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hauntedvoid · 2 days
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i’m so high rn would be a shame if someone used my puppy parts :/
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fcksltbun · 2 months
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tell me you just wanna have a look at my drippy breeding hole.. just to see how tight. but it looks so pink and wet and you just wanna feel it with your fingers and wow it’s warm you should be able to put your fingers all the way in to feel my insides… and now i’ve got you hard so you deserve to test me out, just feel me squeeze the tip but oh no you didn’t mean to thrust in so far it just felt so nice you’re sorry but your balls are so heavy and i have a lovely little hole that’s wet and ready for use
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femmelovefemme · 9 months
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thinking about having you straddle my thigh. making you ride me until you make a big mess on my leg while i whisper in your ear all the other things i plan to do to you if you're a good girl and make yourself cum at least 2 times on my thigh and the first thing is making you lick your mess clean off my leg <3
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auroralotus · 11 months
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Can't stop thinking about getting fucked awake.
Just waking up to a thick cock/strap pounding into me slowly yet so rough and deep. I'm still in a daze, my mind unable to catch up at first and so I'm squirming and whining for you to stop cause it's too much. So please, stop just a moment so I can sort my thoughts and think.
But you won't let me. You pin me down and keep on using me, forcing me to take it as you coo into my ear how I just need to be a good girl and relax. "Shhh just like that. That's right, baby. You don't need to think, you just need to be good for me, hm?."
And so I melt, moaning and whimpering as I get overwhelmed by it, feeling you so deep as you make me cum again and again until I'm unable to think about anything else the entire day.
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softistdom · 10 months
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i dont want to watch porn, i want to be the porn
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spookyshibaa · 9 months
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voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink voice kink
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Please don't say "good boy" to me, I'll cum on the spot and it'll be embarrassing for us both
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suchagoodb0y · 1 year
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Shit I want to embarrase a shy little sub boy so bad, I want to fuck him until he's just dripping of cum just completely weak and legs shaking while I just tell him how much of a whore he is, how he looks like a dirty little cock slut from this position and watch him get more and more embarrassed, I want to leave many dark hickeys on his neck and watch him get shy when people ask him who did that, who did the poor little thing let him mess up so bad, I want to make him wear tight revealing clothes and put a leash on him that says who he belongs to and take him outside for a walk. "But that's embarrassing" that's the entire point love, embarrasse yourself for me, just entertain me with your cute expressions<3
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wishesfromswitches · 7 months
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love the feeling of dipping my fingers into a throbbing wet cunt and feeling the burning heat from it. like, aw babygirl, were you just aching with arousal? you got all hot and bothered just from me kissing you? your pussy is practically drooling, do you need me to take care of that for you? you can't just nod your head just because you're dumb and horny. Use your words, sweetie. that's a good girl. now be an obedient toy and take the fucking you deserve <3
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janumun · 1 month
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A Lemurian’s Guide to Love (LaDS Rafayel – General NSFW Headcanons) 
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Rated: NSFW/18+ Tags: oral and vaginal sex, body worship, fingering, praise kink, facial, hand kink, Rafayel shenanigans, allusions to spoilers for Rafayel’s myth dates, certain ASMRs and his character story Words: ~3k
Author’s Notes: The chokehold this man has on me (!!!) has led me to exploring Rafayel’s sexual foray as well as smidges of how I imagine his relationship to progress with his beloved in these headcanons. 
Please take careful note of those tags and rating and proceed at your own discretion!  
With that said, I hope you enjoy your read. 
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Rafayel has stood by and waited for you; over the course of several years — from that fated meeting and the result: a promise borne and broken — and through the descent of the sands of time.  
And while he likes to consider himself a patient man — and to a degree, he has been just that; endurance incarnate over the course of those long, arduous years without his beloved at his side — when he does finally come across you, Rafayel finds his resolve ripple, and then gradually implode, into paper-thin fragments of yearning and fond desire.  
From how Rafayel oft presents his public persona to the world — cool and dispassionate; a tepid smile on the ready for strangers who wish to garner his favour or attentions, one wouldn’t even think to scratch past that surface. The task of avoiding unnecessary engagements, especially since his return to Linkon City a few years prior, preceding his debut as an artist, is one he finds particularly cumbersome.  
But during intimate moments, reserved for just the two of you, you see that exact same Rafayel — that handsome, charismatic artistic talent plastered, glossy, across covers of magazines and billboards — mould into silly scowls. A flair for the dramatics the minute he senses your attentions are not his alone for the taking. Ridiculous and feline-like in his excuses of demands from his ‘bodyguard’, to allow him her company.  
After an endurance survived this incredibly long, he finds that in certain matters, he can no longer wait.  
Great Lemurian entity he may be, but his habits fit firmer akin to a cat’s rather than any fish you’ve kept as a pet.  
He likes to tease and prod at you, wind you up and then, burst into subdued laughter the moment you take his bait. He’s frighteningly adept at stringing you along to his whims, a certain boyish charm you’ve never seen him utilize on any of his vast majority of fans in public. 
He loves to drag you out to impromptu sea-shell collecting ‘dates’ along the shores of Whitesand Bay, to capture the perfect pearlescent pink and silvers, to grind into paint on days he moans of “not having enough inspiration to paint’.
Tows you along for long drives in the vermillion convertible he was provided by Thomas, purchased from Rafayel’s private funds [the correct color he insisted on getting for the car before a poor Thomas was finally able to fulfil his request].  
Had you both stranded miles away from home once, when he had a punctured tire and ‘forgot’ to ensure he had a spare to change, in case of emergencies.  
And when you biked him back the rest of the way on a rental bicycle, you had the very nagging suspicion he wasn’t too upset about the mishap as he hummed an odd tune, seated behind you. Bodies close enough you felt the gentle vibrations of his voice deep within your bones, along with the steady movement of the tires hitting the paved road.  
Truly a feline more than any amphibious creature. 
A wondrous man, a delightful dissonance of character.
That very same man, when the two of you hold each other for the first time: 
His digits scour a delicate path across your face, your jaw, down your neckline; Rafayel is incredibly, uncharacteristically quiet the first night you are his. Bathed a sterling blue under the watery gaze of the moon. Save for the thick hitch of his breath with the unveiling of bare skin, he is mute.  
His eyes, however, a crisp indigo, seem to set an inextinguishable fire to the rest of your clothes.  
He observes — engraves into memory — first with his gaze, and then, his fingers follow. Long, tapered digits mapping the shape of your breasts, thumb denting gentle at the peaks of them. A grip he tests, firm, against the supple flesh of your waist, flaring outwards into the soft squish of your hips.  
He makes a sound then; incoherent, incomprehensible. Perhaps, an unconscious break of language into his native Lemurian tongue; the hoarse, barely compacted passion of it, however, conveyed to you in feelings.  
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.  
Your first night is incredibly long, Rafayel shows you truly what it means to be made love to, you nearly weep of joy and pleasure.  
He has waited, oh he has pined and wanted, for so long. It’s a surreal and soul shattering experience for him, just the blessing of you naked underneath his fingers alone, has all of Rafayel’s pretenses unravelling, all masks and facades falling away.  
The first time, there is no teasing, no hiding.
Rafayel is immaculately thorough in his exploration of your body. His fingers; his preferred medium of following the swells and dips of his canvas — your body.  
Unfortunately, and yet so very delightful for you; he takes his time sketching across your body throughout the night, providing no chance of rest or relief from the torrential waves of pleasure he crests through your body. His eyes trained fast on your face, for every slight quiver and break of you, witnessing your response to each single pinpoint of pleasure his fingers brush against.  
Responding obedient to pleas of “oh, there, right there, Rafayel.”  
This very first time, the sounds of you alone, moaning his name, could bring him to completion but he resists. Your pleasure, first and foremost, in his near-tunnel vision. 
When the calls of his name upon your lips become unbearable, with the curve of his index and middle up into your warm wetness, Rafayel caves, like sand carried back into the depths of the sea, underneath the unrelenting break of waves. Long fingers indenting into pliant thighs as he cleaves them up and apart for unobstructed access to your weeping slit and presses a parched tongue to lap up your essence.  
Curling his tongue up into your fluttering walls as his fingers dance against the tight bead of pleasure in between your legs, to the steady compresses of your thighs against the strength of his shoulders.
Rafayel adores and encourages your honesty in bed.
Ready to slow down when and if you tell him how overwhelmed you are. Takes you faster when you beg him to make you come with his mouth. All the while, that dark azure gaze is fixated upon you, the flush beneath them turned a deeper crimson with each sound of satisfaction he triumphantly plucks out of you. 
Lashes descending involuntarily, only when you crest at the peak of your pleasure and flood yourself onto his waiting tongue. The taste of a delectable sea; he laps up every single drop of until he is sated. 
And it is only when you implore Rafayel to put his cock inside you does he startle at the negligence of his body; hard and leaking, soiling the sheets beneath him.  
When you finally, finally connect, painfully slow; the push comes without resistance offered, from how wet he has had you from his ministrations, for a good part of the night.  
Rafayel has to struggle to breathe at the sensation of your warmth around him, tight, herculean control the likes of which he hasn’t ever had to scrabble for, ever in his life. To not just spill the moment he is inside you.  
Her pleasure, I want to feel it. I want to make her feel good.  
Still the sole thought behind that glazed, hot gaze. A moment of odd, emotional vulnerability when your eyes finally lock, your hands wandering now, to cup across his face.  
And when he begins to move, Rafayel needs to feel each and every single part of you with every single fibre of his own. Fingers resuming their trek of their now favorite canvas as you murmur love and praise into his ears. The weight of a breast hefty against one large palm, the other with his fingers intertwined through yours as he propels into you.  
Both of your releases, one and the same; as his eyes remain on the scrunch of your brow, just before he too falls, burying his face against the crescent of your neck. 
Rafayel’s style of love-making is firmly passionate.  
It is emotional, relieving and often times fun. He is incredibly adept at reading your cues and adjusting his pace according to your wants. Sex, in his mind, is an activity, as deserving of time and patience as his art — an intricate worship — and hence he usually requires the two of you have those several, long hours to spare before he gets to undressing you. Quickies, as such then, he isn’t a massive fan of.  
Neither public spaces — a private dressing room at one of his events, requiring the two of you to be out within a certain time period — no matter how desperate or wanting he might be. Silencing your own protests with a long, hushed kiss and a skewed mischievous, flushed smile that has your heart quivering inside your chest. “Be a good girl now and wait,” he remarks before setting your disheveled collar back in order. The graceful sweep of his hand; for you to take, once you are done, ready to escort you out into the venue.  
Open but private spaces, however, where you have time to spare and none to disturb, his private beach behind his home, is where you might find yourself spread wide across soft cloth. The cool waves of the shore lapping gentle at your tightly furled toes while Rafayel’s mouth works at the slick in between your legs. Truly his idea of a well-enjoyed romantic date. 
On the note of basking in the benevolence of seas, Rafayel loves giving oral as much as he enjoys receiving it.  
He isn’t incredibly vocal when it comes to giving voice to his desires, for having your mouth on him, often because he is more than happy [and engrossed] to have his mouth do all the talking (and lapping), while you luxuriate underneath the feel of his tongue and lips, like the [his] Queen you are. He loves servicing you to completion, no matter how much his tease of a foreplay may point to, otherwise.  
It is only when your mouth takes him in for the first time, on your request do you make the delightful discovery of Rafayel’s little give-aways. The quiver of his fingers threaded firm through your hair. The clench of a fine toned abdomen, ripples of tight pleasure splaying across his torso.  
“You’re doing so well, baby— hah, just like that. What have you done to me? You’re so good.” 
The drop of his jaw, the fine, dark dusting of red smeared across his cheeks and ears. His slow, stuttered groans and pants.  A deliberate suckle at his tip has him throwing his head back at the sensation, fingers spasming against the back of your skull. Your own resistance shattering and you take him in whole, the moan that chokes out of Rafayel’s throat in reward for your efforts is heaven enough, you keep returning for more.  
Rafayel is loud and has no shame in showcasing his love and desire for you through the sounds he makes, just for you.  
Part of the reason also why he prefers privacy to public displays of affection or quick sexual encounters. And he encourages just the same for you.  
Be it the sounds of appreciation that leave his mouth, muffled and undulating, into your pussy or while he is inside of you, enjoying every single inch of your drenched, clenching flesh against his length.  
“If you squeeze me that hard, I’m going to—” 
Words fracturing apart into a long, stuttered moan he presses right against your lips. Foreheads slick with the sweat of your desires as he bears down against you. Bright blue gaze meeting yours — the gentle florid fringe of pinks — steeped in pleasure as his fingers curve about your jaw, pleading a kiss from your lips. 
“My pretty girl.” A flushed devastating grin. “Let me come inside you. I want to feel the way your body clamps around me when I do. Gods, please.” 
Rafayel is an immensely flexible lover. No rules are set in stone, no bedroom innovations entirely over-ruled before the two of you knock it at least once.  
There is no sole lead; only the steps you weave in between you two, together. He is receptive to a wide variety of tastes and kinks; ever the most studious, eager participant, save for the rare personal boundary or two, he has set in place (see above: feelings regarding public sex). 
Grasping your hand to fold a kiss against your palm as he moves within you. Bidding on sex-hoarse whispers to entrust yourself to his care while he sets to plunging your entire being into flames, pleasure so exhilarating you’re left grappling for air by the end of it all. All the while, he shapes his marks of adoration against your skin, soothing warmth to set nerves lax from all their previous exertion.  
Or, when you ask it of him, supplicates himself — a willing, grinning participant — loving, puckish desire set to blaze within his dark eyes. Tracking each single move, the delicate fingers that sketch against his heaving abdomen, the hand that moves to enclose his cock in between eager digits and pump, slow: a delectable torture. And he responds in kind to your enthusiasm, if you leave his mouth unbound and able — sings for you as you so enjoy, in that rapturous voice you so adore. Lent a lascivious flavour from how his head rolls back across his neck in the throes of incoming release, the flush of him flooding down across his chest from how aroused he is for you to be doing what you are to him.  
The sight of him in his entirety is enough for your own patience to wear paper-thin, drenched wet from the erotic picture he paints beneath you.  
Rafayel’s house is a mess. 
...Something he often brushes off as personal ‘creative choices’, declaring he finds a certain order to his disarray of things strewn about.
The colors he knows exactly where to pluck off the floor of his studio. A second draft of an upcoming painting, pinned underneath a [fish] magnet against the kitchen cabinet. A spare shirt draped across the arm of a sofa for when he wants to quickly switch out of pigment-stained clothes in between paintings.  
However, he takes special care to keep his bedroom — or at the very least, on worse days, one sofa — in acceptable, spruced order. Especially so, after you start coming over to visit or stay the weekend, accompany him on days he holes himself up in his house, to pore over an artwork. Often so preoccupied, by the time he snaps out of it, several hours later: to a velvet sky outside and you scrunched up in an upright position, with your head coasting sideways at an uncomfortable angle, in your sleep.  
The first and last time that happens as he carts you into his arms and off to his bedroom to tuck you into his bed and insists you retire to his bedroom on your own, the next morning, whenever you feel like dozing off. Making a point, then onwards to always have it ready and at your disposal.  
For sleep and when you’re both not; tangled within each other and the sheets, cooling down from your highs.  
Rafayel craves chaste physical intimacy post-coitus as he drags you into his arms, your breath warm against his chest. He despises being away from your comfort for even a moment’s breath; extra adorable and tetchy in his phase of dramatics if you try and squirm away. 
Has startled you on one particular occasion; hunched, stark naked, by the door of the bathroom as you stepped out of it. A frown knit in between his brow, a disagreeable moue to that beautiful mouth and a simple, “I’m cold, warm me.”  
An amalgamation of just how Rafayel is like and something else; deeper, you suspect it stems from unspoken fears of loneliness. There are nights you don’t quite understand, when his emotions run rampant and his need for physical affirmation and constant connection are strong; the man immediately soothed to rest the moment your hand is across his cheek, fingers caressing down the sculpt of his jaw. Tiring him at last into exhausted sleep. A vulnerability to his visage only you are allowed  to stand witness to.  
There is something so incredibly erotic about his girl when she lets him put his cock against her mouth... 
Testing every single mental fortitude, he has ever had thrown up, walls of iron built over the course of centuries, crumbling at the feeling of your wet mouth against his length. Drawing him in before you swallow him, right to the base.  
Taking his seed down your throat like the damn, amazing girl you are but if you pull back at just the right moment, firm fist bringing him to spill against your cheeks, traversing down the arc of your neck— 
Rafayel’s thoughts frizzle into a numb void, mouth agape and panting. A scarlet flush dashed across the ridge of his cheekbones, his ears, to witness your face dirtied by smears of his cum. The sight truly untethers a carnal, primitive want in him, he isn’t able to fully parse himself.  
Truly imprinted upon as the bride of the Sea God. 
Your sexual sessions are more often than not, kicked off on sensual, fun notes and back-and-forths.  
A stray jibe you might throw his way at one of his odd habits and he’s plucking you right off your feet. Nimble digits feathering down the expanse of your abdomen in retaliation before you’re reduced to giggles; both of your fingers catching at the other’s clothes in an attempt for dominance before you drift, natural, against the other’s mouth in soft, scheming smiles. 
Or, when you reach to strike the firm muscle of his behind, the sweet, silly twist to his mouth right as he startles, an indignant, scandalized gaze he rolls your way. “Why, you—” Before you reach to grasp him by the collar and drag down towards your waiting, open mouth. Lips drawing wide into a smile as you feel his reciprocated urgent squeeze across your ass; the pads of his fingers tracing the lining of your panties beneath your skirt. “Don’t make me return the favor several fold, pretty siren.” 
The bite of restive teeth he sinks into his lower lip as he hauls you up and against his rigid length. Before you reach forward, disengaging his lip, to suckle it into your own mouth. “Try me.” 
The act itself leaning more into the romance of the moment and slow, deep thrusts into your body as Rafayel drifts against you. Mouthing every piece of spare skin in sight, affirmations and assurances as clear and heard as the moans that tumble from his lips.
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gdssofthewild · 9 months
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fcksltbun · 26 days
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it’s my fault if i make ur cock hard !! that means you get to bend me over and release all that tension in my tight lil hole obviously
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amanitabunny · 1 year
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It is such a shame that no one puts a collar around my neck and make me bark like a stupid little doggy
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rottenlapdog · 2 months
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the concept of deerplay is SOOOO nice to me but idek how to approach it because no one else seems to like.. be into it?? having antlers for my partner to grab onto while he fucks me stupid and tells me how good i am. thats all i have unfortunately i don’t have much material to work with
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xxftmgirlxx · 3 months
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Want to meet a man at a bar and for him to take me home, him almost sober, me completely drunk. Making out on his touch, dry humping his lap, feeling his hard cock against me. Freely moaning and gasping into his mouth, his hand sneaking up under my shirt, to my breasts. Of fucking course I didn’t wear a binder and bra, I need for him to grope my titties. A mixture of his fingers pinching and rubbing my nipples and matching my humping rhythm, hitting my clothes clit perfectly, he’s got me worked up so tightly I could cum in my pants already. But he doesn’t let me, not yet. I’m going to have to earn it. Flipping me on my back, he towers over me and undoes my pants, dragging them off. He touches me through my panties. They’re soaking, sticking to my cunt, radiating warm heat. He licks an agonizing stripe up through my panties, making me buck up and ride his face involuntarily, trying to chase the little pleasure he’s giving me. He finally takes off my panties, I’m so drunk and tired I could pass out just from cumming. He repeats his slow lick, finally FINALLY directly on my pussy. I gasped and whine high in my throat, like I’ve never been touched. I have never been touched. He grins up at me, disheveled and liquid in his hands.
“Please, daddy, please do something” I beg him.
I move to start rubbing myself, but he swats my hand away.
“No, baby. You have to be patient”
It’s killing me. He moves back up to kiss me, grabbing my hands to restrain me. I can only buck my hips up to drag my wet pussy against the denim of his pants. It clicks in my head. This is the only way I’m getting off tonight. I pick up my pace, humping and panting like a dog. I can’t even continue his kiss, I can only lean my head back and whine and pants the closer I get. He kisses down my neck and moves one hand away to twist my nipple.
“Are you gonna cum, pup? Are you gonna cum on my jeans like a dog?”
That does it for me. I’m completely undone. I whine and gasp and spasm under him to the point of overstimulating but I can’t stop.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, daddy”
I’m floating in and out of consciousness. I’m so tired and euphoric, I’m barely awake. I can hear him undoing his belt, the next thing I’m conscious for, he’s thrusting into my soaked pussy. He’s bigger than I could register when I was humping him. I hear myself moaning.
“I’m gonna breed you, baby, gonna make you a mommy, gonna put puppies in you, baby”
I hear myself nearly shriek cumming, tightening around him, milking his big cock. That seems to do it for him and he’s flooding my cunt with his cum. I can’t wait to wake up and go another round, but I hope more he just uses me throughout the night whenever he needs.
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