has been on loop since he left, so finally gathering the balls he heads back to your cottage. Watching you from a distance, lazily stroking his already sensitive cock.

★just minding your business, you don't notice the certain bunny hybrid approaching slowly. You don't have much time to react before a familiar mop of white hair tackles you to the ground. Desperately humping your clothed sex as he whines and grunts.

"cotton!? What the hell are you doing!?"

"hah- nhg need.. mate.. pretty mate.. need to breed! Ohh!"

★you tried pushing him off, but when did he get so strong!? Pining your arms down and ripping your clothes off, wasting no time in lapping at your genitals. Eating you out like a starved man, sucking and nipping your inner thighs until he's sure you're nice and lubed up

★he carefully pressed the tip in, but he doesn't last long as he slowly sinks deeper into your gummy walls. Letting go of your arms and roughly grabbing your hips, which were sure to bruise later, brutally fucking your brains out. Slapping your chest and privates as he grinds his cock deeper

★he keeps going even after he's ripped multiple orgasms out of you. The pleasure slowly chipping off your resistance. Leaving you a blubbering moaning mess under the bunny. A pool of his cum under where your sexes kept meeting.

★it doesn't matter what gender you are, he's determined to breed you until you're swelling with his children. He couldn't wait to suck and bite your chest once it was swollen with milk!

"gonna be so pretty- mph! So pretty, all swollen 'n fat with my babies.. gonna be a good mate, right? G-gonna give me lots of 'em right? Oh ohhh! Cumming again! 'Yer squeezing all my cum out! Mommy!!"

★let's just say that you should get use to your new roommate husband, because now there's no way of getting rid of him. Ever.

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greengrassandcyansea · 1 year

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Me just after opening a Word document

#What do you mean im not writing im literally staring at a blank page!!!#it’s the hardest part of writing methinks #writing #bunny speaks🍃

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bunny-extract · 1 year

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hehehahaha spilling something on soap just to see him wet. just to "dab it off" with a napkin. "oops!! clumsy meeeee ♡♡♡"

Makin him all flustered hehehahhahaa a little whimper even

thoughts 🎤

i wanted to try to be normal for that ma n,, but frankly i am an aberrant whore! ! ♡ said like this isn’t the most tame thing I’ve posted

Looking dead at him while you spill your drink into his chest, the whites of his eyes expanding quick with his pupils.

Soap would be stunned off the boldness of your little stunt, eyes jumping between you and his soaked shirt, the drink seeping through to shock his skin.

"Just what's gotten into you, aye?" And he'd try so hard to keep his voice steady, but you can always catch his bluff.

If you meet him at the edge of mocking and sweet, coo hush, it was just an accident, like he was the one causing a fuss you'd get to enjoy a pretty noise coming between 'indignant man' and 'stupefied puppy'. He'll jump between them like a rubber ball, but you know which one gets favored.

You'd lean over him to dab your napkin against his stubbled chin, the length of his flushed neck. He'd watch you carefully, very actively not looking down the front of your shirt, very actively not giving into how good your nails feel when they graze over his skin, teasing low to his chest.

"What're you playin' at, lass?" And it's so fun to toy with him when he looks that deliciously pliant.

Even as he is unsure how to read you, his body would react like tapped keys. The swiping at his chest is the thinnest excuse to paw and grope at him. Whisper something mean about how they're perkier than yours, and the sound that follows, that pretty, strangled out whimper—that's what you're playing for.

It would be so worth what you have coming for you

#soap x reader #johnny mctavish #soap #my fav switch #bunny writing #john soap mctavish x reader #bunnywriting

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bunnypulp · 1 year

Text

Arthur Morgan x Francis (oc)

Repost from ao3 // ~3-4k? // dirty talk, hate sex, overstimulation

// tw: implied/threatened forced pregnancy!!

The rooms above Sonny's bar are small, stinking of stale air and tobacco smoke. Arthur’s spent enough time in them over the years to know each lodging down to the water stains decorating the ceilings and the lumps in the mattress which dig into his back. He knows to expect the door to shriek when he opens it, but only when he finds Francis leaned against the vanity with a flannel rag swiping at her exposed clavicle does he feel the slightest bit of familiarity.

“And here I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Arthur doesn’t acknowledge her. They both knew he would.

He makes clumsy work of shedding his satchel from his shoulder and his gun belt from his waist, all while Francis leans back and watches, like it’s a show she’s been waiting for. As soon as he’s got the first few buttons of his shirt undone, the damp rag is tossed to him.

Neither of them had properly washed, nor had all the sweat on their bodies dried since they arrived. The Armadillo heat kept a film of perspiration perpetually slicking their skin so that their shirts clung uncomfortably to their backs. The water is a cool reprieve on the back of his sunburnt neck.

Arthur walks up to her, proximity forced by the fact she stands guarding the water basin, and reaches around her smaller frame to rinse and wring the bandana behind her back.

For a long moment, they stare at each other. Francis up at him, Arthur down at her. They’re so close he can see how her wet lashes cling together like spikes, is able to make out the swelling of a bruise on her jaw where Dormin’s fist had connected; can smell the cherry hard candies she likes to crack between her teeth when she asks, “Just how drunk are you?”

Arthur sneers. “You’d know if I were drunk.”

“I’d know if you were wasted,” she corrects, walking her fingers up the rolled sleeve of his unbuttoned shirt. “You’d have me pinned in a much more desirable position than this.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, in part due to her words and in part due to the hand that she splays over the middle of his chest. Her nails rake through the wry hairs peppered there, tracing over all the raised and concave scars that pass under her calloused, cold fingertips.

“This one new?” she asks, drawing over a scar just under his left pectoral. It’s one of the few that he truly hates, long and raised, still an ugly raw pink. If he didn’t know any better he’d guess it was Francis’ favorite, but her fingernails trail lower, to a pale slice just over his navel. It’s thin, straight and her favorite to pay attention to.

She gave it to him, after all.

Arthur snatches her wrist away, his skin stinging like she were made of poison ivy.

“Strip.”

Francis’ mouth curls into a smirk. “Don’t act so boorish, Arthur. It only suits you too well. Besides, I’m injured.” She lifts her bandaged palm, like he could forget for a moment she’d begun working him up with only her words and one hand. “Why don’t you help me.”

Arthur’s eye twitches, but he drops the rag into the bowl and starts tugging at the buttons on her dust speckled blouse.

Each inch of revealed skin is dappled with scars of her own, some with innocuous origins—scratches from branches, or fingernails and even an animal or two—but others. Others are harder to look at. Rope marks that have turned into permanent, shining cuffs around her wrists, long burns against her ribs, the slash against her cheek. As he reveals them he’s reminded not for the first time how this woman who seemed to appear out of the blue has a lifetime's worth of stories untold.

At the last button on her shirt, Francis shrugs the cloth off of her shoulders, revealing the slope of her clavicle, the curve of her waist, and her breasts, unbound and peaked at the tips. Arthur can hardly pull his gaze away from the way they sway as she reaches behind her.

The wet slap of the bandanna against his chest helps.

She swipes at the dirt of his forearms, grabs his hand to clean his nails and between his fingers. Her touch is firm yet gentle, efficient yet teasing.

“I was here not too long ago,” she says. “Small lead that didn’t go anywhere. Cold trail or a ghosted bounty, something like that. Stopped in for a drink while I waited for the train, and wouldn’t you know how a small town talks?”

Arthur grunts. “I know enough not to put any stock into it.”

“Saloon talk’s worth listening to when you know what to listen for.” She turns to wring out the rag, acting so casual Arthur nearly does a double take when she says, “One of the boys downstairs worked up enough courage to ask how much you pay me for the night.”

A gaze that matches her brazen words is watching him in the vanity mirror. She wears her tilted smile like a shiny gold metal, like she knows just how she’s turned Arthur’s mouth dry. “You’ve been giving them ideas, making me look like some sort of working girl.”

Arthur laughs mirthlessly under his breath. It’s bait, as clear as a hooked worm, and yet he can’t help but to bite. The thought of the bastards downstairs breathing their whiskey breath on her, asking how much to have her, hoping to see her like he does.

It curdles his stomach and sends a jolt through his cock.

He snatches the bandana from her hands and sets to work swiping it across her scar-freckled back.

“Think you give them enough ideas on your own,” he mutters, pointedly looking to where her waist and hips are hugged by her trousers. Where they’re inches away from the tightening front of his own.

“You’re being humble. What with the way you grab me like you do, putting your paws all over me right in front of everyone? I’m surprised they haven’t pushed money under your nose.”

Arthur’s not. If she hasn’t noticed the way he glares at any son of a bitch who leers at her for too long then maybe she won’t notice when whoever had the balls to ask her that ends up with a broken face.

The thought is the only thing to lighten his souring mood, and yet he can’t help but spit, “Maybe you should change professions. Leave gunslinging to me and stay here to lay on your back.”

Francis straightens, and steps back to close the distance between their bodies. Her arms link around his neck, breasts high and on display in the mirror, pretty lips spread.

Arthur knows better than to believe they aren’t hiding pointed teeth and a forked tongue.

She turns her cheek so that her lips ghost along the softening stubble on his jaw. Arthur feels the heat of her words in his groin as much as he does on his skin when she asks, “Since when have you known me to just lay back and take?”

Arthur shakes his head, his fingers digging into the curve of her hips. “Dumb bastards wouldn’t know what they were buying.”

“Snake oil?”

“Snake venom.”

Because the woman is just as dangerous stripped of her revolver and blouse; has a way of making him forget the few moral codes he’s managed to uphold throughout the years. On nights where he’s got enough drink in him, it’s hard not to act on his streak of possessiveness, or jealousy, or whatever other vile emotion she’s beckoned to come crawling to the surface.

Never drunk enough to fully unpack, but just enough to act.

Arthur abandons the rag and slides his hands up, feeling her ribs expand under his touch, holding the weight of her breasts in his hands. Francis arches into his touch. “If wetting peckers gave me a sense of purpose then perhaps I’d reconsider,” she says.

Arthur tries to think of a way to tell her she’d put the rest of the girls out of business if she did, but his tongue wasn’t known for being eloquent, especially after half a bottle. Turns her head so their breaths puff against each other’s lips and says, “Could have fooled me.”

“It’s not hard to make a fool out of you, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur doesn’t refute. She does every time they’re together and it’s all he thinks of when they’re apart.

His only defense is to lick the cherry syrup off her sharp tongue and hope he doesn’t cut himself.

If it weren’t for the smoothness of her cheek and the softness that only a woman's lips seems to possess, he would have thought the first time he took her mouth he was seventeen again, fooling around with a farm hand behind the horse shed. That urgency is familiar; the neediness. A longing so complicated it is easier masked with lust than properly acknowledged.

The need to be held thinly veiled by a desire to be fucked.

It’s an uncoordinated mess of tongue and uncompromising need, their lips parting only when their heads are light, bodies swaying.

“Not a single bastard out there’s gonna get a hand on you,” he say, voice low at the back of his throat. “Whether you want them to or not.”

“Worried some big bad man is gonna steal me away?” comes the mocking retort, and it’s so close to being the final straw that Arthur feels that thin rope of self control begin to splinter in his chest. His hand dwarfs her throat, squeezing just enough to hear her breath hitch.

“Sweetheart,” Arthur snarls against her syrup-sweet mouth. “I am a big bad man.”

Francis’ head tips back to accommodate him—to encourage him. A drunken grin spreads on her lips, cold fingers slipping into his pants to squeeze the erection she barely had to work for.

“Show me.”

It’s all Arthur needs to grab her arm and drag her to the bed, her body bouncing once before he’s on top of her.

Arthur’s hands aren’t spared his greedy nature. They engulf her, squeezing, grabbing, pulling her savagely closer while his mouth licks along her racing pulse. His size alone should scare her, being nearly twice what she is, but as he presses her into the mattress and grinds himself against her parted thighs, her fingers drag against his back only to pull him closer. She doesn’t squeak or squirm when his hand comes to replace his mouth at her throat, but hums contently. Arthur manhandles her hips up to meet his when the give of their trousers isn’t enough, and she pulls his earlobe between her teeth.

It’s Francis’ own doing to turn away and flip onto her stomach, arching her back to present her ass to him like a cat in heat. When the only article of clothing he has to wrestle down her thighs are her dusty trousers, Arthur can feel precome stick to the inside of his union pants. Francis watches from over her shoulder as he swallows. Licks his numb bottom lip as his thumb runs along the inside of her soft thighs. When Arthur slides two fingers between her folds and finds her wet and ready, he can’t help but wonder for how long.

The urge to bury his head between her thighs occurs to him, like it does every time he has her naked and wanting. It’s a desire he hasn’t yet let himself indulge in, but before he shucks off his pants, he licks her slick from his fingers, holding himself back from letting out a groan.

Arthur ignores the painful ache when he finally releases his erection, ignores the way she’s barely touched him and he’s panting and flushed and just as wet as she is. Covers his tracks with not a moment wasted to split her folds with the head of his cock.

She cries out, body arching when he fills her with one slick thrust. He lets her settle around him for only a moment before pulling back to the head and bottoming out. She clenches almost unbearably around him, the muscles in her back tight, hands balled in the scratchy sheets. The sounds that he pulls from her echo off the bare walls, gasping moans and slick squelching reaching back to his ears twice over.

Even on her hands and knees for him, she holds her head high. Maybe it’s the reason he’s always been drawn to her.

“I should make you pay,” she says, pushing her hips back into his thrusts. “If you’re going to take me like a virgin with his first whore.”

Maybe he just hates her, and fucking her is as good as strangling her.

Arthur grips her waist tight, holding her still so he can grind himself against the deepest part of her, so every thrust bottoms out and she’s forced just to take.

“Why would I pay for using what’s mine?”

Arthur sucks her skin between his teeth, leans back to watch his cock piston in and out of her. The dark marks bloom across her back, his saliva indistinguishable from her glimmering sweat; indistinguishable from the slick pleasure running down her legs, sticking to his abdomen, wetting the hair running down from his navel.

He wants to ruin her.

Fuck her soft body so hard she won’t be able to sit without being reminded of him. So hard she won’t be able to mount a horse for at least a week.

Arthur grabs a fistfull of her ass. Spreads her apart then beats his handprint into the supple skin to make it that much harder for her. A few more on the other side because fuck , she makes such pretty noises, writhes against his cock so beautifully.

Arthur’s hand is bright red and hot to the touch when he finally relents his onslaught.

She’ll have to stay put now. Won’t be able to get out of fucking bed in the morning. A bruised ass will keep her out of his hair long enough that he can do a job proper. So he doesn’t have to worry about lugging three bodies on one horse or splitting his money with the undertaker. All he needs is her pretty little head resting on a pillow, waiting for him to come back. Waiting for just him.

But for now all he wants is to see that pretty little face while he fucks her stupid.

With one hand under her knee, he flips her onto her back, her leg hitching over his shoulder. Finally, he’s afforded his favorite view, and it breaks his punishing rhythm.

Francis doesn’t shy away from his attention. Props herself up on both elbows and burns Arthur through lust-heavy, silver rimmed lashes. Showing him the beauty of his work.

And , Christ, is it beautiful.

Her mouth hangs open, shiny with spit and swollen from his teeth and her own. Arthur strokes his thumb against her bruised mouth only for her to pull him in and lick.

He commits the scene to memory—every detail. From the small twitch in her brow to the smell of her sweat, heat of her flesh. The way her lip begins to tremble and she pulses around him when he reaches down to stroke her clit. When she pants, “Arthur—Arthur , fuck, keep going,” he knows he’s done her in.

He braces his palm beside her head and shifts forward, fucking her with short, deliberate thrusts directly into that spot he knows will make her cry. Watches inches from her for the moment her eyes go hazy, tears springing forward.

“Close—I’m—keep—!”

“That’s it,” he tells her, voice steady despite how he’s ripping at the seams. “Come on, girl. Let me feel it.”

Her eyes finally split from their proud hold on him when she lets go, jerking and spasming against his hand and cock. Untame profanities spill like smoke from her mouth, each one filthier than the last.

Arthur doesn’t slow his hips or take his hand from her for a second, making her endure him while she’s oversensitive and twitching and louder—always louder after she’s come. She claws at his wrist, trying to pull him from her clit.

“Keep taking it,” he demands, rolling his hips into her again and again. Her legs tremble, the attempt to clench her thighs only making her tighter. He holds her open, pinning her knees up near her shoulders. “You wanna talk and act like a whore, I’ll make you my whore.”

Francis turns her head to scream into the mattress, her voice broken and beautiful and muffled, but it’s not what Arthur wants. He grabs her jaw, folding her body over to whisper against her ear: “Let ‘em know who fucks you.”

And she does. Again and again Francis calls his name like she’s praying, or lost, and Arthur doesn’t care which is more true because he’s right there to answer her the only way he knows how.

He works her through her second and even a lingering, stuttering third orgasm, her voice growing weaker but her body burning hotter. Arthur’s own moans are falling freely now, each slick stroke inside of her pulling him closer and closer to his own release.

He’s so caught up in it he doesn’t hear her speak, not until a hand comes to press against his shoulder and she pants, “Not—not inside.”

Arthur’s hips stutter, clenched eyes snapping open.

It’s not something they ever do—that they’ve ever done. Arthur has always spilled onto her skin, his own stomach or even just onto the floor. He knows the consequences if he doesn’t, and yet hearing her say it, telling him not to—

It’s a voice that Arthur doesn’t recognize that growls back, “Why shouldn’t I?”

He takes her unbandaged hand in his and slides them between her thighs, down to where he pierces her. “Why shouldn’t I fuck a baby into you?”

Francis whimpers, whimpers when her fingers frame his cock, feeling the slick coating him on every outward pull. “Widen your hips, fill your breasts…Keep going at you until you’re heavy and full.”

She squeezes him tighter, and his cock is rooted so deep inside of her it’s almost too much to handle. Her cries sound too sweet, body accepts him too willingly. He doesn’t ease up on her and she doesn’t ask him to.

As he approaches his climax once more his thrusts are punishing.

“Make you finally,”

Cruel.

“Fucking,”

Vicious.

“Listen.”

There’s no mercy left in his voice or in his actions, and for as long as he’s known her he’d never thought he’d hear her beg—

“Please, Arthur.”

Never thought it’d sound so—

Arthur doesn’t take himself in hand. Spills himself across Francis’ stomach and chest the second he pulls out, cock throbbing and thighs trembling.

She cries out when she feels it hit her skin, back arching away from the sheets underneath her. If his vision weren’t threatening him with black dots, and his own orgasm not overtaking his senses, Arthur would realize he didn’t even have to touch her to get her to come with him.

A stillness settles into the small, hot room as they catch their breaths. Arthur stares at the mess he’s made of the woman beneath him. Come and sweat pool in her navel, stick to her thighs, splashes all the way up to the hollow of her throat. Arthur wants to collapse on top of her, but he holds himself together by a single, frayed stitch. Lowers her legs back to the bed slowly before withdrawing himself from between them.

Arthur focuses intently on the wash basin and not the mirror above it when he retrieves the flannel rag. Wipes it over himself to remove everything sticking to him with short, harsh strokes. Francis’ gaze is a physical weight on him, but he doesn’t look to the reflection to meet it.

He rinses and wrings the rag out twice before approaching the bed. Francis is splayed out the same way he left her, breath finally beginning to even out.

He hates himself for knowing this is exactly how he wants her. Soft and pliant and sated. But not in a lumpy, stained saloon bed. Not with bruises and bandages she got fighting for her life. Not hunting men who could just as easily be hunting her.

By the time he finishes cleaning his mess, her lashes are brushing her cheeks, chest rising and falling with each even, deep breath.

He covers her as best he can with the sheet she lies on top of, picks his clothes off of the floor and tucks her black iron revolver into his satchel.

Arthur wonders, as he mounts his mare outside, how far she’ll get before she gives up on riding with a bruised ass.

He looks forward to the next scar she gives him.

#arthur morgan smut #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan / oc #arthur morgan rdr2 #bunny writing #francis

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ratasum · 4 months

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wip whenever

So I gat tagged in this by @commanderhorncleaver and I do have one GW2 fic I'm working on that I've been working on for two months. A little snippet of Leyya and Zojja prior to Sorrow's Embrace. I'll tag. Uh. @wall-legion, @guildwuff2, @sunsrefuge, uhhh. @commanderthalys? And anyone else that hasn't done it! Anyway HERE WE GO.

She had never liked being in the Shiverpeaks. It was unpleasantly cold, and though she wore her heavy cloak on her hunt for where Zojja had set up shop, it still bit through to the dark skin underneath.

It wasn’t the worst Leyya had been through, but she didn’t have to like it.

Regardless, she’d pressed on. The lodge she could see through the blinding snowstorm would be warm, and she’d be able to check in with her dear friend.

The difference in temperature from outside the lodge to the interior once she pushed past the heavy door was significant but welcome, and she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh, offering a weary but genuine smile to the kindly norn woman who waved at her as she passed, carrying a tray heavy with tankards. “Hail and welcome, traveler! Unusual to see an asura out this way, yet you’re th second I’ve seen! Sit, sit, warm yourself.”

“Your hospitality is very appreciated, ma’am.” Shoving back her hood and shaking out her short pale hair, Leyya gave the much taller woman an appreciative look. “Incidentally, your other asuran guest should be a friend of mine. Pensive, bald…?”

After a moment of consideration, the woman beamed and gestured to a table near the fire. “Ah yes! Over there, with some warm mead. Shall I fetch you a cup as well?”

Her smile widening, Leyya dipped her head appreciatively. “I would greatly appreciate it. And put her order and my own on my tab. I’ll clear when we leave.”

Once the woman had nodded and made her way towards a kitchen in the back, Leyya let out a sigh, finally shedding her cloak entirely to walk over to the table where Zojja sat, staring quietly into the fire. At first, she didn’t even notice she wasn’t alone, but when she glanced up, she nearly jumped out of her seat. “Leyya-! What are you-? Did you follow me?”

“I didn’t follow you, but I did track you.”

“Semantics! What are you doing here?”

Sliding into the seat next to Zojja, Leyya folded her hands in her lap, smiling faintly. “What? I can’t worry about you? You’ve been running yourself ragged- you said so yourself.”

Zojja gave her a sour look at that, but in the next moment she sighed, dropping her head back before giving Leyya a weary smirk. “I’d be angry with you, but this is nothing new, huh? You’ve been a pain since we were kids.”

“An affectionate pain, I hope.” Leyya leaned forward in her seat, looking up only to thank the woman she’d greeted when she returned with a small mug full of warmed mead. Once she’d headed off, her dark amber eyes returned to her old friend, offering out her free hand. “You know I do this because I really do worry, though. If you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll be out the door.”

She was met with a quick shake of the other woman’s head, Zojja’s hand shooting out to catch hers in a grip so tight that at first, Leyya thought it might bruise. “No! No, it’s… it’s fine. This is a lot. Of anyone, you know this is a lot. If someone is misusing Snaff’s research, I…”

Leyya shook her head, giving Zojja’s hand a squeeze to cut her off. “Then you need to head it off at the pass. I know. Do you want me to go in with you?”

A moment of quiet passed, but finally, Zojja squirreled up her nose, glancing back into the fire. “I… want you nearby. Near the entrance? Just in case something goes wrong. But I can handle myself just fine, Lee, you know that.”

“I do. But where Snaff’s involved…” She paused when Zojja’s grip tightened. “...I just want you to know I’m in your corner come hell or high water, Zuzu.”

#bunny writing #leyya and zojja #bunny wips

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bunnyreaper · 5 months

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simon is your most precious bear, but he won't settle for just that.

(18+/MDNI, plushophilia, mild moment of dubcon?)

you'd found him in a charity shop one day and couldn't walk away without him in your arms--the most darling little bear you've ever seen.

the stitching on his button eyes was barely present, the threads on his body were also loose, and his fur was a little more than worse for wear. usually a sign of a bear well-loved, but you got the feeling looking at him and his missing smile that his state wasn't from something entirely different.

you'd taken him home and treasured him ever since. restitched his eyes and his precariously hanging limbs, polished his little plastic nose and tied a ribbon around his neck.

you'd tried sewing in a smile underneath his cute little nose, but found the expression didn't quite suit him. when you tried again, arching the stiches downward, you found you much preferred him as your grumpy bear anyway.

once he was pampered and restored, you sat him pride of place on your pillow, having him guard you and keep watch over your bed whenever you weren't in it. at night you held him close, squeezed him tight until you drifted off to sleep--dreams that are always so sweet and peaceful, and you swear it's because he keeps the nightmares at bay.

little did you know of the soul trapped inside--simon.

he'd fallen in love just as you had, obsessed with the way you'd looked at him and never stopped looking--obsessed with the way you cared for him and held him. he'd never liked being trapped as a bear until you took him home, where he belonged.

now he took his role as your stuffie very seriously. and clearly, it paid off, as he quickly became the favourite of all your plushies--the one you treasured above all others.

fair to say simon had captured your heart, and in turn, he was always doted on and adored by you. never was he allowed to slide off the bed to be forgotten, never was there a day that went by where he wasn't kissed or cuddled by you.

but sometimes he had to be moved from his place, his spot. when you had visitors over, he'd be replaced in the bed by strange figures, stuck on the nightstand as a spectator to it all.

the comforts they provided were different, bringing bitten lower lips and breathy moans rather than sweet smiles and gentle whispers. and all the while simon was trapped, doomed to watch other men in the bed the two of you shared--knowing deep down in his stuffing that if he were just human again, he could do a much better job.

late one night, after another visitor, you return to the comfort of your bed with simon clutched between your arms. you squeeze him as tight as you can--a sweet, satisfied smile leaving you as you hold him close and embrace the comfort and safety he provides.

"one of these days, they won't be disappointing." you sigh, releasing your disappointment and unknowingly unleashing wishful magic

it's then simon feels it, something inside him he hasn't felt in so long, as his body shifts from bear to man.

he should do something about the way you scream, soothe you as he usually does, but right now, there is nothing calming or comforting in the way he feels right now--just pure posessive lust. codependant, ugly love.

simon takes advantage of his newfound form, using muscular arms to crush you into the bed, determined to make up for lost time no matter what it takes. his dick hardens instantly, so used to the feel of your body against him and yet intoxicated by all the new sensations.

he expects you to keep struggling, to fight back in disbelief, but when the shock wears off he delights in the way you look at him--just as enamoured as you had the first time you ever laid eyes on him.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #bunny writes #this is for you noel please perceive me

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coryosbaby · 7 months

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—ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ !

Mike Shmidt x fem! Reader

♡ Content Warning . oral, somno, rimming, pnv, breeding, marking, degradation and praise, dom! Mike

Mike Schmidt who lays in between your parted thighs on his day off. His hands settle on either side of your hips, and his nose presses against your cunt. And although you’re so needy for it, needy for him, he just… lays there. Your scent surrounds his senses, filling him up and making him happy. Just laying there smelling you gets his cock so hard but he’s so tired that he doesn’t want to do anything.

Mike Schmidt who will always give in to your whiny begs for his mouth after a few moments. Soon his tongue is parting your folds and he’s licking you to his heart’s content. Whimpers leave his lips as his lips slurp up your slick, his sleepy doe eyes rolling back at the taste of you.

Mike Schmidt who spends as much money as he can on you. Not even getting mad when you “accidentally” go over his spending limit. You begin to cry when he asks you, but he just coos softly as he holds your hand.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to be mad at you if you tell me the truth, okay?” And then, shortly after, as he’s unbuckling his pants, “You can make it up to me, gorgeous.”

Mike Schmidt who facefucks his gorgeous, dumb baby— aka, you. He makes sure to grab extra tight onto your hair and thrust himself messily into your tight little throat. His balls slap against your chin and he makes so many noises as he uses you. This is supposed to be a punishment, so he makes you get off on the nearest object instead of his cock.

Mike Schmidt who coos at you, pouting mockingly as he sees you rub your swollen clit against his work shoe.

“Aww, baby. Do you need to cum?”

Your eager nodding makes him chuckle, and he yanks you further down onto his cock until your nose is pressed against the brown hair at his base, pressing his shoe harder onto your pussy.

“That’s too bad. This is your punishment, sweetie, remember? Be a good slut and cum just like that.”

Mike Shmidt who, days later, has you clinging onto him as he holds you up with his strong arms. A camera in front of him, filming the entire thing, as his cock jackhammers into your sweet cunt. Groaning, whispering, “fuck, good girl, taking my dick so good, look at you, yes, baby, yes.”

Mike Shmidt who slams you against the nearest wall, cock still inside you, tip abusing your cervix over and over as he increases his pace. Using his teeth to leave an incredibly prominent bite mark on your that draws blood.

Mike Shmidt who cums inside you, moaning and saying that he’s gonna fuck a baby into you. He fills you up until you’re overflowing and then some, making sure to shove it back in with his fingers afterwards. He wants you to be a mommy so badly, and he’s going to make sure that it takes.

Mike Shmidt who timidly asks for a rim job one night. His cheeks redden as he asks the question, his pretty doe eyes avoiding your gaze.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He states shyly. The once dominant boy has now become incredibly shaken, but you just smile at him and excitedly agree.

Mike Shmidt who’s riding your face a few minutes later, hole clenching up on your tongue. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but at the same hes got this growling tone in his voice as he praises you. It seems that his dominant side has come back.

Mike Shmidt who groans from above you, working his cock and balls with his own hand.

“You’re so filthy, baby. Fuck, your tongue feels so good.”

“My sweet little angel, doin’ so good f’me.”

Mike Shmidt who’s puffy ring of muscle clenches as he finally shoots warm cum all over the bed, overstimulating himself and demanding that you lick all of seed up as he gets his dick up again watching you.

Mike Shmidt who loves to keep a pair of your lace panties wrapped around his car mirror. He lied to Abby and said that it was a scarf you had given him.

Mike Schmidt who fucks you during one of his shifts— he had a hard day, so he demands that you come and see him. He forces your legs apart and bends you over the security desk, and spanks your ass raw to relieve some of his anger.

Mike Shmidt who lets you play with him when he’s asleep. His dreams go away when you wrap your mouth around his soft cock and choke on him with sweet, sleepy tears rolling down your cheeks. When he wakes up, he praises you for taking care of him.

“Oh, baby. So needy, so good f’me.”

“That’s it, good girl, choke on it— no, no, honey don’t try to pull off. You wanted this cock, so I’m gonna give it to you, okay?”

“So beautiful. C’mere, let me taste that cute pussy.”

Mike Schmidt holding you after a hard day. Knowing you need a distraction, he lets you grind against his thigh as a way to relieve so stress. He presses you to him and leaves small marks against your neck.

“Just think about me, okay? Think about my hands, my mouth…”

“Awww, sweetheart. I know, I know. Life’s been so hard lately, hasn’t it? But that’s okay. Mikey’s here, baby. Gonna make it aaaaall better.”

#mike schmidt #Mike schmidt x reader #Mike Schmidt x fem! reader #Mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson #Fnaf #five nights at Freddy’s #Mike Fnaf #Fnaf movie #bunny writes ͟͟͞☆

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bunnys-kisses · 1 month

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the jailbird

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

a full fic based on this post

cw: prison!au, civilian!reader, pen-pals, smut,romance/romantic!simon, domestic, missonary, wife kink, size kink, nudity, tattoo kink, body worship, cuddling

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

it started out as a flyer at the bus stop near your house. it was for a service that connected prisoners at a nearby prison with civilians as pen-pals. you had seen the flyer often over the course of work as you went to work.

you honestly felt bad, those people must be isolated. the organization prided itself on giving prisoners a bit of their humanity back by not cutting them off from those on the outside. so on a rainy friday you took a photo of the flyer and filled out the form on the organization's website.

that was how you met simon riley, or as he was called on the inside 'ghost'. what caught your attention wasn't his face scar that ran from under his nose down to the left side of his chin, but rather his brown eyes. how intense they stared into the camera. it was almost intimidating.

but you kept the photo on your desk as you typed out your first letter to send to him. you heard of places who did it through email, but screen time for those could often be limited and to send a physical letter would ensure that it would be sent to them.

the letter started out simple, you asked how he was and if it was okay to ask what he was in prison for. you asked him other questions, like if his health was doing well, what did he do most days while on the inside. you ended the letter with a little information about yourself.

you thought it would be nice to take a few photos and print them out on photo paper to be included with your letter. just so he had a better idea of who he was talking about. once you tweaked the letter with a bit of editing, you printed it out and thanks to the Royal Mail, your letter was sent to him.

you didn't actually expect for him to respond. nor did you expect for the letter to be do detailed. it was almost three pages double sided in neat hand writing. your eyes went wide when you saw the thickness of the envelope with the stamp of approval from the prison for it to be sent to you.

simon sent you a bracelet made of string that had been braided together. he said you were the first person from the outside to reach out since he got locked up. that broke your heart. it only broke further the more you read.

he was a military man who was tossed aside once the ptsd got too intense. he had been between jobs, and it felt like everything was just too much for him. he got wrapped up in large scale theft, while it paid good, you could only rob so many banks before it all caught up. he had been in for three years now, he was thankful it wasn't a life sentence. not much was stolen, and there was minimal violence. he said that his stature alone intimidated enough people that he didn't need to be violent.

you re-read his letters and it wouldn't be until almost six months of speaking that you finally wore the bracelet. when he said, "i want to see you in it, since i can't buy you a ring." you sent a photo of you wearing it and since then you hadn't taken it off.

the letters were nice, you sent them at least twice a week. even though you two had never met face to face, and the only photos you had of him were mugshots, he knew all the gossip in your work place. he knew the names of all your friends, your favourite saturday night treat and how you took your coffee.

he told you he'd be happy to make you coffee every morning before you went to work. that comment made your cheeks burn.

he often called you his 'wife' to the other prisoners. he had your photos on the wall near his bunk. he even kept the pictures where you looked terrible after you tried to cut your bangs one night. he knew the exact location of where your favourite take out was. he said that he was writing down ideas of where to take you once he got out. "i gotta make the missus feel special."

he even made you a birthday card. his cellmate 'soap' even signed it. you knew all about the explosives expert mactavish. when you looked into his case on the news, your eyes went a little wide. this guy was.. something.

simon did admit that 'soap' had a bit of a crush on you. but he said that 'johnny' was harmless and probably just liked the photo of a woman in the cell.

"he hurt ya, there will be no cell that could keep me from killin' him. no god either."

simon remembered everything.

the way he spoke about you and to you in his letters were nothing but soft. while he had to put on a tough guy exterior, his letters were filled with gentle words. like when he wrote out that he loved you in big text on a spare piece of paper so you could tape it on your mirror to look at every morning.

"i want to be what you get ready to."

"i want to be with you when you wake up."

"i want to come home to you every night. please make me an honest man."

you knew he was a trained killer. he was in special forces before his brief stint as a criminal. he was trained to kill, but in the margins of your letters, his love shined through. despite it all, he was capable of love.

and he wanted to pour all that love into you, his (future) wife.

you two would go on to write letters every week, for almost two years. when you got the letter from him asking if he could put you down as a permanent address when he got out, you cried. of course!

it was a cold spring morning, the sky was misty as you stood outside the gates of the prison. your heart raced, you even arrived early in the hopes he'd be released sooner.

and then you saw him.

those eyes. hard and stern, until he caught sight of you. his shoulder visibly dropped and his pace quickened as he made his way towards you. before you could step forward to meet him, he had you in his arms. his strong arms, littered with tattoos, wrapped around you as he held you close to his strong chest.

you held onto him as the air left your chest from the force he held you. you clutched onto his shoulders and choked out a sob. you squeaked, "holy shit."

he pulled away from you, but still kept you in his arms. you swore you saw minimal mistiness in his eyes. he reached to cup your face. he said quietly, "soft... like i imagined."

you beamed up at him, "of course, si."

"your voice is so nice." he groaned as he then pulled you close once more and buried his nose in your hair. he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and relaxed, "i'm home."

you thought transitioning from being the only person in the flat, to having this hulking, strong man in your home as well, was going to be a bit hard. but that didn't matter when simon got you through the door. his hands were on you, he promised on the universe that he'd romance you tomorrow.

but tonight was just going to be the two of you.

you managed to get his hands off you in order to get your shoes off before you led him to your bedroom. he was close behind you, he had a hand on one of your hips. he wanted to be as close to you as he could, you two had spent enough time apart.

you couldn't even close the bedroom door before he was pulling at the waistband on your pants. his calloused, strong hands felt delicate on you. it was like he was going to break you and he had to be as delicate as possible.

"si."

"i know, darling." he said quietly as he started to undress you. with your help the both of you were soon nude in the afternoon light in your bedroom. you tried to cover your chest with your arms but he pulled your arms away and looked at you.

your eyes met and you got up on your tip-toes to kiss him gently on the lips. soon he picked you up like you weighed less than a bag of potatoes.

he placed you on the bed gently when you half expected him to toss you like a shot-put. he admired your body down on your soft covers and soon got onto the bed too.

you reached for him as he pulled you into a tight kiss. his lips were chapped and you could tease the fresh skin underneath. your nails raked at his strong back, that you knew was covered in tattoos.

you wrapped your legs around him and held him. from a moment he dropped to his side and you two held each other. you tucked his head under your chin as you laid together naked.

it wasn't even meant to be sexually stimulating, you both just wanted to feel one another. to hear your lover's heartbeat meant more to you than anything in that moment.

you kissed the top of his head, you felt his blond hair against your face as you soaked in his warmth. you could almost cry from how nice it felt to be so close to him.

after everything, you had your man.

he said in his low tone, "you feel so soft. after everything, i have you. you made every day in the can worth it." he sighed, "thank you." he kissed at your bare chest.

you replied, "i loved your letters, i have them still." you chuckled, "i didn't want to throw any of them away. it made me feel closer."

"well. i'm not goin' anywhere." he looked up at you and smiled, "you're home and i'm finally here." he pulled away and got him between your legs. he rested on his knees and carefully moved you to his liking. he sat there between your legs and waited for your command.

you looked at him and nodded, "yeah, si. you can go." then tightened your legs around your lover. you held your breath as he slowly pushed his cock into you. you didn't realize how big it was until he was fully inside of you.

"are you alright, love?"

"golden."

the two of you moved together. it took a little bit to get used to the size, but the pressure and speed of his movements made heat spread through your body. like two pieces of the same puzzle, you fit together perfect soon after. it was like you two were always meant to be.

you felt so loved by him, it was so sweet. this was your first time with him and you only had a few sexual experiences with others prior to him. but the entire time you knew each other you didn't sleep with others, you wanted to wait for your man.

"that's my good wife." he groaned as he held onto your hips, "i know, you wanted this for a long time. i bet you thought about me when i was locked up."

you blushed and replied, "i did, si. i thought about you all the time, i even had your picture in my office. i wanted this, i wanted to be with you!" you whined a little as his cock dragged against a sensitive spot.

he chuckled softly, "yeah. i thought about my missus when i was locked up. i used to jerk off to your letters, your photos. messed one of 'em up by gettin' my spunk all over it." he licked his lips, "but now i can see it every day in person."

you smiled when he rested his body against you and continued to thrust up into you. you felt the curl of pleasure of your gut get together which each of his heavy thrusts.

the kisses you shared were intimate and hot. the air of your bedroom was warmed as you made love on the bed you would share together. your soft noises together filled the air.

you clenched onto him, you dug your nails into his shoulders. they were so strong and broad that they were much bigger than your hands.

he kissed you one last time as he quickened his pace. the bed moved against your movements as you both climaxed at the same time. it was like a shock to the system, the heightened euphoria before your head felt full of cotton.

you let out a soft groan as your grip on his loosened and you relaxed into the bed. you felt yourself partially get crushed by your lover but he gave a few more earnest thrusts as he made sure that his cum shot to the back of your womb.

he pulled out and dropped beside you. he tucked some hair behind your ear and wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of his hand. your breathing was heavy, but you were both so happy. to share your first time together felt so special.

you nestled yourself into his arms and held his hand. you exhaled contently then said, "my husband."

he kissed the top of your head, he felt complete, "my missus."

part two

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ichimerapunk · 2 months

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Plot Bunny: Danny Is A Clone but with a Twist

Fanfics where Danny is a clone of one of the Bats are not unheard of; however, what about this twist to the idea:

So, writer’s choice on how it happens but regardless Danny and Tim realize they are an exact DNA match to each other. Everyone is assuming clone, but Danny has memories of growing up as a Fenton. Despite Danny’s disagreement, the Bats assume that false memories might be at play, but Danny’s birth records are proven to be real and show Danny is only a few months younger than Tim.

After some digging, they uncover that Danny is indeed a clone of Tim except it was because of a fertility clinic error. That Tim’s parents, Janet and Jack Drake, had used a fertility clinic to insure the one baby she was willing to have would come out with all their desired traits (male, no genetic defects, whatnot.). Once the ideal zygote was created it was cloned to have plenty to work with however many insemination procedures it might take.

However, because of an error, some of those eggs ended up being used for Danny’s parents when they used the clinic some weeks/months later. (Without their knowledge and certainly without the Drake’s consent.) And because his parents assumed Danny got his black hair and blue eyes from his dad, they never second-guessed Danny as not being their bio son.

So, Danny is reeling realizing his parents aren’t his bio parents and Tim is reeling over the news he might not even be ‘the original’ considering how many fertilized eggs are generally used during IVF.

So yeah, clones but not out of some nefarious plot or anything. Just mundane human error, dumb luck, and chance.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc prompts #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dpxdc plot bunny #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc fanfic idea #danny is a clone #but so is Tim

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horrorartsworld · 4 months

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P☆RN STAR

valentino/shy bunny based demon f!reader

warnings: 18+ nsfw content duh

Valentino takes a long drag of his cigarette as he sits next to Vox in his booming night club, “Club Hell 666”, speaking about the recent activities and work related stuff that’s been going on between the two of them.

So involved in the conversation the moth man didn’t realize the tiny figure that walked up to him.

“U-ummm…excuse me Mr. Valentino sir…” Your soft voice could barley be heard over the obnoxiously loud music that was playing that you could practically feel the bass thumping along with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

You rub your arm awkwardly standing there for a moment before Vox nudges Val in the side nodding over to you.

He blows out his red smoke letting it swirl around you causing you to cough a little and scrunch your nose.

“My…my~” He tilts his head with an amused smirk as he eyes you up and down letting his heart-shaped sunglasses slide down for you to get a better view of his piercing eyes.

“What brings you to me, cariño?~”

You hug yourself closely trying to not let your eyes wander to the dancers or workers dressed in skimpy clothing walking past, you were quite nervous as it is to talk to the Overlord of Lust for a job…

“I-i’m here for work…”

“Work hmmm? Well you came to the right person, sweetheart. A pretty thing like you~…” He dramatically pauses for a second taking in your figure once more before continuing, “oh~ I definitely have a few positions open…”

You shift uneasily as you weren’t use to all this attention making your cheeks automatically burn which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Snickering, he leans over to mumble something to Vox who sent you over a wink before Val turned his attention back to you.

“Come, let’s have a little interview shall we~”

Valentino stands up towering over you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and another around your waist as he takes you towards his office in the night club.

Shutting the door behind you he gestures you to take a seat infront of him as leans back in his chair lighting back up his cigarette from earlier and taking a nice drag before sitting forward, looking down at this little….bunny.

“Now that I got you here doll I gotta ask you some questions to see if your worthy of my establishment..”

He smiles wickedly as you nod gingerly understanding of his terms.

“Are ya loyal? And i mean realllllllly loyal…”

“Y-yes i’m very loyal…” You spoke again softly knowing at this point you were so desperate for a job you were willing to just please him with the right answers.

“Good to know~”

He pauses for a moment, considering his next question.

“Now….you don’t mind getting a little filthy, do ya?”

“Oh no….i mean i can um be filthy…” You mumble the last part coughing a little as the smoke lingered your way once more as you feel your cheeks burn at the idea of the question.

Valentino lets out a pleased purr at your answer and seeing your shyness just turned him on.

“Mmmm….I think i’m gonna love you, bunny.” His voice husky as he rested his elbows on his desk with his cigarette between his fingers and his cheeks in his hands looking at you with a lustfully taunting gaze that makes you squirm in your seat.

“How do you feel about people touching you?~”

“I surely enjoy it…”

Valentino snickers at this as he glances over at the calendar admist pictures of all his successful movies. “Oh do you now?…” His expression still amused, but his voice had an underlying hint of danger growing to it as he went on to ask you more questions practically pulling any indecent thought out of you and putting it to fruition.

“This interview is definitely going great….now let me see the goods baby~”

You look at him innocently now as if playing dumb as you ask, “t-the goods sir?~”.

“The goods…” He gives you a nod insinuating for you to stand up. In which you quickly did practically shooting up out of the chair.

He chuckles at this and then he glances down and sees the way your outfit accentuated your body so perfectly that he just had to see the back. Not hiding his anticipation as he makes a swift gesture for you to turn around. You nibble your bottom lip hugging your fluffy chest as you turn around showing a little cotton tail poking out from your leggings catching Valentino by surprise as it was wiggling vigorously.

He slowly rises from his desk shrugging of his coat and putting out the cigarette, never once taking his eyes off your behind. He takes a deep breath in appreciation as he then gives a small whistle.

“Damn…you’ve got quite the looks from this angle baby~” He then pauses once more to savor the view before he walks closer to you.

“So far i’m liking everything i’m seeing…” He stands right behind you and places his hands on your shoulders, slowly giving them a playful squeeze before he leans down, so close that his breath grazes the back of your neck.

“l think you’re gonna be the perfect little bunny toy~” His voice low and teasing. Your breath hitching as your behind gently rubs against his hard-on the heat radiating between your thighs started to get to your little rabbit mind.

Valentino smirks, now feeling how hot your body has gotten. Your body temperature steadily rising.

“But… first we’ve got to take a look at one last thing..”

One of his hands goes to your lower back forcefully bending you over infront of him on his desk, your heart jumps as you realize what’s happening but you obediently stay bent forward and arching your ass out of instinct so that it was on full display seeing the outline of your thong through your leggings.

Valentino’s breath is heavy as he stares at you bent over and so vulnerable infront of him. He strokes your rabbit tail with the tips of his fingers, caressing it making you whimper out to how sensitive it was to his touch. Making you embarrassingly wet within seconds.

Almost like he sensed this he swiftly tugged both your thong and your leggings off wasting no time as the cool air hitting your now exposed pussy made you whine.

“Shit your perfect for this industry baby~” He hums as his body weight seems to shift behind you as it sounded like he was grabbing for something..

Valentino held a cam recorder in one hand, as the others clung to your hips rather tightly as he roughly started pounding into you. Cock bullying your pussy with its big size as he barely gave you time to adjust making you cry out pitifully.

“Fuckkkk….you’re so tight.” He groans aiming the camera down at your entrance showing how much he was stretching you out as he used another hand to grab a handful of your plush behind to help guide himself in.

“Look it how well you’re taking it baby bunnni~ like a true fucking slut….mhmph fuck i’m gonna make you a star!~” Val growls behind you as his pace starts to pick up and becomes more aggressive.

Suddenly you feel him yank your head back by your bunny ears, causing a squeak to pass by your lips because of the sensation it admitted making you arch your back more into him, hitting a certain spot you didn’t know he could that made you immediately see stars.

Pointing the camera down toward your face, Val shows your already fucked out expression with your eyes all hazy with tears spilling down your cheeks and a filthy pout playing at your lips. You felt like your fragile body could barley take anymore of this torment and as if to make matters worse a hand went to play with your sensitive tail again making you clamp down on him with your thighs trembling.

“Ngh!! Valentino!”

The camera practically is shoved in your face as if to get the winning glamour shot as you come undone all over his cock. Though he doesn’t stop there as he tries to reach his own release, thrusting deeper and faster into you until he eventually cums too with an exasperated sigh.

The mixture of your juices practically pours out of you as Val pulls out and is more focused on the film that he just made, taking the hard drive out of the camera and shoving it in his coat pocket.

“You’re a natural…expect to be here by tomorrow morning and don’t be late..”

Valentino leaves you to clean your own mess without another word and didn’t even bother to mention what he’d do with that tape now that he had it. You just watched as your now boss put his coat back on and went into the atmosphere of the club once more.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin valentino #hazbin valentino x reader #valentino x reader #imagines #hazbin valentino smut #smut #valentino smut #valentino #hazbin hotel smut #bunny reader #bunny girl #☆⋆｡𖦹 my writings #☆⋆｡𖦹 valentino

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bunnysbrainrot · 7 months

Text

Size Matters

Kinktober Prompt: Size kink

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Content: Explicit sexual scenes, oral (f receiving), creampie (wrap it up, kids), dirty talk, rough sex, dom Sam, fluffy/funny aftercare (it’s crucial)

Summary: Your plan for making the boys dinner goes awry, leaving you alone with Sam in his bedroom, and coming to terms with a kink that only Sam Winchester can fulfill.

A/N: 🤭

"C'mon,' you strain, reaching for a high shelf in the cabinet. Apparently Sam and Dean didn't find a need for a stepladder in the bunker. Your calves screech in protest as you reach for a jar of pasta sauce, your fingers brush the bottle, but not enough purchase to grab it.

A long arm reaches above your head, grabbing the sauce in a large, familiar hand. Sam hands you the jar with a smile.

You took it from his hands and chide, "Not everyone's as vertically gifted as you and your brother, you know. Y'could be more inclusive and invest in a stepstool."

He leans against the counter you'd been setting ingredients on. Sam's eyes scan over your form as you open the pasta sauce.

"You know you can ask us for help, right?"

"I was gonna make dinner for us, I didn't want to make you guys help me," you reply Sam stands fully now and looks over your shoulder. You crane your neck to look up at him, "How's the weather up there?"

Sam chuckles lightly, "You know, I could tease you about your height. It'd be pretty easy."

You turn back to the counter and place freshly-washed vegetables on a cutting board. Unsheathing a knife from the knife block, you keep conversation with Sam.

"I don't have a problem with being short," you bump your hip sideways into Sam's leg. He does the same to you, except the direct strike in the ribs knocks you off balance, stumbling over.

He's able to snatch you up to safety before you bust your ass on the floor. Now cradled in Sam's arms, a rush of comfort comes over you in his stable grip. His hands catch your waist, with his long fingers spreading broad across your torso. Fuck, together they could probably go around most of your waist, and those fingers...

You snap out of your stupor to find Sam smiling down at you. His eyes linger on yours long enough for your mind to wander, wondering who would lean in first. Stolen glances at each other's lips, hitched breath, low-lidded eyes, it was a perfect concoction for Sam to kiss you.

Beneath him, you're so delicate in his arms, as if you'll break if he isn't careful. It was in his own reflexes to catch you, but the feelings that rushed through him afterwards were something deeper. Almost instinctive that in any moment with you like this, hushed and ogling, would lead to something more. Forget dinner, he thought, he could just order something for delivery.

At least, after he's done with you.

"Sam," you whisper. Maybe you hadn't been paying attention, but his face is now just inches from your own.

He finds himself leaned over further, close enough to share the same air, breaths mixing.

You smile nervously, and to your relief Sam gives one of his own. But he doesn't break away - doesn't help you to your feet to cut vegetables for the dinner you were kindly making for him. It couldn't matter much now that he's holding you like this.

"Sorry," he replies, barely audible. You wave your hands in dismissal and place them around his neck. The air shifts as the movement brings you ever closer, your lips no more than three inches away from Sam's.

"It's okay," you whisper. Soft, hazel eyes wander over your face and flicker to your lips, seemingly stuck there until Sam takes a risk he'd been waiting for.

Relief washes over you when his lips meet yours. After all this time, it turns out that he had the guts to break this tension, and everything that had been bottled up could now overflow. You let a deep hunger overtake your body, purely going on instinct as Sam embraces you. Sam sighs into your kiss and swallows a moan it drew from your throat, whiny and eager.

Sam nips at your bottom lip, tugging at it tentatively with his teeth. You do the same in response, only harder. Testing the waters. Usually a dangerous game, especially with a Winchester.

Your hands had made their way to his broad shoulders - his lean muscles flexing and stretching as he moves his hands over you, meandering from your waist, spanning from your shoulder blades to the top of your ass. His fingers toy with the fabric of your clothes, like he was trying to unwrap a present too early and didn't want to rip the packaging.

“Not here,” Sam says, his words slurring like a love-drunk fool, “Can’t do this here.”

He breaks the kiss and leaves you panting for more; there's a new darkness in his stare, one that makes you shudder. You give him a smile, wiggling in his grip to the pasta sauce jar, and shut it closed.

“What about dinner?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You seem like you have other plans.”

He was caught red handed, but you weren’t declining the advances. If anything you spurred them on as much as he did.

Sam slowly releases you from his grip, setting you stably on your feet. Not once have his eyes left you, even if you weren’t paying attention - Sam was set on this goal, you’d given him the ‘yes’ he needed, and he intended to make good on his commitment.

Patience was wearing thin for Sam. He ogles at the sight of you bent at the waist, putting the pasta sauce and veggies back in the fridge. The curve of your ass sucks him in whole, as if there were nothing else in the room.

A hand settles on your ass from behind, cupping and kneading gently. You let out a shuddering exhale before standing and turning to Sam.

The softness of your voice surprises you, “Where do you want me?”

The ball was in his court. Sam looks you over coolly, his hands kept to themselves in his pants pockets. Your eyes drift lower and pause on the large bulge in Sam’s pants, straining slightly against his thick jeans.

“My bedroom,” he said plainly.

—

There was little time to brace yourself for Sam’s next move. You're pressed against the wall before you can protest, although you wouldn’t dare object to this.

Sam grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wedging your hips with his own, keeping you steady. A new hardness presses against your core as Sam juts his hips into you, pure instinct taking over his movements. His cock twitches in his jeans - he needs to watch his cock sink into you, to watch your face contort in bliss when he bottoms out in your pussy.

There was nothing small about Sam Winchester - he's a Goliath of a man, towering over you at any given time, with thick broad muscles that send a rushing heat to your sex. If your intrusive thoughts ever won, you were sure he could toss you around like it was nothing.

But now, you didn’t have much choice but to stay pinned to the wall, where you and Sam both grind your hips desperately, letting out lilted moans and grunts against each other’s skin.

The friction on your swelling clit was rough and warm, with Sam's cock perfectly nestled atop your drenched slit. Each rough push shot pleasure through your core, but it wasn’t enough for your aching cunt.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” he emphasized. You shook your head at him. You wouldn’t break so easily, but if anyone were to shatter you apart, it could happily be Sam.

Your lips found his ear, after staining yourself up his long torso, “I’m not gonna break that easily, don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah?” his voice deepened as his lips found your neck, eagerly nipping at your skin and making you whine. "Let's test that theory."

You gripped the hem of your shirt and shimmied it over your head, casting it to the floor carelessly.

Sam’s eyes trail over your chest, still beautifully bound by your bra. Their softness served as an undeniable invitation for his mouth to lower. He dips his head to greedily nip and suckle at the supple skin, leaving red and purple splotches in his wake.

You grip at his hair, urgently tugging him closer, as if the direct contact could never be enough to satisfy. Each of your soft moans is echoed with a low groan from Sam’s chest. He had doubled over, completely encapsulating you in his clean scent, now thick with a lustful musk.

Two fingers found the band of your bra, unclipping it with the utmost ease, and cast it to the floor with your shirt. Through panting breaths, Sam works off his shirt, though his lips have no hesitation to return to your exposed chest, and found a pebbled nipple between his teeth, rolling and biting to bring out a symphony of moans from the both of you.

Your hands lunged for the waistband of your pants. Sam took notice and sighs happily against your skin, his warm breath like a gentle wave across everything you'd exposed to him. Above you, Sam grew more unhinged with each passing second, grabbing and biting and kneading your flesh like a man starved.

Sam's lips capture yours once more in a tangle of tongues and teeth, exploring one another as if it was your only chance to do so. His tongue grazed the roof of your mouth, swallowing a deep moan that erupts from deep within your chest. He assesses your position and grows frustrated. It would be difficult to remove your, or his, pants without risking dropping you to the floor.

As quickly as you'd been slammed into the wall, Sam tosses you onto his bed, but stays standing at its foot, his hands reaching for his belt buckle. All else in the room vanished as you watch him remove the thick denim, shoving it down his legs to the floor. His cock strained against his boxers, throbbing and twitching to be free.

"Those," Sam nodded his head to your pants, "off."

The sudden dominance springs you into action. Your hands fly to your waistband and wiggle them off of your hips, down your thighs, and kick them away. Your soaked panties act as your final barrier, barring you from what you so badly needed.

Sam returns to his hunched position over you, letting his hands rove over your exposed thighs and ass, pawing at you greedily. You reach down to the band of his boxers, and slip your fingers under the elastic, inching them down until you felt a resistance against it - Sam's cock fights against the removal, straining your short arms until Sam reaches down to aid you.

The head of his cock springs up to smack against your covered core. You gasp softly at its warmth, your neglected cunt tightens around nothing of substance, an empty hole aching to be filled with something substantial.

"Feel." This was Sam's only order as he tugs your hand down to his length, coaxing you to wrap your small fingers around the middle of his shaft.

He's thick and warm against your palm, with a thick vein creeping up its underside to the tip. Your mouth waters at the way his cock twitches eagerly in your hand, and you slowly begin to pump along his length, making Sam hiss through his teeth.

Sam's voice is lower than you'd ever heard; it sends a heat directly to your teased pussy, now bracing against the base of Sam's cock. Its length covers most of your abdomen, casting your body in its silhouette in the dim lamplight of the room.

"Jesus..." he remarks wistfully, trailing a free hand up to his tip, pressing into the soft flesh of your belly.

Beneath him like this, Sam can finally see the scale of his cock to your insides, mapping out precisely where he'll settle inside of you. You whine softly as his cock drags another stroke over your soaked folds - the abrasion from your underwear was no longer tantalizing, but rather a nuisance.

His breathing becomes ragged, "I need to taste you."

The words shudder through you as Sam's lips work through the valley of your breasts, showering kisses along your middle, and finally he settles between your thighs. Sam places a kiss atop your clit, still kept out of sight by your soaked panties. Two fingers hook into the waistband and tug downward, sliding the soiled garment off of your shaky legs and to the floor behind him.

Cold air strikes your slit as Sam pries it open with two thick fingers, teasing at your aching hole, spreading the wetness around your cunt.

"Are you always this wet when you think about me?" his voice tremors through you. You nod quietly and hold your breath as Sam's head dips lower. All you can see is his rich brown hair cascading over your belly before warmth spread through your core, leaving you moaning at his first touch.

With the way his tongue teased at your clit, Sam may as well have set you ablaze. Your skin radiated a warmth unlike no other, rolling in waves as the cold of the air shocked your most sensitive areas.

"Sam," you whine, carding your fingers through his soft locks. You tug on him gently to push him further.

He pays no mind to your plea, and instead wraps his toned arms under your thighs, pulling your pussy flush against his thick tongue. It flicks your clit perfectly, and pairs with his lips as he suckles on the sweet bundle of nerves.

The taste of you makes Sam groan, his cock straining against the mattress beneath him. Above him, your moans and cries are a siren song, calling him to the bottomless sea of his desire. He pictures what lies ahead - you, sprawled on the bed, blissed out from his tongue and cock, sated and sleepy from a relentless pounding.

That image is pasted in his mind as he laps at your cunt, occasionally dipping his tongue into your tight entrance, and tasting your innermost parts. You arch your back at his touch, sighing his name like a prayer. His restless tongue toys with your hardening clit as pressure builds in your belly.

Sam creates a rhythm on your clit that sends you unfurling under his touch, mewling and whining and moaning slurred versions of Sam and please and need you. But he refuses to give more. Not until he can taste your release directly on his tongue.

The tightness in your belly snaps, breaking you apart until you're crying Sam's name against your hand, clasped firmly against your mouth. His tongue lolls over your clit even still, skyrocketing the shockwaves of the orgasm and making you whimper. Your slick coats his tongue and fills Sam's senses. All there is is you, your sounds, and your delicious cunt.

"Fuck," mumbles Sam, his voice reverberating through your convulsing sex, clamping down onto nothing.

You whine in response. All thought and sense had escaped your mind, now shattered and cast off to a void in the back of your mind. Sam laps up your juices and swallows, savoring every last drop your body had to offer.

The cold air of the room kisses your exposed cunt as Sam rises to his knees, his heavy cock bobbing above your abdomen.

"So small," he remarks, lining his cock over your stomach and admiring just how much of your body he'd overtake.

You'd surely be sore for days afterward, which sent a flush of pride through his chest. His cock ached to carve you hollow - to leave you gaping after a thorough fucking, to shape your pussy perfectly for him.

His hips rear back as he positions himself with your wet hole, shining with your slick, beckoning him inside. Sam's eyes meet yours when he notches the head of his cock past your entrance, surveying your expressions as he slowly filled you out. The girth of his cock could practically split you down your middle, stretching your little pussy to wrap perfectly around his shaft.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," Sam groans, ogling at his own cock as it spread your pussy open. His hands press against the backs of your thighs and push them toward your chest, angling himself so the both of you could share the view.

He sighs, "Look at that - such a big cock, stretching out your tiny pussy, just for me."

Astonishment, teasing, and lust filled his tone, and something else. Something more primal that has your walls fluttering around Sam's cock.

You gape at the sight of his cock entering you, and you finally come to terms with exactly just how big he is. Your pussy is stretched blissfully wide, swallowing his length with earnest. Sam slams his hips and strikes deep, the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

Each thrust is harsher than the last and all you can do is stare at the brutality your pussy is being subjected to. You cry out as Sam's cock crashes into you, every time, without fail.

At this point, there's no hiding the reality of what's behind Sam's bedroom door. If Dean, or anyone else, heard you, let them. Bliss overcomes your senses and dulls all rationality in your muddled mind.

There is nothing else that matters - just the overwhelming size of Sam Winchester and his remarkable cock.

He whispers your name like a summons, meeting his eyes with yours as he presses your body into the mattress. A hand presses into your tummy. Sam gasps softly and takes your hand to replace his own.

"Feel that?" his purrs, pressing onto your hand to deliver some pressure. As he thrusts in you can feel a shift in your insides, until you feel a firm strike of the head of his cock against you palm.

You look to him with wide eyes and find a wicked smile plastered on his face.

Sam crouches over you, enveloping you with his large size, encasing your body with his. He leans toward your ear, "Can you feel it up here, baby? Because I can. I can feel how tiny your cunt is before I go in and stretch it out."

He pushes deeper, to let you really feel it, "I can feel how you try to fit me, and how just tight you're getting, 'cause you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

A dumb nod follows his question, making his grin widen across his lips. No words form on your lips, only shaky wanton moans reply to his commentary.

"I know, sweetheart, feels good," Sam coos, slowing down his movements to draw out a raw cry from your throat. His cock drags through your walls until its head is all that remains, and slams in harshly.

Your cry is on the verge of a scream, but Sam does not relent. There is no plea to stop or slow down, because this is all you'd been dreaming of - to feel a comforting helplessness under someone far larger, to be at their disposal and usage.

A growl leaves his throat, "So fucking small... I bet you feel like you could break, huh? With my cock this deep inside you, your little pussy can barely take any more, can it?"

Your walls clench around him in reply, pulling Sam in deeper until his balls slap against your ass, now pairing with the obscene squelching of your abused pussy.

Between the lilting moans and quieted pleas from your perfect mouth, Sam issn't sure how much longer he can last. He vows to himself that he will not give in to it yet, not until he feels it. He needs to feel the way you wrap around his cock when you cum.

He needs to be the reason you finish, this time and each orgasm after.

"You've been waiting for this. You've wanted this the whole time - someone big and strong to pound your little pussy 'til you can't stand. Because you want a thick cock splitting you open." Sam stammers through the last few words - his own comments are bringing him closer to the brink, but you've already reached yours.

You shudder around him harshly as your orgasm hits you full-force, leaving you no room to ride it out as Sam's pace quickens. His breath hitches at the sensations flowing through his throbbing length - he hisses when you clench around his sensitive tip, leaving his gasping as he fucks you faster. Harder. Deeper.

His cock plunges into your cunt, hitting that same spot in your tummy as he mentioned before. Sam's hand presses against your abdomen, adding a glorious pressure that has you climaxing again in a matter or seconds.

"Thaaaat's it, attagirl," he encourages. "Such a tight little cunt, but she takes me so well."

The words flow through you like fire, sending you over the brink once again and leaving you whimpering beneath him. Sam smirks, knowing he's doing his job right, he has you exactly where he wants you, pinned, helpless, and impossibly full.

"Please... S-Sam," you whisper.

He laughs, pounding you so roughly you can barely brace for the slam against your cervix, "Can't handle it, can you, baby? I thought you said you don't break easily."

Your soft cries reach his ears as you slip into that thoughtless void of your mind, moaning with each strike.

Sam's lips brush over the shell of your ear, "You think you're so strong, but I'll break you. I'll have your cunt so bruised you can't think about anything else - only me, because this pussy is mine, do you understand?"

A reply doesn't come, only the sounds of your moans fill his ears. Sam delivers a harsh slap to your ass, thrusting his cock as deep as he could manage. You let out a long moan but still don't reply.

"Who's pussy is this?"

The words form on your lips and fall out feebly, "Y-yours."

He kisses your forehead, but does not let his hips falter, "That's right, angel. All mine."

Pressure builds in his abdomen, his balls growing tight as his own release crept up from behind. Sam nips at your earlobe, his words clang through you with a primal desire.

"And since this pussy's mine, I'm going to fill it."

The swift relentless pace resumes, crashing into your hips to verge on soreness, your tight cunt still wrapping perfectly around him, and Sam's name falling past your slacked mouth. Sam's eyes screw shut as his own orgasm finally approaches, and his cock begins to twitch.

He unsheathes his cock from your warm walls, aiming directly at your now gaping pussy. Sam pumps himself fervently as his cum spurts from his cock, right into your stretched hole. You stare in awe as his cum seeps into your cunt, the angle of your hips inviting it all in.

Sam hisses, "Keep it all in there."

You pant as you try to recover yourself, but Sam plunges his cock into you again, making you let out a low, drawn-out moan. He strikes as deeply as before, his movements are urgent, borderline predatory, insistent to have you bred nicely.

"Keep it in there, and don't you dare fucking waste it."

His movements start to slow - the thrusts are languid and gentle until Sam finally pulls himself out of your abused pussy. He grips your thighs and lowers them until you can finally breathe freely again, gasping in the cool, refreshing air.

"There you go. Deep breaths, honey," Sam coaxes, running his hands along your sore hips, massaging gently into the aching flesh. You do as you're advised and calm your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Sam did the same until he slumped into the mattress next to you, groaning into the sheets.

You smile lazily at him, "You okay over there?"

Sam nods into the bed, still letting out a low groan, "Y'fuckin' drained me."

Pride wells in your chest. You giggle at him, earning you a playful slap on your thigh. Your giggle turns into a hearty laugh before you nestle next to Sam, eyes fluttering shut with fatigue. He takes notice and nudges you.

"Bathroom, no UTI's for us today."

You retort, "Sam, I don't think I can even walk properly right now."

He shifts and rises from the bed, scooping you into his arms and lifting you to his chest. Your laughs echo around the room as Sam Winchester takes you to the bathroom, ever the gentleman.

Hi! Thank you all for your patience as i get out of my lil' brain funk. I hope you enjoyed!

If you liked this fic, reblog to show others! Who cares if we're depraved little animals?? don't you just wanna go apeshit???

anyways ily, and i hope this fic gets the love it needs cause i had a wonderful time writing it >:3

#supernatural #spnfandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #kinktober #bunny writes

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