Again

ok now that everyone apparently agreed in completely ignoring that THAT happened, i have to admit that episode 8 eddie made me horny af

HOLY FUCKING HELL IM AN ABSOLUTE WHORE FOR THIS

Chainsaws and Parking Lots

A/N: Adrian Chase x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.9K Warnings: Rough Smut. Blood Kink. Public Sex. Oral. Sex near dead bodies. Hurt/Comfort ish. Pain kink. Summary: Adrian never knows how to deal with tears. A/N: lol dis is wild and written in a daze

“I do bad things.”

“Correction,” Adrian exclaims. “You do bad things to bad people.”

You shoot a glare at him - your brows knitting together.

He loves the violence of you. He loves watching you tear people apart.

“What the hell did you use?” he murmurs - already hard - already half-blind with it. You turn toward him - your sneakers are stained red. You're not even dressed in your suit. Civilian clothes. Interesting. You wordlessly point to the gore-ridden tool that is nestled between the pieces and parts of dead bodies. Hot as fuck.

“Is that a chainsaw?” He places his hand on his chest - feels the thump thump thump of his own heart beginning to beat too fast. His cock twitches.

You nod mutely.

He wants to breathe i love you against your carnage-drenched hair. He wants to shove you against that tree by the road, ruck your shorts down and lick your pussy. He bets you get soaked - dripping with that punch of girl-flavor he finds addicting. Adrian Chase could eat pussy all day every day. He’s great at it. He thinks - or so he's been told by like three people.

“What I’d do?” you ask no one in particular. Your eyes are round and big and your voice is small and hushed as it slips from your mouth.

He gingerly pulls you away from the massacre you’ve caused. He wants to tell you how Tobe Hooper has nothing on you, but that might not fly. Your shirt is dark and soggy. Your cute white sneakers branded in arterial spray. He needs to be tactful here. He tries to think how Chris would react? If he’d react at all? They’re just extras. They just got in the way. They’re regrettable casualties except they’re not too regrettable because they did work for the mad scientist that we are currently hunting!

He controls himself. Shouldn’t come on too strong.

Instead - he pinches your cheek with his clumsy, gloved fingers. “You’re adorable.”

You blink at him - mouth parting in surprise. “That was - was not adorable.” He sees it - he sees your throat bob and your lashes flutter and your eyes go all glassy with tears. You swallow thickly and scrub a hand over your face. “You’re so fucking weird, Vig.”

He thinks that means that you're fine, but then he's wrong.

Your face goes flat before it collapses. You start melting down. Your chest heaves (he’s totally not looking). You press your hand to your stomach - choking on air.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

He could wax poetic about how the both of you are born killers - how this is strictly the job even though he’s about 92% sure he hasn’t been hired to do any of this in particular. You’re the Waller puppet with the enhanced strength and fighting prowess and he really wants to ask you if whatever experimentation you got as a kid made you like ten times prettier? No one should have tits and bone structure like that and also be able to wield a chainsaw like it’s a baton.

“Okay,” he murmurs as he studies your stricken face. “It’s alright?”

Great. Excellent job. He was making strides in human empathy.

You wrap your arms around yourself. Your face is still screwed up - still very lost and confused and he finds himself stumped.

“Chill out?” he advises as he steps toward you - palms-up like he’s attempting to gentle a bucking horse. “It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”

You chew your lower lip - expression anxious. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to kill them all.”

“Okay...” He slowly peels off his mask. You’ve seen him before. “Just as an FYI, people tend to bleed to death when you cut off their body parts.”

You huff out a laugh. Your teeth vibrantly white against all that dark red. He wants to eat your mouth - your skin. He thinks you're going to cry again - maybe start sobbing.

He makes a decision - selfish as it is.

He can’t help himself. He grasps the curves of your hips and yanks you toward him. You go rigid. He presses his lips to your throat - wet and insistent. You sigh - relaxing into him - going to putty. He trails them up your jaw before he tucks your ear lobe between his teeth and bites. You shudder - your blood-caked fingers digging into the backs of his arms - trying to rip through his tactical suit.

He’s going to fuck you. He’s going to fuck you covered in blood because how fucking spectacular would that be?

You grip his face to wrench him down to your mouth. It’s a saliva-laden kiss. Messy and wet and tastes like metal. He doesn’t mind - not at all. In fact - he really fucking likes it.

***

“Fuck,” you gasp as Adrian rails you into the cold, hard pavement. He’s got you trapped beneath him - pinned like a pretty butterfly on stark paper (but not the alien variety)

He sucks in a breath when you hitch your knees higher over his waist. Your pussy clutching at him - tight and hot as a fist. “Um,” He kisses your cheek - drags his tongue along the ridge of your jaw. “This - like not to be weird - but this is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever done.”

You arch an eyebrow and he draws his hips back - the head of his cock catching on the fluttering rim of your hole before he drives forward. “Shit, Vig,” you wheeze, which really kind of gets him going (not like he already was). He’s had to think about mile-long CVS receipts in order to keep himself from blowing his load. It’s nearly impossible because the air is swamped with that copper-stench of blood, there’s the evidence of your extremely violent tendencies just above your head, and the stimulating thought of them getting caught screwing in public next to a pile of dead bodies. Fucking cool.

He almost - almost - hopes that Chris would show up looking for them.

He lifts himself up slightly - forearms framing your face. He bears his weight - glancing down between you to watch as his cock disappears inside your sex - the thick of him obscenely shiny with your slick. Your thighs are splayed open - your shirt is hiked above your perfect tits where there’s more gore - more and more red just painting you like an abstract splatter piece.

You’re making really hot noises - high-pitched, breathy uh uh uh’s that stroke him off. “Can we like do this more than once?” he asks as he eases himself out of you. Your expression morphs into displeasure - your teeth click in your mouth. He’s already got you before you can complain. He licks his fingers and shoves two of them into your fucked-out cunt. He grinds his thumb against your clit - making you jerk.

“Sure,” you reply in between hitched moans. “Sure - fuck - whatever you want, Vig.”

He simpers. It could be sort of kind of romantic if he thought about it. The night sky is plumb-purple blue as a liver. The stars faintly twinkling behind the wash of smog that swells from the city. The subtle smell of decay and pungent oil from the chainsaw. His glasses fog up because of the cool temperatures while the two of you remain fever-hot. He finally has to remove them after they slide down his nose for the tenth time. He grins as he watches you writhe on his hand. Each pump of his fingers - straight to the knuckle - creates crude, squelching noises.

“You’ve got the juiciest fucking pussy,” he praises as his eyes bare down upon your exposed cunt - watching it bloom around his ministrations. He’s gotta get his cock back in there, but he also doesn’t mind this honey-slow pause - this moment that he can really look at you fully as he massages in and out and his thumb circles your perky little clit and he smiles at you in the cold dark of this abandoned parking lot outside an abandoned warehouse. “Can I lick it?”

You nod - furiously - desperately - and it really gets him charged up - to watch you splayed on your back - spread out and needy. Fuckk, it's nice.

He removes his fingers and lowers himself so that he can force your knees over his shoulders. Your heels knock against his suit - his spine. There’s your cunt - gaping and glossy and clenching on air. He glances up at you - the heave of your tits - the blood staining your face - caught up in your hair. You’re clean down here - just all wet from him and his fingers and his cock and -

“Adrian,” you plead and it rumbles through him - rides him hard - the delicious bite of your voice calling him by his name.

He goes to town - his lips kissing your parted entrance - his tongue thrusting inside you to taste your heat. You're soapy - the slim tang of salt and sweat and flesh. The brush of cordite and iron in the creases of your skin. He suctions his mouth over your clit - flicking it until you fist your hands into his hair and yank. He sucks a fold into his mouth - he nips the other. You’re panting - nearly grinding down against his face - potentially breaking his nose, which he genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’d be able to tell Chris that it happened because he was tongue-fucking you on the hard cold ground next to a bunch of dead bodies.

He licks and licks and worships. He traces the tip of his tongue over the tiny nub that throbs and swells and sometimes he teases his fingers inside you - relishing as they contract around his knuckles. He feels you come - a muffled scream against the back of your hand. The rush of your liquid - your pleasure - the sticky feel of it on his chin and jaw and the way your eyes dance over him - provocatively - sweetly -

“C’mere,” you demand and he goes - sliding up and over your body - his cock so hard that it bounces against his stomach - the rough texture of his suit. He buries you beneath him - frantically kissing you with his pussy-soaked tongue. Your thighs widen - your heels digging into his ass to maneuver him just right. He sinks back inside the molten ache of your cunt. You gasp at the stretch of it - the slight burn he imagines as he barrels into you without caution because he knows you can handle it. He fucks you hard - leveraging his weight - your nails digging into his throat - his cheeks. “Does it hurt?” He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck - he laps at the spots of blood. “Is my cock hurting you?”

“Yes,” you sigh - hips bucking up and into him. He grabs a handful of your ass - forcing your thigh up higher.

“Let me get deep,” he mumbles as he takes you in long, tortuous strokes. He eases himself out - right to the tip - before plunging forward - forcing a whimper out of your mouth. “My little killer queen,” he calls you. The blood in his nose and the ripple and rock of the Queen song in his ears. The moon glinting off the chainsaw that rests not far from their tangled bodies.

You shudder - going tight around him. The burst of a surprise orgasm pushing through your core and curling around him as he tries to dream up more CVS Receipts and blueberry muffins with tentacles and his grandmother in a top hat, but it does nothing. He drags himself through the dripping clenching bite of your cunt - fucking you relentlessly as you take it like a champ. The sloppy, messy thrusts are met with your lips murmuring don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, Adrian. Vig. Adrian.

His pace stumbles - he hits his high - fills you right up with spurt after spurt of his warm spend. He’s surprised - falling back on his heels while you sit up on your elbows. Your thighs hang open and he watches his own pearly spunk drip from your puffy, swollen pussy. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

“You’re pretty good at that.”

He frowns. “At what?” He needs his glasses. He needs a burrito and idly wonders if you’d grab one with him and then let him eat you out again.

“Comforting.”

He forgot that’s how this started. “I’m totally an empath,” he smirks - slapping his hand across your cunt and making you yelp. You kick him in the chin. “Shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Okay - I deserved that.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“Fuck yes I can.”

ahem. men who stutter when they’re fucking you because you feel so good, who whimper thank yous in your ear because they can’t believe they get to be inside of you, who whine for you to kiss them and touch them and all of their rough persona seems to fade away a little because they need to feel as much of you as they can, they need your physical contact, sometimes you whisper that they’re handsome or that you love them and they whimper out that they’re not gonna last long, they’re so close, and knowing that you want them pushes them over the edge completely

🥹🥹🥹 <- that’s me bc you called this a piece of art

Dile (Cuéntale)

miguel o’hara x spiderwoman!reader

song inspo: dile by don omar + playlist

main masterlist // nsfw masterlist

word count: 4.5k

summary: Miguel gets jealous of your relationship with Peter. He’s on a mission to prove he’s better.

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, porn without much plot (I need him carnally), jealous/possessive miguel, biting kink (pretend his bites aren’t paralyzing y’all), miguel being a munch!, unprotected sex (pls be safe irl), overstimulation? (he makes you cum a lot), creampie/breeding kink, dirty talk, operating under the assumption they’re both nude under their suits, Spanish (I’ll put translations in a reblog), mutual pining/a confession!?, way too many italics bc I need to emphasize everything.

A/N: this was just supposed to be a short concept piece…and it ended up taking me three weeks to write bc I just kept adding more. anyways, felt weird to write miguel speaking spanish if the reader doesn’t understand so this is technically latina!reader (actually really happy ab it bc I always wanted to write latina!reader for myself 😊).

Translation Reblog

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being fucked so hard from behind and they lay on top of your back while they’re fucking you senseless and moan in your ear

So true bestie bob has the WORST breeding kink. Something about him wanting to be able to fill an airplane hangar with little mini bobs drives him crazy

oh he loves everything about it. loves the thought of you being full of him. loves the thought of your tits getting bigger, your belly round with his little one. it doesn't stop after he gets you pregnant, either. he's obsessed with your body. wants to touch you all the time. hands on your growing belly, on your breasts, on your widening hips. has this primal need to be inside you, to remind you that he's the one who did this to you, the only one who gets to put a baby inside you.

Anyways

Motel sex tape with dilf!rhett!

something about this makes me insane thanks bestie!!!

you and rhett had been sneaking around for a few months at this point. silent quickies in the kitchen and him pressing his hand over your mouth when you’re in his bed. he brought up the suggestion to go to a motel for a weekend to get out of town and away from wandering eyes. you immediately said yes.

you checked in together and he couldn’t keep his hands off you when you were trying to unlock the door, kissing all over your neck.

“i wanna do something, if you’re comfortable with it,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. he reached for you, grabbing onto your hips and pulling you close. “i brought my camera.”

your eyes glazed over and you’re nodding before he even asks the question. he just smirks and presses a kiss against your clothed stomach.

“go get ready for me. i know you brought that new set,” of course he knew because you couldn’t stop telling him about how sexy it was. as you came out of the bathroom, he had the camera held up to his eye, letting out a low whistle.

“look at you, sweetheart. spin for me,” he groaned as you turned for him, throwing him a look over your shoulder before making your way to him. “lay down.”

he recorded his fingers running all over the lace, free hand groping your breast before traveling down the middle of your chest and stomach. he toyed with the edge of your panties and smirked at the way you squirmed.

he moved off the bed to set the camera up on the dresser before hopping onto you. he buried his face between your legs, making you cum on his tongue before he flipped you over on your hands and knees so you were facing the camera.

he slid into you easily, both of you letting out a loud moan at the feeling. his hand slid up your back and into your hair, yanking on it until you were staring into the lens.

“smile for daddy, bambi.”

sweat dripping on our dirty laundry (hangman x reader)

masterlist

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

synopsis: laundry day can suck but less when you and jake fuck!

warnings: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual activity (fingering, piv, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, cum play near the end? oops, bad laundry innuendos, pwp)

as always - I love you jordan and may (aka gretagerwigsmuse & seasonsbloom) you both give me life and motivation and break my heart with every fic and then put it back together <3

It’s not like you absolutely despise laundry day - it’s more of a love-hate relationship. On one hand, the serotonin boost from an empty hamper and a full, clean smelling closet is unmatched. On the other hand... you and Jake have way too many clothes put together, and the chore can take almost all day if enough clothes and towels pile up. Normally, you and Jake tackle it together. But he’d just returned from his most recent deployment two days ago, and you wanted to give him a chance to properly rest his body, lounge around the house, let him catch up on the Cowboys’ disaster of a season. 

“Hey Jake?” you call out from the laundry room over the hum of the dryer cycle. You’d left him in the middle of your trashy reality TV session to transfer the lights. “You got anything I can throw in the laundry? I’m doing a load of darks.” 

Silence - you figure he’s probably dozed off and resolve to just go check his hamper after you finish untangling your bras. But a few minutes later, you hear his footsteps approaching the laundry room, stopping in the middle of the doorway. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” he rumbles, voice slightly hoarse, and you feel bad for waking him from his sleep. 

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, finally managing to hook one of the clasps together and slipping it into your lingerie bag. “Just wanted to know if you had any darks I could throw in...” you trail off when you turn to look at him, trying desperately to keep your eyebrows from shooting straight off your face as you appraise the six-foot-something Adonis of a man leaning against the door frame wearing what you can best describe as an expression of mischief, like he’s up to no good, like he’s ready to eat you alive. 

You think it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Bone apple teeth, Jake Seresin. 

Immediately, your eyes catch on the way Jake’s gray sweatpants are slung low on his hips, v-lines especially prominent and a golden happy trail descending below the drawstring knot. Slowly, your gaze shifts upwards to follow the cut lines of his abs, up to the patch of gold hairs on his defined chest, and finally landing on the signature smirk he’s wearing. Jake knows he’s hot, is well aware of the effect he has on you, but it never stops him from trying to catch you off guard and distract you from your responsibilities by showing up in your periphery looking this damn fine. 

It’s why you signed an informal household contract with him a few months back: shirt and pants are required whenever you have to hop on a video call at home. 

While you’ve been shamelessly checking him out, Jake squints. “Are those my boxers?” he asks, eyes drawn to your bottoms as he takes a step forward. 

“They’re comfy!” you defend with a sly smile, turning to add detergent to the washer, feeling all too aware of Jake’s gaze on you. He shifts slightly behind you, and suddenly you feel him right behind you, arms caging you in, erect cock pressed up against your ass, chest flush with your back.

“I’m sure,” he drawls in your ear, sending a shiver cascading down your spine, rippling throughout your nerves. You feel his fingers dance across your hips, and the sweet kiss he presses to your temple is innocent enough, but his hands seem to be acting a bit more shamelessly. His breath hitches when his fingertips start exploring, grazing nothing on your hips underneath his worn pair of boxer shorts. “Don’t you have panties of your own, sweetheart? Bought you that nice lace set you kept pulling up on my phone when I wasn’t looking.” 

“They’re all in the wash,” you hum back, delighting in the feeling of his fingers massaging circles over your hip bones, his hot breath on your ear. 

“Should’ve asked me to help,” he mutters lowly, nuzzling his beard into your neck. 

You finally gather your wits and turn around to face him, leaning your back against the washing machine and looking up at him. His pupils are practically blown out as he smirks down at you appreciatively. “Are you offering?” you ask, almost a whisper, the sound almost lost to the rumble of the dryer next to you. But Jake’s standing real close, can read the words as they form on your lips and he nods once, twice. You glance down at the dark gray sweatpants, gesturing with one hand. 

“Take them off. I need them for this load,” you order, a bit louder now, and the smirk on his face slowly transforms to a wide smile that reaches both his eyes, crinkling his eyes to make your heart swoop. 

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you, finally removing his hands from your waist to shuck off his sweatpants, leaning down to pick them up from where they’ve pooled onto the floor and holding them out to you. But you barely barely notice that - your eyes are drawn to his rock-hard cock that’s flush against his abdomen, tip already red and leaking precum. “But I’ve got the only load you need to worry about.” 

Your steadily climbing lust abruptly stops in its tracks, and you crook an eyebrow as best as you can. “What the fuck, Jake? Are we on fucking Brazzers?” 

Jake bursts out into laughter, leaning in to press his lips to your mouth, and you kiss back as best as you can while maintaining a disapproving pout. “Not if I can help it,” he grits out, still feverishly kissing you like a starved man. “You just make my brain short-circuit, honey. Sometimes I say stupid things.” 

You pull away, narrowing your eyes at the silly boy you’ve fallen in love with, the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, the one who somehow manages to make you hornier than you thought possible whilst also filling you with the desire to club him over the head. “Sometimes?” you hedge, turning around and lifting the lid of the washer and shoving his sweatpants in with the rest of the load. As you spin the dial and close the top, finally starting the cycle, you continue to lecture him “I tell you, Jake, if I had a dime for every stupid thing you said-” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’d probably be able to afford that nice high-efficiency Samsung laundry set you’ve had your eye on. But sweetheart..” Jake's hands return to your waist, this time shoving down the boxer shorts slightly so he can slip his fingers between your legs, grazing one digit over your wet lips. “I keep telling you - God you’re fucking soaked-” and you’re unable to hold back the moan that bubbles out in response to the rasp in his voice, to his tone carrying sheer amazement at your level of arousal. Jake continues: “ - I keep telling you, as soon as the house is done, that’s the first thing I’m buying for you. But I don’t want to buy one now and then lug an old model to the new place. My girl deserves the best. A brand new washer for me to fuck her against in our brand new home.”  

You moan out, partially at the promise but equally at the way his other hand has slipped under your (well, his) t-shirt to grope at your breast, the way his fingers are gathering your wetness. 

“Shit, you’re so wet, darling,” he breathes out, sliding one finger through your folds and crooking it just so, enough for the tip of his finger to graze that sponge-y part of your cunt. You keen in response, grinding your pelvis into his hand and gripping his shoulders tightly for support. A click sounds out, and the spin cycle starts, shaking against Jake’s wrist pressed up against your clit, sending delightful sensations quivering throughout your body. 

Jake repositions his other hand to rest on your lower back; he presses slightly to tilt your pelvis forward into the running machine, into the vibrations, into another tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you shuddering in its wake. 

“Fuck, Jake,” you manage, a gasp leaving your lips as he adds a finger to your cunt and plunges them in and out rhythmically, almost in time with the motion of the cycle at first and then speeding up. You’re sighing out in bliss, unable to keep yourself from grinding down on his hand and pressing your bare ass into his hardened cock, feeling slight wetness on your lower back from a bead precum falling from the tip. 

“God, sweetheart” Jake grunts, pulls his hands out from your cunt and spins you around, then effectively hoists you up onto the machine, lips pressing into your neck as his hands make work of dragging the boxer shorts down your legs. He surges forward to kiss you deeply, slipping his tongue to press in against yours, heavy breaths escaping his mouth as his hands travel to graze his touch all over you. 

For a moment, it’s just you two being horny people, just making out on top of your washing machine almost completely naked, entirely wrapped up in each other, just full of sheer and utter devotion. You pull away to catch your breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and his musky cologne. 

With a smile, you lean your forehead against his.  “You’re gonna make love to me on top of the washer, Jake?” you ask him innocently, bashing your eyelashes and running your hand down his chest, tangling and tugging at his golden hairs teasingly. Jake grunts out at the sensation, reaching down to grab the hem of your t-shirt to pull it up over you. 

“No, sweetheart,” he starts, eyes darting down to appreciate the way your nipples have pebbled in the cool air before sliding his hands down to your hips. In a split second, he pulls you to the edge, grasps his hard length in one hand, guides it into your soaked pussy. “I’m going to fuck you on top of it.” 

And with that, the spin cycle starts up again, and Jake starts drawing his hips in and out slowly, hands resting on the small of your back to hold you in place. And it’s truly fo the best, because the rumble of the washing machine is sending vibrations up throughout your body and the feeling of Jake buying himself into you over and over agains is so overwhelming you fear you may topple over onto your side, hit your head on the cabinet, maybe sustain a concussion. And Jake’s always aware of this, always aware of how easily he can fuck your brainless, make you lose control of your body as a whole as you get lost in the motions of him just pounding you silly - so Jake knows he needs to keep a firm grip on you, which only adds to your pleasure. He’s moaning out your name over the sound of both machines running, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he holds you up. 

“Not enough,” you murmur, placing one hand on his chest to stop his motions and attempting to pull him out. 

“Hmm?” he asks, slightly dazed as he takes a step back, cock still standing tall and proud and dripping with your wetness. As soon as your feet hit the floor, you turn on your heel and lean both your forearms down on the edge of the washing machine, gripping it tightly and bending over to present your ass to him, arching your back just the way he likes it. By the sound of the strangled groan behind you, it seems like Jake approves. 

“Smart girl,” he says, sending a tiny flutter of pride throughout your chest, and one arm comes to wrap itself around your middle to hold you up, the other hand kneading and squeezing your backside roughly. “Such a pretty, smart girl,” he praises and guides his length back into your warmth, starts to match the pace of the spin cycle again. 

“It’s too much,” you whine out, still backing into him despite yourself and pushing yourself further onto his length. Jake hisses out at your eagerness, and the way your walls flutter around him and the slight tremors in your thighs from trying to hold yourself up. 

He moves his hand from where it’s cupping your ass and slides it around to your front to press into your stomach. His fingers are widely splayed, and with a slight grunt, he lifts, pulling you further onto him. “Hold tight, sweetheart,” he manages, and you grasp at the one neuron that’s still firing commanding signals in your brain, trying to consciously force your fingers to tighten their grip on the edge of the washing machine before Jake’s actions hit you in full force. 

And in full force it hits indeed - he’s pounding into you from the back now - his pelvis smacks loud against your ass and the squelch of your soaked cunt is the most erotic sound and it’s just barely audible over the machines. Your thoughts are interrupted by Jake tugging at your earlobe with his teeth and grunting out the most colorful string of profanities - “Fuck, sweetheart, feel so good wrapped around my cock, so fucking good for me - let me fill you up, let me put a baby in you, get your tits and belly nice and big for me so I can take care of you, never let you lift a finger, fuck, please...” 

“Yeah, Jake,” you breathe out as best as you can, “Fill me up, please, too much, please...” 

And with his chin grazing your shoulder, you can feel him shaking his head furiously. “You first. You first, please, sweet girl, cum for me,” and he’s not so much as commanding you as he is begging, pleading for you to release, to give him the extra push for him to climax. And as he’s swearing out loud and praising you his hand is sliding down from where it was gripping your hip, fingers seeking out your clit to give it the extra flick, the extra strum to bring you close and it’s working, with the way his cock is grazing all the right spots inside of you and his middle finger applying just enough pressure to your apex. 

“Jake, please,” you whine out, and he’s hushing you, pulling his hips back further to completely unsheath himself before slamming back into your cunt with a resounding smack. “I think I’m... oh.” Your orgasm washes over you, sending you cascading 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grits out, not slowing the circles on your clit just yet but gradually decelerating his thrusts, electing to punctuate each press into you with a grind of his hips. “Shit, I’m,” Jake manages out, grunting out your name with an added level of intensity, power - he’s close, you can feel it in the way his grip is tightening around your body and the way his breath is getting so much faster and how his hips are more stilted in their movements. 

“Cum in me, fill me up, Jake,” you coax, clenching your cunt down on his cock repeatedly and trying your best to push back against his thrusts. Jake lets out a strangled cry of your name, slams into you one last time and holds you tight against his body. His cock is shoved inside you as deep as it can go and you can feel every pulse, every throb of his release filling you to the brim. It’s oozing, comforting warmth and you reach a hand back to lock his hips in to feel full, to feel this close to him for that much longer. 

Eventually, his cock starts softening, and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Jake,” you whine out as he pulls out, immediately using the last of your strength to squeeze your thighs together to keep his cum from spilling out and leaving another mess for you to clean up in the laundry room. Your muscles feel sluggish, feel like you’re trying to run underwater, feel like you’ve forgotten how to use your limbs. “‘m so tired,” you whisper, and Jake shushes you sweetly, one large hand rubbing circles on your lower back while the other is wrapped around your middle, all but holding you up. 

“Let me take you to bed, honey. Think we’re both due for a nap,” he murmurs and slightly lifts you up from where you’ve almost collapsed against the washing machine. You blearily open your eyes to glance at how much time is remaining for your clothes - “Jake? Can’t nap for too long. Wake me up in twenty?” 

“Sure,” he nods, letting you lean on his arm to lead you out towards your bedroom. 

The first step you take sends a rivulet of cum dripping down the inside of your thigh, and the feeling of the rest of his release slowly trickling out sends another wave of arousal through you, mixed with a twinge of despair at having to clean it up. A pathetic whine manages to escape your lips. 

Jake chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding your hand to lean against the counter. “Stand still for me? I’ll take care of it.” He steps away towards the sink grab a clean washcloth from the stack of towels you neatly folded earlier, running some warm water over it. 

And with a hazy mind, you thank whatever deity, whatever force exists that brought you Jake Seresin - the man who fucks you within an inch of your sanity, who takes care of you like no one else, who wants to spend his forever with you... who’s currently on his knees in front of you, nudging your thighs apart and is starting at how his release has painted your cunt, completely mesmerized. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says in awe, reaching to run a finger through the mess - like he’s ready to fucking fingerpaint with it - before finally lifting up the washcloth to wipe you down, and you shudder at the feeling while simultaneously managing an eye roll. 

Horny bastard. 

-- 

And when you wake up from your nap hours later in a cold sweat with the realization that you most definitely slept through the washer cycle - and that your darks were most certainly going to develop that funky odor - you quickly move to lift yourself out of bed with a sigh. 

A hand on your waist stops you, and you turn to see Jake’s face of anguish in the dim light of the evening - he’s still half-asleep, left cheek pressed up against his arm and golden hair a tousled mess, but he’s still managing a signature pout as best as he can. 

“Don’t go,” he grunts out, pressing his fingers into your hips. You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you.

“Jake, I’ve gotta move the clothes, they’ll dry weird-” 

“Took care of it already, baby,” he groans out against his bicep, turning slightly so his hand can pull at your arm. “Lights are folded and put away, darks are in the dryer, and I deserve to nap with my girl after fucking her brains out.”

You stifle a laugh, finally giving in and letting yourself fall back into bed, into his awaiting arms, falling back into the man you love. As your drift off to sleep with Jake’s arms wrapped securely around you, a tiny voice wonders if you could manage to convince him to get the quiet washer/dryer set now if you pointed out how clearly he’d be able to hear your sighs and the sound of sex over a cycle. Maybe then you could grow to enjoy laundry days.

DID SOMEONE SAY HARRISON KNOTT AND BREEDING KINK?????

This man has your knees pressed to your chest as he fucks you so deep.

"Harri, s'big," you can barely speak, having lost count of how many times he's made you come.

"I know, such a big stretch for a little thing like you. But you take me so well. Gonna be such a pretty mama, carrying our baby."

His dirty talk would be top tier and he'd fuck me all night long I just know it!

fuck he’s so nasty. he’s got a raging size kink and his breeding kink is just as bad. loves to watch his cock disappear into your pussy and he always marvels about how well you take him. and you know what it does to him when you tell him he’s too big. “i know, baby,” he’ll say. “but this sweet little pussy was made to take all of it.” 😭 and then when he’s fucking you after you decide to start trying for a baby? he’s insatiable. pumps you so full of cum and even slips a plug inside you to keep any from going to waste. he puts a pillow under your hips as well and tells you to stay like that “so it’ll take.” maybe he’s overdoing it but he doesn’t care. he’s just so eager to make you a mama, to watch your body change as it grows his baby.

I wanna follow more eddie writersssss will y'all reblog this if you're over 18, write for eddie munson (especially smut and dark fics 💜) and wanna be mutuals??