#cw.fingering

King Izu is huge, rough and hardy and he licks at the mead dripping from your lips, two thick fingers squeezing your cheeks and grinning when you heat and simper and whimper beneath his strength. Hushes you in a deep rumble, kisses the skin beneath your eye and promises you his bed after the feast,

“Be good and entertain for a while, then you can have my seed,”

And the promise has you up and refreshing horns, pouring ale and mead and sitting on your husband’s lap to feed him pork dripping with honey and fat, small hand clutching his neck to tip his head back far enough for his throat to strain. Music plays, men shout and tussle, women chatter and steal away into the shadows, warriors sharpen their blades and growl at the children who scramble between the legs of the long table. None of them notice the giant hand slipping beneath your kirtle, none of them hear your whimpers and begs because Izu looks so wanton and tempting in his furs and breeches, chest wide and broad, stone and iron hard, panting with the syrup he finds waiting for him at the crux of your thighs. Plush fat gives way for his touches, eyes dark and staring at the heave of your chest in the firelight, listening to the whines and gasps falling shamelessly from your mouth. His thumb, baring a ring and the width of something too big to call human, pressed against your cunt, wool suddenly too hot and too tight, hall suddenly too loud and too open with the way King Izu grips and pulls at you,

“It’s been two years since we wed,” he whispers in your ear, “And we’ve yet to bless the throne,” dark honey spreads down your back and you cast your eyes over to the empty chair, huge and sharp and unyielding, like the fingers bullying between your legs, “Maybe your insistence is enough to break me this one time, your neediness is maybe something I’ll take advantage of,”

“‘Zuku…,” you’re whining and squirming and suddenly his warriors are looking at you upon their King’s lap, legs wide and baring you to all.

“The gods look down upon us, Odin gave us his blessing wife, we should honour that,” Izu licks a stripe up your neck, wet and hot, puffing against your skin.

“I just want you,” his hard lust simmers into something softer for a moment, upon hearing your words and Izu’s lashes flutter at the scent of you, lifting through the sweat, through the food and the wool and fur and leather and wood. The hall of his forefathers might be packed to the brim, as it always should be, but right now? All he sees is you upon his knee and the way you look up at him with all the love in the world. His hand grows more bold, more insistent, palm kneading the throbbing ache of your cunt and there’s no quelling the mewls of agreement spilling from your tempting lips.

“I would take you in front of them all, show them how a King, a god, treats his queen-, Izu’s lips are rough and hot against your ear, breath catching on the delicate skin of your neck and you shiver, curling into his chest and gripping the sides of his cloak, hands so small and fragile against his mass and wrath. He takes a moment to kiss your temple, mouth resting sweet against your skin, eyes dark and casting shadows upon any who dared look at the way you squirm and writhe for him, and the fingers bullying between your thighs,

“But alas my queen, as much as I value and love my kin - no one but me sees you bared and fucked but me. So stop trying to make me bend you over the table and breed you in front of them all, are we clear? Because your cunt full of my seed is only a sight only I am privileged to witness, I promised you my cock after the feast and my cock you shall get, but only if you’re patient,”

A whimper escapes your lips when rough fingers slide between your folds, fat and dripping with need, spreading for him with an almost audible slchk that has Izu imagining such awful, filthy scenes. Even if he put you in your place, told you to wait, told you to be patient, told you that only he is allowed to see you stuffed and fucked - there’s a strange revelry in folding your into the blessed table with his cock battering your insides, in front of all his kin, his warriors, your friends. A king is nothing without his queen, and what better way to show that then fucking his queen full and making sure she’s dripping and swollen with his cum?

The thought makes Izu a tad bolder, despite his warnings to you, a strong finger parting your cunt and crooking deep and hard, causing you to arch and barely hold back a howl, the resounding squeak alerting red eyes to the musing of his king and queen. You should be plenty satisfied with this, a finger, maybe two, pacifying your need to be filled with something thicker, stronger, just until the last men fall drunk to the floor. And - in a way, you are. He’s holding you tight, close to his chest, one hand on your waist with his mouth pressed parted to your hairline, swallowing with every clench of your cunt around his fingers, imagining it’s his cock, imagining the feel of your velvety walls on his tongue, counting down the moments until he’s able to carry you to your bed, his bed. Tongue tasting the sweat of your temple, Izu encourages your writhing and contorting, the hall a little quieter and a little calmer, enough for you to lift your thigh and allow your king easy access to press his fingers harder, deeper, faster,

“Izu, mmmh - please, Izu,” you’re licking your lips, arm wound round his neck and Gods; you can feel yourself dripping down his wrist. It’s something, something akin to what your king is thinking, having his thick, rough fingers between your thighs when you know others can see, can muse, can hear what he’s doing. The thought has you collapsing against him, pitching with a whine and a quivering belly, thighs closing around his arm and trapping him, cunt flooding his hand and wrist.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl hm?” Izu kisses your cheek, then your jaw, the spot behind your ear that has you shivering,

“Do you think they will notice if we sneak away now? Please, I can’t take it anymore,” Your voice is shaky but the need still bubbles in your belly, and Izu huffs,

“Already? I’m still inside you,” he grumbles, “Most of the warriors noticed long before my fingers were in your cunt, my queen, you are insufferable,”

But…he still stands, clapping his chiefs and warriors on the shoulders with a slippery hand plastered to your back. He still bids farewells to those he fought for and with, despite his gruffing and grunting, despite complaining to Bakugo about ‘the duties of a with a hungry wife’; Izu is hard enough to leak over your stomach when he gets you bared beneath him, and is desperate enough to fuck you too many times to count into the mattress and furs and pillows.

MAKI

who takes you on dates in those tight jeans, a little baggy round the crotch but you know what's hiding there, what she subtly squeezes in the darkness of the booth while you're sat plastered to her side, sipping a beer or a cocktail, listening half heartedly to what Mai is saying. You can feel her tense, feel her smirk and reach down, hand drifting up your skirt and tracing over the pudge of your thighs, daring you to look down and see her dance over to her own thighs, then her crotch and then what's at her crotch. She can feel the heat bursting over your cheeks, the way you stutter and fidget and suddenly need to find the toilets because "m not feeling too good guys, i'm sorry, be right back,"

and Maki follows, as the perfect caring girlfriend who's packing heavy silicon in her trousers that she stuffs down your throat the second she locks the door behind you. Unbuttoned, zip tugged down, shaft and matching balls hanging out, and frothy with your saliva, thrusting to the back of your throat with every pitched moan. Hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you up and down, up and down, "Use you're tongue too angel, you know I love it,". God she wishes she could feel it, feel the way you're lathing her cock with kisses and swallowing so tightly and so thickly around it.

SASHA

has some of the fattest, thickest thighs you've ever seen and the way she spreads them, even unconsciously stirs something deep in your gut. It's even better thought, when she man spreads while you're on top, wearing her little rugby shorts that are too tight over the fat of her pussy and cut deep into her muscled thighs. Knees parted, hips pitched in just the right way so that you're spread as much as her, tendons screaming and body struggling to buck into her teasing. Sasha has one hand over your hip, snaking round behind you, spreading your ass more than it already is, dipping into your parted folds and hissing, "You got some nerve spreading yourself like that," even though she's the one spreading you out nice and wide, nice and open.

She can stay like this all day, spread and locking you open, fingers deep in your fluttering hole and knuckles knocking hard against your clit that is exposed no matter how much you squirm and writhe. Sure, you're perched a little higher than her, on your knees and whimpering into the crown of her head, but Sasha loves it, adores this position cause not only are you spread out and immobile for her to play with; her face is also mashed into your tits and there's no place she'd rather be than biting and sucking and nuzzling your engorged flesh.

MOMO

she's so cheeky, in a graceful way? It's your fifth date, the first time you were sleeping over, and only the second time you two had touched intimately. Sure, the night went uneventfully, a few heavy kisses on the sofa with some even heavier petting, Momo rolling you against her thigh and swallowing your desperate little whines with every throb of your clit. But - nothing else happened really, you two said goodnight, kisses again, you touched her tit with a muted, sleepy 'm-mommy please' and parted ways. Easy.

You know Sasha inadvertently spends all day teasing you with ice cream dripping down her fingers and licking it off, or wearing those tight gym shorts that show off her powerful thighs, or idly playing with your tit while you two lounge on the couch after breakfast. And when you finally look at her with a quirked eyebrow and a crooked finger, she’s all over you claiming it was her plan all along to have you creaming your panties and slicking down your leg. But what really gets her, what really stops her in her tracks between your thighs with a cocky grin akin to something a vampire wears upon seeing a meal; is that when she peels your panties over your hips, there is an audible schk from just how wet she’s made you,

“This all fr-from me? For me?” Sasha gets giddy, gets childish, rubbing the gusset of your soiled knickers and marvelling at the marbling of your arousal while you lay before her heated and grumbling in embarrassment, whining for her to do something about it.

But she doesn’t - well, not really, she reclines on her stomach, nose inches from your mounded mons and she breathes in your heady scent, several times, too many times. Then, well first she swallows the drool threatening to fall from her mouth and then she takes two fingers, thin but muscular and long, the middle baring a plain silver band; and she starts at your pubis, the hood of your clit trembling in anticipation. Sasha carefully, slowly, meticulously slides her fingers down over your pussy, hard enough to spread the fat, puffy folds and the noise you make, the sound that squelches from your cunt is scandalous, it’s loud and lewd and crude and it makes Sasha’s eyes roll into the back of her head, moaning when she presses her fingers back up the curve of your cunt.

“S’your mess Sasha,” you’re hiding behind your hands, knees knocking together when she pulls away and taps her fingers together, witnessing the strings of slick and drool clinging, stretching between her digits before breaking oh so dramatically. She does it again, with the same fingers, slowly parting the lips of your cunt and groaning at the slick squelch, eyes following each ribbon of arousal, every pearl of translucent cum calling for her to - to -

“Wait here doll, just wait - I gotta - don’t move,” she disappears from the bed, from you, from your pussy, clattering about the room and you’re too embarrassed to move, to see what she’s doing because even breathing causes little drippy sounds from between your legs. You can feel it, smeared on your thighs, painted on the outer folds of your pussy and even - oh god is it dripping down to your ass?

“I wanna try this,” rough hands spreading over your thighs causes you to squeal in surprise, jumping further into her grip, eyes opening wide with shock at the touch. Something hits you, hard and cold and wet between your legs and your chest deflates with the recognition, ridges sending chills down your spine and -

“Hear that?” Sasha fiddles with the strapping over her hips, untwisting where it got caught in her desperate attempt to put it on in less than thirty seconds. She’s not even got her leg in the proper hole, but you realise that she...doesn’t really care; you can see her eyes zeroing in on the curved silicon laying over your belly and you can hear the gears turn in her head dictating the way her hips pitch just so - in that perfect angle that has the dildo audibly flicking over your clit, “Listen baby, listen to you,”

“I am Sash - it’s -,”

“A smash hit? The next Christmas number one?” she hitches your thigh higher over her hip and grips your soft flesh a little harder than she probably intended, but it causes you to whimper and rut your pelvis into hers. And the sound, the slchk your pussy makes as her cock curves through your puffy folds is enough to send you both down a very dangerous, very messy rabbit hole. You can’t even reprimand her for trying to be funny or witty when she has a dick slicing over your clit and catching on your hole oh so enticingly,

“Fuck - listen t’you, look at ya,” you’ve got your hands over her tits, trying to feel the swell from under her sports bra and she’s still fucking her cock against the length of your sex. Sasha threads her fingers down between the two of you, slipping and sliding through the thatch of curls over your clit and pressing down clumsily so with every pass of her cockhead catching harder and harder. You yelp, neck craning, eyes squeezing closed at the near painful shocks zipping over the swell of your belly, quivering with every measured and surprisingly precise thrusts she delivers against you.

More. Sasha pulls away for a moment and taps the head of her cock against your cunt, strings of slick connecting the two and producing disgusting noises probably loud enough to wake her roommates. More. You’re so close, even without penetration, Sasha knows how to work her hips and it’s a bit of a strange angle, especially with how wet you are but looking up at her, gazing up through your eyelashes at how she’s staring hard and desperately at your pussy licking the underside of her cock - it’s enough to have you toeing the edge. Sasha’s got her hands iron over your hips, fat squeezing through the gaps of her fingers, the thick ring probably leaving an indent in your skin and she’s got you hitched just so, just at the right height so she’s thrusting up, rolling her cock through the puffy, soaked folds of your cunt, hitting your clit every. single. time. Hair sticks to her forehead and the side of her face, sweat shining over her nose and you can trace the red spatter of flush over her collar and chest, disappearing into the strapping of her bra. She’s so -

“Sasha, m’gonna cum, close - I’m close,” you’re whining before you can stop yourself, rolling your hips in tandem with hers, knees caging her waist and you can see her choke on her breath, panting hard and the wet sounds between your legs. It’s coated, you both are; pussy spilling creamy and sticky over her cock and smearing thick down her thighs and belly. Her thumb pulls the hood of your clit back, the soft fat of your mons parting and cushioning the mean, hard digit and it’s enough to send you over, head digging back into the pillows with a howl.

And she doesn’t stop. Sasha keeps going, keeps rutting her cock through the flush of your orgasm, the sounds of it loud and awful, smacking and squelching with a horrible schk schk schk that only grows in crescendo thanks to your partner’s sudden fascination with how fucking loud you are,

“Can’t wait to do this again, can’t wait to make you all needy again - maybe I'll make you wait a whole week! No - wait -  that’s too long,” she’s still fucking up against you, cock so slippery and so thick with translucent cum that it veers under your ass a few too many times, “Can’t believe you didn’t say anything earlier dolly, s’like you maybe liked being all messy and wet all day huh?”

“Shut up,” you’re still coming down, you’re still twitching and sweating, belly quivering and thighs trembling with every sticky pap against your clit, and already - with her continued jerking of her hips - you can feel yourself climbing again. Moaning, you attempt to push Sasha away, hand hard against her firm stomach and she doesn’t seem to want to move, slowing but not stopping, loosening her hold but never letting go,

“Admit it,” Sasha leans over you, knees and thighs hoisting yours up by her arm pits and there's an audible ripple from your cunt, “You loved feeling dirty, being a filthy little thing all cause you wanted me - I wasn’t even doing anything doll, you’re the pervert here,”

In this position, she’s inches away, nose touching yours and lips tracing your own. But it’s the way your pussy curves against the girth of the dildo, hugging the underside and you whimper at the feeling, heavy and ridged against you. Bellies touching, chests pressed together, one hand curled around your head and the other bent at the elbow, propping up her body over yours.

“M’not a pervert, you are,” your pout earns you a harsh, smacking thrust against your sex,

“You wanna say that again pretty baby?” Another thrust, rolling and heavy, thighs bulging against your ass. Sasha huffs into your mouth as if she can feel the way your puffy pussy flutters in acceptance of the dildo, clit kissing the head for a moment before its pulled back, sliding up, up and over before retreating again. And again. And again. You’re shaking in her arms, mewling in time with the pap pap paps of her cock slipping harsh over your cunt.

“Again,” you’re the one speaking this time, begging into her mouth, tongue licking over her lips, “Again Sasha please!”

Her desperation leaks into you, accepting her perversion, ears twitching at the lewd, wet sounds of you - of you. It’s so clear, so sticky, so filthy and yet you want more, god, so much more of it, an addiction you didn’t know you had until Sasha gave it to you. And what? An addiction to yourself? To your own pussy making disgusting slapping sounds every time your partner’s cock sliced through it? Or to Sasha’s shoulders bulging and her jaw ticking, her stomach flexing and her hips rolling so hard, so precise into you? An addiction to the perverse filth of her? Of them?

You’ll just have to find out I suppose.

jock!sasha at first shares selfies of herself after a post-win session with you; messy haired, rosy cheeked and shiny chinned, your bare legs around her head and there's obvious essence dripping down your thighs. Then it moves to pictures of you in the seconds after she makes you cum, showing the group chat how pretty you are fucked out and on the verge of tears, maybe a short video of you panting and still twitching and still moaning her name.

Then Annie boldly asks for a little more - something more intimate, something just more. And Sasha goes for it, fucking - a whole 10 minutes of you bouncing on her strap with her meaty thumb pressed snug against your puffy clit, spreading you so they can all see the creamy strings sticking to your folds and to her thick black strap.

And then comes that fateful team meet when they all get a bit drunk and a bit bold, and Sasha's got you creaming on her thigh in that tight little dress and suddenly Mikasa's sat on your face and Annie and Ymir are fighting over who bullies their fingers into your poor little abused cunt first:((

They - as a team, were never ones for traditions or rituals or anything before or after games. So when Sasha brought you to the next post match party dressed in the tightest little bunny outfit complete with ears and a tail; they all decided that maybe you could become their post game ritual. Passing you around in some debauched circle, a few of them wearing strap ons with varying sizes of dick, and the rest all gagging for a taste of your perfect angel cunt:(( Historia loves pressing her pussy to yours, powerful thighs flexing under her team jersey and humping you hard, slow and strong, lewd and sticky and slick and you know there are numerous videos circling some twitter profiles of your two pussies kissing nd grinding nd sliding together.

There are times when it's not - as loving and fun and entertaining, when they loose, when Ymir comes back with a bloody nose and shoves three fingers into you without even a kiss hello, fucking you hard and fast and demanding you squirt for her. Those days are when they use you, abuse your cunt and your ass and your mouth however they saw fit, making you cum over and over because they had some sick obsession with your entire body sweating and quaking and completely at their mercy.

Before games, it's similar? But more boisterous, more 'blowing off steam so you don't punch a locker, Historia'. Your girlfriend has you on all fours, fucking your creamy cunt and pushing you hard into Mikasa's crotch, urging you to eat her out good nd wet nd sloppy cause they think it's so cute when you try so hard:(( they're all chanting and laughing and lounging while they all take turns with you, some times rough and angry and snapping at your tits bouncing in their face; and sometimes sweet and teasing, slow brushes on your swollen clit till you lock up and squeal with a strange kind of orgasm.

You become their tradition, their ritual! it's cute! how much they all love you and care for you, treat you well with their cocks nd their fingers and their tongues and their perfect pussies - but none, none of them compare to how eagerly and how sloppy Sasha eats you out in front of them all. That's always the last thing that happens no matter what, no matter the time or game or win or loose; Sasha makes sure she has her face in your cunt after everyone on the team has had a go, lips spreading yours, tongue curling perfectly and flicking your overstimulated clit. S'mainly cause you're so sensitive, so wound up that you gush and cream and squirt all over her face within seconds and no trophy or prize money can ever compare to that:((

꧁✿🌸╭⊱  Sugar mommy!Ymir doesn’t flaunt it, no, not in the ways others may flaunt their money. She’s tactful, tasteful with dark jeans and shiny belts and skin shirts dropped open to show the intricate tattoo lacing down her sternum, framed by silver chains. Rings adorning her fingers, thick and chunky and worth more than the weight of the diamonds fixed to your earlobes, but she’d never tell you how much, or where she got them, only snapping a picture at them pressing against the delicate skin of your throat. She’s niche, addictive, wants you begging for more, more of anything when you’re with her, treating you to an expensive trip to the shops and then slipping her hand under your skirt in the fancy restaurant she’s on the VIP list for. You don’t ask what her job is, how she got all her funds and savings and you definitely don’t ask her why she keeps you around, dumb little you with wide eyes and glossy lips and a tendency to maybe act up just a little bit when she invades the privacy of the dressing room in favour of shoving her fingers down your throat and grinding her thigh against your warm cunt. 

꧁✿🌸╭⊱  She’s never the type to buy you pretty lingerie and then rip it all off you with the intention of getting you naked as quickly as possible - no. She has a myriad of cameras, professional photographer ones and vintage ones that make funny clicking sounds when they produce polaroids of your body stretched out amongst the furs and satins of the bed. Ymir adores going back through the photos, putting them in order and flipping through each garment of your outfit being peeled off, remembering each flex of her fingers against your skin and each pose she put you in. God - the first time she pulled out her favourite camera, you’d hidden behind your hands and bitten your lip in embarrassment because Ymir had forced your legs apart and snapped far too many photos of your cunt fluttering and glistening in the orange light of the dining room. Over time, you got used to her funny requests, growing more and more confident in front of the camera until she didn’t have to ask you to pose any more, you did it of your own accord and often included the pretty black dildo she’d bought for you or the silver nipple clamps that matched the bars through hers. She’s got the photos all hidden in a Louis Vuitton shoe box under her bed and sometimes, when she can’t take you with her on business trips, she’ll select her favourites and stare at them in the emptiness of her hotel room with her hand between her legs and your voice cooing down the phone for her. 

꧁✿🌸╭⊱ Ymir fucks you like she’s afraid you’ll leave her, ditch her for someone who will pay you more to be by their side, someone who will provide more for you, give you more, fuck you more - be more than her. So she stakes her claim on her body with mean fingers but a soft mouth, lips tugging at your nipples and cock slipping through the folds of your cunt, aching with the words she whispers into your skin, “C’mon princess, work it for me, you were so desperate for my cock earlier so why’re you being so shy now hm? Where’d my good girl go? Thought I taught you better than to be all bark but no bite, talkin’ all that shit about being able to take my cock and then being too fuckin shy to ride it like the whore I know you really are,”. And it’s the thick metal band on her thumb and the jutting of her hips that have you creaming over her cock, slick and shiny and the prettiest purple colour at your request. She always makes you ride this one, teases you with the fat head of it before yanking your hips down the ribbed girth of it, the thickest of her collection and the one that makes you cry the hardest. “Awh, is my baby girl crying already? Is my cock too much for you? Can’t take it? Hm? Such a pity, I was gonna give in and fuck you like you wanted, give you a little rest from being such a stupid brat but if you’re just gonna be a little cry baby then you can make it up to me,”. And even though you blubber and bounce and twitch and jerk over her cock, that thumb never leaves your clit and that hand aids in your grinds till you shudder and drench her lap with your spend. 

꧁✿🌸╭⊱ Something Ymir loves especially, is taking you along to her business events, paying you a hefty sum to wear no panties and the prettiest silk dress that sticks to your skin like water, and drapes over your curves and slopes. She loves showing you off, suit jacket discarded over her chair and shirt unbuttoned to show the jewel at her throat matching the ones on your wrists, a sheen of sweat dampening her skin with how utterly delicious you looked. It was merely an opportunity to show her coworkers and friends that she could afford a pretty dumb thing to hang off her arm, and then follow her into the private bathroom when people were slightly too drunk to question the damp spot on the back of your dress as you disappeared into the shadows. There’s just something about attaching her lips to the hard throb of your clit that was addictive to Ymir, propping you up on the marble counter top and hiking your watery dress up over your sinful hips, urging you to mess up her hair and play with your breasts, over the fabric, over the cool satin of your dress so that it wrinkled and folded with the scratch of your nails and the pebbling of your nipples. You always tasted sweeter in public, especially with a few glasses of champagne in you and your glossy lips sticky and bitten from how often you tried to seduce Ymir into a corner to play with you. Please, every event ended like this, every business dinner and gala finished with Ymir’s fingers fucking into your clenching hole and her teeth dragging over your clit till you gushed down her hand and stained her shirt. You were both addicted to each other, money and gifts and favours be damned - and the first time you called her mommy? The first time you begged for mommy’s fingers in your needy little cunt? Fuck - Ymir was sure you blacked out from how hard she’d fucked you.