inspired by this ask that my lovely @zayora sent from her idea. don’t actually read it tho it sucks (i tried mommy)
"Still with me, kitten?" Sylus hums, broad hands smoothing down your sides before curling his fingers possessively around your hips so he can slam his cock back into your swollen hole with ease.
"Haah—! Sy—s'too much—" you manage between choked out moans.
"But you're taking it so good, sweetie," he praises, leaning his large frame over your body.
His face nuzzles into your neck before planting open mouth kisses over your skin. They are slow and messy, because he loves softly showing you affection while you’re trembling beneath him wayyy to much.
With your head hazy from your previous two orgasms, you grasp the comforter and drag your pliant body forward, trying to run away from his thrusts for, embarrassingly, the third time. Your thighs shake with the effort, but it proves useless when he follows immediately, crowding over you until his weight is too heavy for you to move.
Sylus growls then tsks, his tone shifting from praise to punish as one hand leave your hip to find your hair.
The silky strands wrap once around his fist before he tugs, forcing your head back and baring your throat. The position makes another broken moan spill from your lips, your back arching helplessly against his chest as he thrusts deeper in response.
"Where are you going?" he asks, punctuating each word with a rough slam of his hips.
Plap, plap, plap.
It's the only sound accompanying the thoughts in your head, all of which are filled with Sylus—and his cock which is splitting you open over and over as he holds you tight, keeping you from escaping what he's giving you.
And from the vulnerable position he has you in, you have a feeling he plans on keeping you like this a lot longer.
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your legs were thrown over his shoulder, your thighs pressed together as caleb rutted into them. your panties were drenched with your arousal, his cock brushing against your clit. it was wrong, your gege shouldn’t be touching you like this, but you were drowning too deep in arousal to protest.
caleb’s room reeked of cum. you had came in because you were having trouble sleeping, only to find caleb jerking off his cock and moaning your name. being the good meimei you were, you offered to help him.
the necklace around his neck, the one you had gifted him, brushed against your calf. the cool metal was a sharp contrast to your burning flesh.
your breasts bounced with each thrust, caleb was entranced by the sight. you looked down to see his dick poking out from between your thighs. he let out small whimpers and whines as he neared his high.
“you feel so good, pipsqueak,” he moaned out. “fuck…haha…it’s like I’m actually fucking you.”
“don’t say that, caleb!” you squeaked, covering your face.
caleb leaned over you, pressing your knees closer to your chest. a chuckle vibrated in his chest.
“what? me fucking you?” he teased, thrusting faster, his hands pushing your thighs together tighter. “mmnggh…imagine that…gege’s cock inside you. I’ll make you cum, I’ll make you feel good.”
his eyes were primal, almost greedy as he chased his high. and you couldn’t do anything but lay there and take it.
“I’ll do things no one else can, pipsqueak,” he hissed, pressing his cock between your pussy lips. you let out a surprised moan. “and I’ll cum inside you. ‘till you’re round with my baby…”
spurts of cum splattered onto your panties. caleb’s cock twitched as he painted you with his release.
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What do you think would happen if we like, caught Caleb gooning to our used underwear
Hello hello, anon! Sorry it took so long. I loved this from the getgo. Like screamed-when-I-saw-it-in-my-inbox loved it lmao. I’m just slow. I apologize and present my humble offering: A lil something for us lovers of patheticpantysniffing!Caleb. Yeah, I… I dunno. It’s endlessly hot for me to write him a little pathetic. (Read: very pathetic. Pathetic men my beloved) Anyway. Please enjoy this hot mess of a fic~
Setting: The ol’ house, pre-kaboom. Just you and Caleb doing chores (sort of). Established freaky relationship. Reader finding out about his kink and… is somehow into it.
Features: 900ish words. Gn!reader (as long as you like wearing pretty panties lmao). Caleb jerking off with your panties + a little bonus. Panty-sniffing. Filthy humor. Laundry room smut. Kink enabling. A little humiliation. You being kinda mean. He deserves it. Mdni 18+ stuff pleaseandthanku
⠂ ˙ׅ ׁ ׁ⠂ ⠂ ˙ׅ ׁ ׁ⠂ ⠂ ˙ׅ ׁ ׁ⠂
猿だ Was gonna wash ’em
“Be right back. Gonna go wrestle the spin cycle. Try not to miss me too hard.” Caleb disappears toward the staircase, humming.
“Don’t eat the soap,” you mutter as he leaves, and he throws a wink over his shoulder. “Nah, that’s what you do, pip-squeak.”
Yeah yeah—right. That happened one time.And you were four. And the soap smelled like caramel and apples and cinnamon and it was hand soap. So really, who’s to blame? You sigh. Doomed to scrub the godforsaken lasagna dish while he got off easy with laundry.
Rock-paper-scissors sealed the deal. You lost. Fair and square. You fill the sink, reach for the good soap—and of course, it’s empty. Fucking great.
So you head for the laundry room anyway, grumbling, because of course you’re out of the good stuff. The one he hides behind the spare towels because, apparently, you’re the kind of stupid who’d chug dishwashing detergent on a dare. The kind of problem child who’d confuse it for apple cider. Which is unfair. You’re an adult now, for crying out loud.
So. Now you have to go up and down the stairs for a stupid bottle that should just live under the sink like in normal households. But you’re not a normal household, so whatever.
The second your foot hits that creaky bottom stair—
You expect to find him loading the whites.
Whistling, maybe. Folding something.
You do not expect—
This.
He’s bent over the washing machine, t-shirt rumpled, joggers shoved down his thighs. One hand braced on the lid. The other wrapped tight around his dick, knuckles white, fist moving in frantic, clumsy strokes. Breathing wrecked. And—
Your panties.
Your favorite ones. The ones you wore yesterday. The ones with the little bow and the baby-blue lace sides.
Fisted in his hand. The baby-blue is just blue. Soaked in precum. Filthy with him. Worn in ways it was never meant to be worn.
And when he turns his head—slowly, shamefully… He’s got your thong in his mouth. Like a gag. Like he stopped mid-sort, picked them up and thought: what if I stuffed them in my mouth and gooned myself stupid like some basement-dwelling freak?
His ears go red. His cheeks are burning. But he doesn’t scramble. Just freezes, thumb pressed to a pulsing vein.
And then he just… stares.
And smiles. Soft. Sheepish. Horny. Exactly like a fucking basement-dwelling freak. Like he doesn’t know whether he wants you to yell at him or tell him to keep going.
“The actual—Caleb—what the—”
You don’t even finish the sentence.
‘ Cause he groans. Through your underwear.
His hips stutter forward. His knees buckle. He moans like he lost all impulse control. You swear the washing machine shakes with him
“Was—was gonna wash ’em,” he pants through the fabric. “I was. I was gonna. But they—fuck—they smell like you—”
Your eyebrows rise. “Th-That the excuse you’re going with?!”
“I—” he stutters, chewing on the waistband. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean for you to see this, pips—
I’m… so—”
You step in, lean against the doorframe. He looks at you like someone who got caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar and didn’t even pull his hand out. Your eyes drop: to his hand, to the mess there, to how helplessly his cock is still caught in it, wrapped up in blue lace. Twitching in blue lace.
“Well?” you say lightly.
He swallows.
“You were gonna just toss them in with the whites afterwards?”
He shakes his head, looks at you like he’s about to apologize—then doesn’t. You tilt your head. “God, Caleb…”
A whimper punches out of him. His eyes squeeze shut. His legs are shaking.
“…You always this needy over laundry?”
That’s his cue, pips. He comes. Cums all over the washer, the lid, the panties. It’s a mess—hot and fast and humiliating. He pants like he’s been chased. Drops the thong from his lips like it bit him first. A line of drool still clinging between the lace and his tongue.
It snaps as it breaks.
He stares down at it, flushed. Ashamed. Still hard. And you just stare at him until he stares back.
“… I know,” he says quietly. “I know. How this looks. I just—”
“You…” You gesture vaguely. “You won rock-paper-scissors.”
He nods once. “Uh—.. yeah.”
“You picked laundry.”
Another nod. Meeker now. “Mhm.”
“… You’re washing every single one of my panties. By hand.”
He nods harder. “I’ll… I’ll use the gentle detergent.”
You roll your eyes and turn. “You’re so embarrassing, y’know? Disgusting little freak.”
Caleb scrambles upright, half-laughing, dick still out, fist still slick. “Hey! Pipsqueak! Wait—don’t tell—”
“You’re scrubbing the lasagna dish too.”
You wave him off over your shoulder, already walking.
“Okay—okay, just—Please—”
You turn again, one brow raised.
“Don’t go in my room. Or—urhh—open my gym bag. Or my backpack. Just—don’t start opening things… i-it’s not what you think” he says, immediately realizing that made it worse.
You exhale through your nose.
Right. So that’s where they went.
“I swear I’m normal” he blurts.
“Caleb… If you’re going to be this weird about it,” you say, tilting your head “you might as well commit. Some people are born for great things,” you shrug. “You were born for laundry. And always picking rock.”
His groan echoes off the walls.
“Forever’s a long time,” you say lightly. “But you’re good with habits, right?”
You lean in and kiss his cheek—like this permanent freakshow is already settled. Then walk out. But your cheeks are hot. And your thighs? Yeah. Definitely twitching. Behind you, Caleb exhales like he’s barely made it through alive.
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ライナー ブラウン ༛ written by senpai with love
reiner thinking about you while touching himself, and he’s just so sad and so pretty :( .. he's in love with you, and he doesn't do a very good job of hiding it. you plague his mind, especially at night when he's all alone. you would take care of him, right? ↬ part ii
content. reiner straight jorking it and he hates himself, dacryphilia, ANGST, size kink, afab!reader is a marleyan warrior and described as smaller than reiner ; wc. 1.1k
notes. no one asked for this, but I needed it :3 might write one for eren too because I love sad, pathetic men !!
I feel like reiner is kind of mean to himself when he jerks off ..
like, he hates himself so much to the point where he doesn’t think that he even deserves pleasure, but he gets so worked up and so hard that he has to, because the problem just won’t go away on its own. and god, he is so fucking touch-starved. it hurts and he’s hot; his pounding heart making it impossible to sleep.
it’s past midnight at this point and his body is keeping him awake. his thick cock is throbbing in his cotton sleep shorts, begging for any sort of attention, any sort of friction, and he can’t stop thinking about you.
the way you hold his hand in yours whenever he needs affirmation, how you’re so much smaller than him. how you look up at him through long lashes and give him more attention than anyone ever has. the way you dote on him whenever he’s injured, although you both know full well that he’ll be healed in a matter of hours.
how much he hates whenever pock gets a laugh out of you. he’s so fucking envious of that man’s confidence, even though he knows you’re not into that stupid jaw titan. if you were, pock wouldn’t have wasted any time in reciprocating, regardless of the military’s rules.
he distracts himself a bit when his thoughts turn angry and annoyed, and then he shivers as he feels warm pearls of precum against his thigh. fuck, he groans, finally slipping his hand under the covers and he whimpers a pathetic little breath as he touches himself, palming over his shorts.
he hates his brutish hands, always terrified that he could hurt you without even realizing it. you’re so tiny compared to him and he knows that he’d hurt you regardless of how careful he is, how much he preps you, but he’d make up for it. he would worship you. his heart is hammering in his chest, he’s just barely squeezing his length, feeling his untrimmed happy trail prickle against his wrist.
he gives in and pulls his shorts down. he moans your name softly, cupping his pink tip and rubbing the silky slick between his thumb and forefingers. he tries to settle more comfortably into the pillows, biting down on his lip until he tastes blood.
he has literally no concept how of pretty his cock is. fuck, how pretty all of him is. he’s so big, his shaft feels like velvet and he has a blushy pink, defined head and it’s so sensitive. the veins are thick by virtue of its sheer size, at least eight inches when he’s hard and he’s a shower anyway. his balls are heavy and soft and he’s fertile — god pray for any birth control that tries to stop this man.
how would you touch him? would you be gentle, like usual? or would you treat him how he deserves once you’re alone, with careless pulls and rough touches? would you hurt him the way he wants to be hurt? scratching, biting, choking? would you think he’s disgusting? would you tell him that he’s disgusting?
his heart craves you to be soft, but he tells himself that you shouldn’t be. that he would treat you like a perfect little goddess, and he would be the ground that you walk on. that you would hate him, because you know that you’re so much better than him, that he would be so fucking lucky to have you like this.
he would kiss you as if you were single-handedly responsible for everything good that’s happened in this world, his tongue in your mouth and then all over your neck, your chest. drawing cute whimpers and needy whines from you as he made his way down, eating your pussy as if it were his only purpose in life. you taste so sweet and he’s gentle with his fingers until you beg for more.
he’s groaning louder than he realizes, his fingers softly crawling down his warm, thick shaft as he pictures you so clearly in his mind. on top of him. above him. perfect. unattainable. he squeezes the base, his other hand reaching for his heavy sack as he exhales softly, shakily. he’s kneading his balls and they’re so sensitive, and so full.
he pumps himself, pretending the wet, sticky sound is all you; riding him, claiming him, taking what’s yours. he’s so wet from spit and pre and it’s gathering at the base, sticking to his wrists and drooling down his sack. he wants you to lick him, to let your cute tongue clean up his slick mess while he praises you.
slow, torturous strokes. you shouldn’t even be touching him to please him; you should be using him, he thinks, he knows. your plush, pouty lips are too good for him but you’d take his cock in your mouth anyway, your angel eyes that he loves so much on him until he guides you all the way down, your cute nose against his pelvis and shoved in the blonde hair there, eyes fluttering as you gag on him. he’s whining, mouth dropped open, and he wants to apologize.
he feels so hot all over, and he just wants to cry. he’ll always be alone. he’ll die soon enough, anyway. his awful, murderous hands are the best he has, so he needs to make do. the tears fall before he can think to stop them. he lets his non-dominant hand do the work, gripping his big, veiny cock with his hand backwards to get a different angle. his back arches off the bed for a second, rolling his strong hips into his needy grasp, whining like a bitch in heat.
his thighs are spread wide, heels planted into the mattress so he can imagine that he’s pounding up into you. he gathers spit and tongues it into his palm, fucking his fist and desperately trying to pretend it’s your warm, tight cunt clenching down on him instead. using him. the only thing he’s good for besides killing.
his free hand is clawing at his abs before moving to grip the sheets, blunt nails trying to ground himself. his thick, muscular thighs are trembling and he’s already close. he’s whining into the stifling air, whimpering your name between “I’m good, I’ll be good, fuck, use me, please use me, just like that, angel, oh my god,”
he knows it’s going to be so much, it always is. he always cums hard and a lot. he’s in love with your voice, and in his head you’re begging for his cum. your dainty nails digging into his strong muscles, his massive hands on your waist while he pounds into you, holding you close. his face is in your neck and he’s crying, panting, whimpering sweet nonsense because you make him feel so good.
two knocks and the heavy wooden door clicks open. your small silhouette is just hardly discernible in the moonlight.
“… reiner? why are you crying?”
[ @slutsenpai ⨯ my masterlist ] — likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated! ◟♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason
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