bambiiii 🩰

“mommy p-please needa cum please pleasee”

oh angel, you wanna cum so bad all over mommy’s cock? aww how sweet.. are those tears baby? is my pathetic little angel crying?

“mommy please let me cum!!! please please i need it”

❀ sevika who meets you at the last drop, where you’re a quiet little regular in the corner booth with the same drink every time, your headphones around your neck and your eyes flitting nervously to the flickering lights whenever they buzz too loud. you come in at off-peak hours always with a book or a sketchpad. you tip well and don’t say much. she notices you anyway.

❀ sevika who only finds out your name ’cause jinx calls it across the bar one night, chaotic and grinning. “look who’s here! sugarcube came outta their cave!” you shrink a little, shoulders hitching, and sevika’s brows lift.

❀ sevika who sees you flinch and watches how your fingers go tap-tap-tap on the rim of your glass. how your mouth opens like you wanna say something but you can’t push it past your lips. how your whole vibe screams please stop looking at me. she clocks that. tucks it away.

❀ sevika who doesn’t make a big show of approaching you. she starts sitting a little closer each visit. a stool over. then one seat away. then the same booth, but facing the other way, letting you feel her presence before she says anything. she lets you lead. you notice that. you feel safe with that.

❀ sevika who finally speaks to you with a simple: “you draw?” one night, jerking her chin toward your sketchpad. her voice is low and rough like she’s got gravel for vocal cords. you nod. show her the corner of a drawing that was half-finished, hyperdetailed, full of scratchy shading. and she huffs a little, impressed. “not bad,” she mutters. “got a good eye.”

❀ sevika who slowly, slowly becomes your comfort person. who learns the things you don’t always say out loud. like how you can’t stand surprise touches, so she starts holding her hand out in silent offer, knuckles up, waiting for you to close the gap. like how you stim when overwhelmed, so she keeps an extra stim ring in her jacket pocket just in case you forget yours. like how you go nonverbal when overstimulated, so she learns to speak less, gesture more, and always keeps a pen on her so you can write if you need to.

❀ sevika who’s blunt, sarcastic, and big as hell. but never careless with you. she’s gentle in her own way. quiet hands. slow movements. she’ll step between you and a crowd if the bar gets too loud, just a silent, solid wall at your back to anchor you. sometimes she’ll lean in and murmur “want outta here?” and that’s it. one nod and you’re gone, her hand on your back like a shield.

❀ sevika who learns your patterns. what foods you’ll always eat, how textures affect your clothes, how your body tenses before a meltdown. she’s not the best at comforting with words, but she’ll put a blanket over your shoulders and sit with you through the storm. let you scream or cry or shut down in total silence. she never rushes you or makes you explain yourself. just lights a cigarette and waits it out with you. “take your time, baby. im not goingg anywhere.”

❀ sevika who calls you nicknames like ‘sweet thing,’ ‘honey,’ or ‘sugar,’ but also stupidly soft ones that are private and gentle and only for when it’s just you and her. “my soft thing.” “mellow mouse.” “quiet flame.” she says them in a low voice, thumb brushing your knuckles, like they’re secrets she’s lucky to know.

❀ sevika who listens when you info dump. in fact, she asks for it. “tell me more,” she’ll grumble, chin in her hand while you talk about the history of an obscure mushroom species or a cartoon you hyperfixated on at age ten. she doesn’t always understand it, but she loves how your voice gets brighter, how your body comes alive with it. sometimes she asks dumb questions just to hear you go on. “wait, so you’re telling me bees can’t even..what the fuck. say that again.”

❀ sevika who holds you so, so gently when you need deep pressure. lets you lie on her chest like a weighted blanket. her arm tucked around you, big palm splayed over your hip. you hum against her heartbeat. it’s her scent, her steadiness, and her sheer mass. it settles something in you. always has. you feel safe in her ribs and seen in her arms.

❀ sevika who never once calls you “too much” or “difficult” or “weird.” not when you need to wear headphones around crowds, not when you stim too loud, not when you have to leave a place because of a texture or sound.

❀ sevika who sees every “weird” part of you like it’s sacred. your needs, your habits, your comfort shows, your collection of useless little facts. she never flinches. never makes you mask. just grabs your hand and tells you straight:

“you don’t gotta change a thing for me. i like you just the way you are, quiet flame. always will.”

nsfw / fem sub!reader x mean, hot, huge tattoo artist!sevika / oral receiving, / praise + degradation / thigh riding / reader has curves, / overstim again bc duh / fingering / mommy kink pt. 1

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who doesn’t let you leave the chair after you soak her thigh. just keeps you trembling in her lap, big hands rubbing lazy down your sides. her thighs are still flexed under your bare cunt, and she’s not even pretending to be subtle about how wet the spot on her pants is now. “so. you comin’ back next week or what?” you mumble into her neck, breath shaky. “i want another one…” she huffs a dark laugh. “’course you do. knew you were a fuckin’ addict.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who tells you to text her directly next time, and gives you her personal number with the contact name already set to “mommy”. “don’t book through the shop,” she mutters, brushing hair off your sticky forehead. “if you want my time, you ask me for it.” and when you nod all shy and dazed, she presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. “good girl.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who nearly drops her cig the second you walk back into the shop a week later. you’ve got the same shy smile, but you’re wearing a tank top this time. no bra. nipples poking gentle through the fabric, little skirt barely covering the meat of your thighs, and sevika clocks all of it.

she leans back in her chair, legs wide, and looks you up and down like she’s starving.

“didn’t think you’d come back after last time, sweetheart.”

you fidget. “i, um… i couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

she grins, slow and wolfish. “me either.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who is massive up close, all broad shoulders and thick arms with veiny hands that make your knees weak. her sports bra today is black mesh, clinging to her solid pecs and thick torso. tattoos crawl up her neck and collarbones like smoke, swirling over the meat of her shoulders and spilling down to her forearms.

her thighs, though. god. they’re huge. thick and scarred and strong, spreading wide in those dark cargo pants with the knees stained in old ink.

you’re a fluttering, curvy little thing with warm skin and soft edges, plush thighs peeking under a pleated skirt, and a belly that her gaze lingers on before she smirks.

“fuck, look at you,” she mutters. “no idea how bad i wanted to bend you over the bench last time. those thighs? that little belly? mm.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who doesn’t even pretend to be professional this time. she tugs the curtain shut behind you, locks the door, then turns and leans against it with a look that devours.

“where you want it?” she asks, cocking her head.

you swallow and point to your chest, just under the swell of your breast.

her brow arches.

“there?” she hums. “fuck, you just like giving me excuses to get my hands on you.”

you try to pout. “that’s not true...”

but your voice cracks and her smirk deepens.

“say that again without clenching your thighs and maybe i’ll believe you.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who gets way too close when she’s prepping you. tugs your top up over your chest so your tits bounce free, perky nipples stiff in the cool air, and she doesn’t even pretend not to look.

“mhm,” she mutters, biting the inside of her cheek. “look at these fuckin’ things.”

you squeak. “you’re supposed to be cleaning—”

“baby, i’m about to mark you for life.” she cups one breast and runs her thumb slowly across your nipple. “you really think i wasn’t gonna play with what’s mine first?”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who makes you sit on the padded chair straddling her thigh again, bare chest flushed, skirt still on but panties already tugged aside so your slick little pussy’s dripping against the muscle of her leg.

“payment first,” she murmurs. “ride me while i get the stencil ready.”

you try to protest but she’s already bouncing her thigh.

and you fold.

you bury your face in her neck, hips rocking, breath coming out in shaky whines while her strong hands grip your waist and guide every needy grind.

“that’s it, sweet thing. make a mess. get it all out.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who flexes her thigh once and you jolt, clit throbbing, a loud moan slipping from your mouth.

“sensitive lil thing,” she murmurs. “last time wasn’t enough, huh? need mommy’s thigh again to take the edge off?”

you nod frantically. “p-please—”

“then say it.”

“m-mommy…”

“there she is.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who then proceeds to drop to her knees in front of the chair and buries her face between your legs like she’s starving. her tongue is filthy, broad and slow licks through your folds, then sharp flicks over your clit that make your back arch off the seat.

“so fuckin’ sweet,” she groans, lapping you open. “feel that pretty pussy clenching for me?”

your hands are in her hair, tugging, and she grins against your cunt.

“that’s it. take what you need, baby.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who uses two thick fingers to stretch you open while she sucks on your clit, curling them just right until your whole body’s shaking. you can feel her arms flexing under your thighs, big shoulders dwarfing your frame, and she’s moaning like you’re doing something to her.

you cry out, voice cracking. “s-sevika, i’m—!”

“cum for me,” she growls. “cum on this fucking face like a good girl.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who doesn’t stop after the first orgasm. or the second.

she’s got your legs thrown over her shoulders now, your ass lifted off the chair, her entire face buried in your cunt while your body trembles and your voice is just broken noise.

she pulls back just once to catch her breath and looks up with her face dripping.

“you’re a fucking mess, baby. makin’ a damn puddle on my seat.”

you can’t even speak. just nod, sobbing a little, and she kisses your inner thigh with a smirk.

and when you cum for the third time, trembling, gasping, gushing right against her leg..she just pulls your panties back in place and smacks your ass.

“good girl. now sit still while i tattoo you.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who inks the underside of your tit with your shaky body still perched in her lap, using one hand to steady the tattoo gun and the other to grope your waist and drag you back every time you flinch.

“you better not move,” she murmurs, voice right in your ear. “you twitch, i’ll have to start over. you wanna sit through all this again, baby?”

you try to shake your head but she clicks her tongue.

“use your words.”

“no, mommy…”

“then behave.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who keeps teasing your nipple with her gloved fingers while she works, pretending it’s to “keep you calm” but really just watching how quick you fall apart.

your pussy’s already soaking your panties again.

“so easy,” she mutters. “i could bend you over this table and you’d take it without question, wouldn’t you?”

“mmnnh—”

“no shame. fuckin’ adorable.”

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who finishes the piece, wipes you down slow, and then pulls back just to admire how fucked out you look.

hair messy, tits bare, thighs trembling from grinding on her leg, panties ruined.

she drags her tongue over her teeth.

“you wanna see it?”

you nod hazily.

she brings you to the mirror and holds you there with her hand between your legs, rubbing lazy circles through the damp fabric.

❀ tattoo artist!sevika who lets you ride her fingers on the tattoo table after, two thick digits stretching you open again while her palm presses to your clit, your body arching as you bounce in her lap.

she whispers every nasty thing in your ear while you fuck yourself dumb.

“look at you. brain all gone. you don’t even care who hears you, do you?”

“my dumb baby girl, huh? leaking down my fuckin’ wrist.”

“cum again and i’ll take you home in my van. swear to god.”

you do. and she does.

best thing is me laying my head against their thigh, mindlessly scrolling on my phone as they're still desperate for me. every so often i reach my hand up and rub their cunt for a bit or i turn over and lap at their clit. keep them needy and edging for me. good girl isn't even tied up, they just have to stay still and resist for me allll on their own <3

"you thought you could get away from me? darling.. we've been over this, I'll always find you."

her fingers trail across the bunny girls' inner thigh, making their way towards her core. with every wriggle, the wolf's grip gets tighter, dark chuckles leaving her lips as she toys with the pretty bunny's underwear..

"see.. you're squirming, but you're so wet for me. you like this, don't you? feeling so small and vulnerable..."

“that’s it, baby. just stay right here, niceeee and full.”

“you’re doing so well. so quiet, so pretty.”

“im so proud of you, baby.”

“i’ll give you what you want when im finished. be patient.”

“i knooooow it’s hard. you can wait for me though, can’t you?”

“it’s not time yet. you stay just like this and keep me company.”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cunnilingus, sleepy wife abby, and her just being greedy for you overall.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i know so far my posts are short—but i’m new to writing. 😖 please be patient with me.

abby’d been at this for…well, hours.

abby was half asleep, yet refused to depart from your slick. infact; she moaned into it. like the taste of you was healing her from the inside out. eyes half-lidded, tongue lazily stroking your clit out of pure greed. you’d tried to pull away on multiple accounts, but instead of allowing you asleep, abby whines and simply tugs you back. like a dog that won’t share his toy. “abby—“ you started, exhaustion lacing your voice.

“no,” she quickly retorts. “stay.”

“how much longer?” you’re quick to follow up.

“until i get my fill, that’s when.”

you groaned softly, rubbing the sweat off your brow. “abby, i’m tired…” hoping the soft coo of tone would sway your wife into departing from your aching thighs.

- how she’d be so gentle even when she’s fucking your brains out. her fingers moving so fast inside of you that it was downright filthy but her words did a whole 180°

- “does that feel good, baby?”

- “you’re so perfect, got the prettiest pussy ever,” she’d whisper into your ear softly, all while assaulting your g-spot. she held your legs open as they shook, her chest pressing into your back as she worked. “so fucking pretty.”

- along with praise, she’d always talk you through your climax. her soft tone easily grounded you when you felt like it was all too much to handle. “atta fucking girl,” she’d whisper into your ear when you finally came. “you did such a good job f’me,” she’d coo before pressing a few soft kisses along your neck.

- don’t get me started on a sweet lil scissoring session

- “you feel s’good, baby,” she’d practically moan out from her spot on top of you, her hips grinding eagerly into yours. her hands would probably either be tangled in your braids or softly rubbing up and down your sides. her calloused hands sent shivers down your spine which only heightened your pleasure.

- abby would be suchhh a sucker for saying ‘i love you’ during sex

- “such a good girl f’me,” she’d praise as you obediently kept your arms at your sides while she ate you out. “i love you,” she’d press a kiss to your inner thigh before quickly going back to eating your soul out of your body. “love you s’fucking much.”

- abby’s def a gentle giant but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be able to put you in your place..

- whenever you got super bratty abby would just edge you with your favorite vibrator until you apologized. maybe even until you cried.

- “say you’re sorry and i’ll stop, baby,” she’d say softly, “you know i hate to have to be mean, but you can’t disrespect me like that.” her soft tone almost, almost made you forget about the tears rolling down your face from how many times you’ve had your release so close, but yet so far.

(This is the “fucked by your boyfriend’s dad” prompt that won all the votes a few months ago. TW for misgendering, breeding, age gap. See OP tags.)

You and your boyfriend started dating two months ago, and it had been going just fine, until… well. I’ll get to that.

He’s a sweet guy. The same age as you, and from the local neighbourhood. You met at the shop you part-time at, not long after you moved here to study.

On the first date, a trip to the cinema, he came out to you as bisexual. In turn, you quickly explained to him how you felt about your gender. You were relieved by his response: so supportive.

Finally, last week, you messed around after getting back from a bar, but without going all the way. Although that was more because of the wine than any lingering apprehension.

You both laughed about it through the hangover, and agreed to set aside an evening for something special.

Tonight.

You’re sitting at the dining table of his home, which is actually still his parent’s home, too - whilst he saves up. Of course, his parents are out and you have the house to yourselves.

You eat pasta and enjoy his chirpy conversation. You help with the dishes and blow out the dinner candles when the meal is done. In his room, he plays quiet pop music and soon you’re both naked.

It’s the first time you’re sleeping with him: The sex is okay. He struggles with the condom (which is a must since you aren’t using any other form of birth control yet), and after a few awkward minutes of erratic thrusting, you offer him another blowjob.

He shyly peels off the slightly bunched-up condom. All you can taste on his dick is the latex, but you think of his pleasure, suck him well, and he climaxes quickly. He asks you if you want anything more (not tonight),then flops onto his side to sleep.

You’re lying next to his lanky, and now snoring, frame. It’s pitch black and you’re wide awake. It takes a while to get to know someone’s body, you guess. You never climaxed, but more importantly you could really use a glass of water before bed.

You slide out from under the covers, pull your jeans and hoodie on, then creep back downstairs to the kitchen tap.

As you’re filling a glass, you hear the front door unlock and swing open. The hallway lights come on, illuminating the kitchen.

Your new boyfriend’s dad throws his coat over the banister then catches sight of you through the doorway.

“Oh! Hi. Good evening. Hi.”

You return the greeting in a cheery, but slightly pained tone - you don’t really know how to act. You weren’t expecting to meet either of his parents until perhaps tomorrow, when he said they’d be back. What’s more, the intention behind your overnight stay certainly wouldn’t be lost on his father. From the hallway, he explains he had to return home as something came up at work for the next morning, and leaves it at that.

“Don’t worry, I knew he was cooking for you tonight.. I was planning to have a nightcap. Why don’t you join me since you’re still up? It would be nice to talk. You can tell Luke, if you like.”

You shuffle your feet, clutching your glass of water, and explain that you left him asleep. You smile, keen to make a good impression, although secretly wishing you’d just stayed upstairs.

“Oh well. Just us then?”

For a moment you consider politely declining, but you know you’ll just lie there in the dark, restless. Your latest host is already pouring out two hefty glasses of whiskey as you agree to stay and chat.

In the living room, you sit facing each other on the enormous sofa, sipping your drinks. He has a more casual demeanour than his son. You ask politely about the neighbourhood, his work, until inevitably the conversation turns to you.

“So you’ve started at the university here. How’s that going?”

You say it’s going pretty well. Especially thanks to your new boyfriend being as caring as he is. While you talk, you notice the man’s gaze flicker over your body. His tone changes. Still friendly, but perplexed.

“Tell me, though, and sorry. He said he had a boyfriend?”

You gulp and stutter over the short explanation of your gender identity. The dad-friendly version. You add that you’re starting hormones soon, that they’ll change your shape. He listens, then nods respectfully.

“I think I understand,” he responds, throwing one hand up, “I hope you don’t think I’m rude for asking about this stuff. I respect your generation very much.”

He sounds genuinely warmhearted, smiling at you. That was easy. You smile back with some relief, but when you don’t quite manage an immediate response, he changes the subject:

“Do you play sports?”

You notice his eyes flicker across you again. You give a noncommittal answer about running, taking a big sip from your drink. It’s not enough to get you drunk but it’s definitely taking the edge off the awkward situation.

With his next comment, he drags his gaze up from your crotch. Is he undressing you with his eyes?

“It makes sense you run. You do have an athletic physique.”

You reply with a curt thanks. Actually, this is bullshit. You down the last dregs of whisky and place the empty tumbler on the coffee table - standing and making to leave. Just as you’re about to turn and say goodnight, you hear:

“Don’t go just yet.”

His tone is hushed and severe. Your eyes meet as he leans back, with one arm across the sofa and one hand resting right next to his groin. You can’t help staring at the intensely straining fabric there. He watches you stare. He likes it.

Your mouth goes dry. You should leave, but you’re glued to the spot. You remind yourself: the man on the sofa in front of you is your boyfriend’s father. He’s fifty-something and portly, his hair ashy and silver. You take in his creased shirt, loosened tie, slightly stubbled, slightly pink face. He is not unattractive, but he’s not classically attractive, either.

Nevertheless, this man is not your type. And god, what does that matter? This man is your boyfriend’s dad.

“Close the door. Stay for a minute or two.”

His eyes are fixed on yours as he slowly unzips his flies, and pulls out his penis. You still don’t leave.

He strokes his bare cock slowly. It’s long, thick (really thick) and only halfway to a full erection. You bite the inside of your cheek, somehow still deliberating, trying to ignore how aroused you are, feeling your face turn pink. He keeps on stroking.

You’re still weighing up your options with a hazy mind when-

“Suck it.”

The instruction hits you like a freight train.

“Come here, sweetheart. Suck on daddy’s dick.”

His words are clear, firm, but with a hint of ‘just try it’. Arousal turns your racing thoughts to pure static. Needing no further encouragement, you kneel on the floor between his legs. He’s so much bigger than Luke.

“Open that mouth.”

You do as you’re told, and stick your tongue out flat and wet, looking up at him for the next instruction. You can’t believe you’re doing this, you really can’t. His rough hand lands firmly on the back of your head, then presses your face against his hardening dick. The man smiles warmly again as he rubs your face on his crotch.

The shaft feels hot against your open mouth, and hard against your features. The smell of his leather belt, his cotton shirt, and precum fills your nostrils, under-toned by sweat and bodywash.

You’re salivating as he continues to bury your face in his groin, then finally pushes his dick into your mouth with his other hand. Your lips only need to part slightly under his thumb for him to force it in. In it goes, your jaw widening.

“Theeeeere we go.”

He holds your head in place as he becomes fully erect, your throat getting stuffed and your lips becoming tighter and tighter around his now solid penis. You feel it pulsing, firmly pushing down against your tongue.

He holds your head there. Just before you start to actually choke, he removes his hand. You gasp for air as his glistening cock towers in front of your face, bursting from his flies.