…I need to be sedated I’m going to bed but had to share sudden thought of enjin and Gris jerking off together in the car and one asks the other to spit on their dick and both of them are freaked out enough to do it UGH
-💕
a thought of this group lil jerk off session came outta no where, that its just friends being friends, until he catches gris eyeing the dark blue fabric around his gearshift, his hand speeding up and wet slick noises filling the car thanks to the extra glide enjin's spit gave him
and with an evil fucking grin, mid stroke, enjin's nodding toward them. "you know who's those are, right?"
gris' eyes flash, widening just a lil bit as he bites back a groan. "t-they aren't--?"
"mhmm. sweet thing gave it to me a few days ago for good luck..."
"god, an' you expect everyone to, shit, believe you both are just friends..."
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Inspired by a request I got. Also, first time writing Arkha??? Hello???
Kinks: Brat Taming, Manhandling, Oral Fixation, Power Imbalance, Physical Dominance, Slight Degradation, Light Humiliation, Size Difference, Verbal Domination
Tamsy
You were snapping back at him again, irritation sharpening every word—whether it was him or the weight of the day didn’t matter. You knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to test the angelic devil wearing Tamsy’s face.
“And that’s why you’re a cunt, Tamsy,” you spat as he calmly sipped from his cup, leaning against the kitchen counter across from you. His long lashes lowered, drinking in your childish tirade with deceptive patience. “Because you never listen to me and you always think you’re right.”
His temple throbbed. The longer your petulant whining continued, the thinner his restraint stretched. He lifted his gaze just enough for that cold, distant stare to pin you—narrowing on your furrowed brow and flushed cheeks.
The Look.
The one that usually sent ice racing down your spine and stole the words from your tongue. The one that sent you scurrying with your tail between your legs, fully aware you’d pushed too far and were seconds from being dragged off for corrective punishment.
Today, it only fueled you. Expletives and accusations kept spilling out while he tried to enjoy his tea. Finally, Tamsy let out a soft, tired sigh and set his cup down with elegant finality.
The kitchen fell silent the moment he sauntered toward you. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, cat finally catching it.
“Open,” he commanded, voice low and velvet-smooth, yet carrying the unmistakable edge of authority. His expression was ice incarnate—cold, calculating, and completely unmasked for anyone who might walk in. The angel had stepped aside; only the devil remained.
You refused, pressing your lips into a tight, defiant line, brows furrowed deeper.
Tamsy clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. “How predictable.”
His hand shot forward, fingers gripping your jaw with bruising precision. His thumb forced its way past your lips, pushing painfully until your mouth opened on a gasp. The pad of his thumb pressed down hard on your tongue, pinning it flat against the floor of your mouth.
“I thought you knew better than to speak to me in that tone, Bunny,” he murmured, the words deceptively gentle while his grip remained iron. He tilted your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his icy golden ones. “You forget yourself so easily when you’re in one of your little moods.”
Saliva already pooled at the corners of your stretched lips, your tongue twitching helplessly beneath the weight of his thumb. You fidgeted in his hold, heat flooding your cheeks.
Tamsy’s smile was soft, angelic, and utterly merciless. “Need I remind you that my attention—my presence—is a privilege I grant you? Not a right you may demand, nor a toy you may throw tantrums at when it displeases you.” His thumb pressed deeper, making you drool. “You exist in my world at my leisure, little bunny. Open that pretty mouth and disrespect me again… and I’ll be more than happy to teach you exactly where your place is.”
____________________________
Arkha
Arkha’s deep, resonant voice cut through the quiet of his office like a blade, calm and unhurried. He remained facing the tall window, broad back straight, hands clasped behind him.
You startled, breath catching in your throat. “How—how did you know I was watching?”
A low chuckle rumbled from him as he finally turned, the movement deliberate and powerful. Even from across the room, his presence filled the space—tall as Bro, deep brown skin glowing under the lantern light, those cool steel-gray eyes locking onto you with effortless authority. A placid smile curved his lips, polite on the surface but doing nothing to soften the imposing aura of the Cleaners’ boss.
“I could see your reflection in the glass,” he said simply.
“I could see your reflection in the glass,” you parroted back in a childish, mocking tone, tilting your head with exaggerated sweetness.
Arkha’s smile deepened, a spark of amusement flickering in those steel eyes.
You looked up at him fully as he approached, feeling the familiar mix of intimidation and heat that always accompanied being near him. He stopped just in front of you, towering without even trying.
“So,” he continued, voice smooth and measured like aged whiskey, “what brings you to my office, Bunny?”
“Semiu asked me to bring these to you,” you replied, holding out the thick stack of files. He accepted them with a nod, that same calm smile lingering as his eyes scanned the top page.
“Y’know, I wouldn’t have to climb three full staircases if you just wore your damn choker,” you complained, shifting your weight. “Or you could at least move your office closer to the foyer. I feel like I’ve climbed a fucking mountain.”
Arkha listened without interrupting, humming softly in acknowledgment while he continued reading. You kept going, the words tumbling out faster.
“Better yet, why don’t you come out of your fucking office and do your actual job instead of—”
A single finger pressed gently but firmly against your lips, silencing you instantly. Your cheeks burned with humiliation at how easily he shut you down—like a bratty child. Yet Arkha’s calm smile never wavered, warm and steady, his steel eyes holding yours without a hint of anger.
“I appreciate the honesty,” he said evenly, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “And I will take your suggestions into consideration—for everyone’s benefit.” His finger lingered a moment longer before dropping away. “Still, thank you for helping Semiu and the rest. It’s good of you to step up when you don’t have to.”
The sincere praise hit harder than any scolding. You looked away, suddenly shy, shuffling in place as heat crept up your neck. “It’s no problem… I was just sitting around anyway.”
Arkha nodded once, the gesture regal. “If that’s all, you can head out. And tell Semiu I’ll bring these down to her personally. Saves you the journey, right?”
_____________________
Gris
The jeep’s engine ticked quietly as it cooled under the hazy, dust-choked sky. You’d been driving in circles for what felt like forever, the endless cracked Ground doing nothing but making everyone’s mood worse.
Gris stood beside the hood, broad shoulders steady, blond hair slightly messy from the wind as he studied the worn map. Enjin leaned against the vehicle, cigarette glowing between his tattooed fingers.
“Map said left at the big rubble pile twenty meters past Durver,” Gris rumbled calmly.
Enjin exhaled a plume of smoke. “There hasn’t been rubble for the last two hours. We’re going in circles, man.”
You climbed out of the back seat where Follo and Tomme were still dozing and planted yourself firmly between the two Cleaners.
“I think if we go back to that small town we passed earlier, we could use the water tower as a landmark and—”
Neither man even glanced at you. Enjin leaned over and pointed at something on the map while Gris nodded, their voices overlapping as they kept talking.
Your irritation flared.
“Hello? I’m right here,” you said louder, waving a hand between them. “That town had supplies too. We’re low on gas, and if we just—”
Still nothing. They continued scanning the horizon like you were background static.
The heat, the dust, and hours of being ignored finally snapped something in you.
“Hey!” you barked, hands on your hips. “Are you assholes even listening to me? You’re the ones who got us lost in the first place driving around like you know where you’re going, and now you’re just gonna ignore me when I’m trying to help? I’ve been stuck in this damn jeep for hours with you two idiots, breathing in Enjin’s cigarette smoke and listening to you both act like I’m not even here, and—”
A large, calloused hand suddenly wrapped firmly around the back of your neck, warm and heavy. Gris pulled you against his side with calm strength, his voice low and even as he cut you off mid-rant.
“Your opinions aren’t needed right now, sweetheart.”
A chill ran quickly up your spine as he dominated you so easily. You looked up at him, bottom lip jutting out in a stubborn pout, heart hammering.
“But—”
“No buts.” His fingers flexed in warning, thumb pressing lightly against the side of your throat. Baby- blue eyes met yours, steady and patient but leaving no room for argument. “Go sit in the car. We’ll figure this out ourselves.”
You opened your mouth one last time, purely on principle, but the pressure on your neck increased just enough to silence you. Gris held you there for a long moment, letting the quiet sink in.
“Good girl,” he finally murmured, voice softening as he felt you relax. He pressed a brief kiss to the top of your head before gently steering you back toward the jeep. “Stay put and behave for us.”
__________________________
Bro
Running into your old friends from the brothel wasn’t on the to-do list when you and Bro headed into the city for errands. Yet here you were, tucked into a quiet little coffee shop, laughing loud and fond as the girls caught you up on all the latest chaos.
Bro sat awkwardly in the dainty armchair across from you, his massive frame making the delicate furniture look like it belonged in a dollhouse. He fidgeted with the tiny cup in his huge hands, cheeks already faintly pink as you recounted life with the Cleaners. The overly sweet drink you’d recommended for him sat mostly untouched—he’d taken one sip and decided it was way too much, but he was happy just to sit beside you and watch you light up.
“So what’s life been like with you?” a friend asked, leaning in with a grin. “Anything interesting since you left us for the Cleaners?”
You shook your head, still smiling. “Not really. Enjin’s still… Enjin.”
The table erupted in knowing laughter. Then another one of your friends turned to you with a sly, mischievous look. “But the sex is still great, right? Enjin might be an ass, but you’ve got big guy over here dickin’ you down too, yeah?”
She tilted her cup toward Bro.
The table went quiet as every eye turned to him. Bro felt his face burn instantly. His hand, which had been resting comfortably on your thigh under the table, suddenly tensed. He swallowed hard, golden-brown eyes flicking to you.
You wouldn’t… right? That’s private. Girls don’t just—
You smiled sweetly at your friends. “Well…”
Bro’s grip on your thigh tightened in warning.
You ignored it, bratty sparkle in your eyes. “Bro’s got one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever seen. One of the thickest too—”
His hand squeezed harder.
“And he loves being called—”
The chair clattered loudly as Bro shot up. Before you could finish, his massive hand wrapped around your wrist and he hauled you out of your seat like you weighed nothing. Awkward goodbyes were muttered as he dragged you out of the café and down the busy street, your complaints falling on deaf ears.
He didn’t stop until he shoved you into a quiet alley, pressing your back against the wall with his enormous frame. One huge hand clamped firmly over your mouth, muffling your squawk of protest. His other hand pinned your hip, caging you completely.
“Chiquita,” he rumbled low, warm chocolate eyes now filled with disappointment and a hint of embarrassment. “You don’t go spilling that kinda business in public. Not about me. Not about anyone.”
You tried to mumble against his palm, but his hand stayed sealed tight—big enough that his fingers easily covered your mouth and part of your cheeks. The sheer size difference made your knees feel weak.
Bro sighed, forehead resting against yours for a moment. “I hate disciplinin’ you like you’re Dear… but sometimes you need it, huh?”
He kept his hand over your mouth a little longer, thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly while he let you squirm. Only when your struggling eased did he slowly pull it away, replacing it with a gentle but firm kiss to your forehead.
“Just… don’t do it again, okay?”
___________________
Enjin
You were bent over Semiu’s desk, palms flat on the cool surface as she pointed out the latest mission notes. Too engrossed in the conversation to notice the heavy footsteps approaching from behind.
You definitely felt him, though.
Enjin’s large, tattooed hand cracked across your raised ass so hard the sound echoed off the concrete walls like a gunshot. You yelped, fingers gripping the edge of the desk as you whipped your head over your shoulder to glare at him.
“The fuck was that for?” you snapped, cheeks already burning.
He just grinned—that lazy, shit-eating grin that carved deep dimples into his face—and gave a nonchalant shrug, golden eyes sparkling with pure mischief.
Your blood boiled.
You spun on your heel to face him fully, fists clenched at your sides. “You wanna die, asshole?”
Enjin’s smirk only deepened. In one smooth motion he stepped in close, one big hand shooting up to grab your face. His palm cupped your jaw as his thumb and fingers dug into your cheeks, squishing them together and forcing your lips into a perfect, helpless little O.
“Damn, trouble. You kiss your favorite Cleaner with that mouth?” he drawled, voice low and rough.
“Fuck you.”
You tried to wrench away, gripping his wrist with both hands and kicking uselessly at the floor, but he didn’t budge. The more you struggled, the wider his grin got. Heat flooded your face—anger, embarrassment, something hotter underneath.
So you did the only thing left.
You gathered every bit of saliva in your mouth and tried to spit at him.
It didn’t work.
Because of the way he was holding your face, all that spit just spilled helplessly over your forced pout and dripped down your chin in a thick, embarrassing trail. Enjin’s golden eyes darkened instantly, the playful glint sharpening into something dangerous.
You fucked up.
He yanked you forward by your face, crashing his mouth down onto your pouted lips. You gasped against him as his tongue shoved past the forced O and invaded your mouth, hot and demanding. He didn’t give you a chance to recover—his tongue slid over yours, pinned it down, licked deep like he was punishing every bratty word you’d tried to say. The grip on your face stayed firm, keeping your cheeks squished and your lips soft and pliant for him to devour.
Wet, messy sounds filled the quiet foyer. You could feel the drool on your chin mixing with the kiss as he claimed every inch of your mouth, tongue fucking into you until your knees felt weak.
When he finally pulled back, a thin string of spit connected your lips for a second before it broke. Your eyes were hazy, cheeks flushed dark red, chest heaving.
Enjin smiled down at you, canines flashing as his thumb dragged across your spit-slick chin.
“You done talking now?”
Your only answer was a soft, broken whine as your thighs pressed together, the fight completely kissed out of you.
There’s nothing in the world that gets him harder than sinking his cock down your tight throat and fucking your mouth like a second pussy. He’ll lounge back against the headboard, one tattooed hand lazily tangled in your hair, golden eyes half-lidded and that shit-eating grin carved deep into his cheeks while he guides you exactly how he wants it—slow and sloppy at first, then ruthless when you start to drool.
He loves the way your throat bulges, the wet gagging sounds, the tears that spill when he holds you down just a little too long. He’ll buck up lazily, chasing that tight heat, cursing low and filthy when you swallow around him. And when he finally spills down your throat? He keeps you there, grinding through it with a low groan, making sure you take every drop like the good little barrack bunny you are.
But when he does eat you? He’s mean and greedy about it.
You never see it coming. One minute you’re teasing him—maybe straddling his lap in the common room after everyone else has crashed, grinding against the growing bulge in his pants just to watch those golden eyes darken. The next, he’s got you pinned on your back on the nearest flat surface, knees shoved up to your chest, his broad shoulders keeping you spread open.
Enjin doesn’t tease. He devours.
His mouth is hot and relentless, tongue dragging through your folds like he’s starving, sucking hard on your clit until your hips jerk and you’re crying out. He’ll growl against your soaked cunt when you try to close your thighs, strong tattooed hands gripping harder, holding you wide open so he can bury his face deeper. Two thick fingers curl inside you without warning, pumping mercilessly while his tongue flicks and laps at your clit in messy, greedy strokes.
He eats you like he’s trying to ruin you—loud, wet, obscene sounds filling the room as he sucks and licks and fucks you with his fingers and tongue. He’ll pull back just when you’re about to tip over, grinning that infuriating dimpled smirk while you whine and try to chase his mouth.
When he finally lets you tip over the edge, he doesn’t stop. He keeps going—greedy, mean, overstimulating you through it until you’re shaking and sobbing, thighs trembling around his head. Only then does he pull back, lips shiny and chin wet, looking far too pleased with himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
__________________________
Zanka: Zanka also prefers to be eaten. Finally using your mouth for something other than teasing him with your bratty quips.
He’s not as openly cocky as Enjin, but there’s a quiet intensity to it that makes it even hotter. He’ll sit on the edge of his bed or lean back against the wall in some shadowed corner of HQ, legs spread just enough for you to settle between them. One hand rests on the back of your head—firm but not forceful—guiding you slowly down his cock with that familiar stern expression.
His lips press into a tight, controlled line, navy eyes locked on yours like he’s trying to prove he’s completely unaffected. But his leaking cock gives him away, twitching hard against your tongue every time you swirl it around the head or take him deeper. The faint flush creeping up his neck and the way his fingers tighten in your hair betray how much he’s fighting not to thrust up into your warm, wet mouth.
He loves the eye contact, even if he denies it—those big, watery eyes looking up at him while your lips stretch around him. It makes him feel in control, even when his cock is leaking steadily down your throat and his breathing starts to hitch. He won’t moan loudly, but you’ll catch the quiet, shaky exhales and the way his abs tense under your hands.
But when he does eat you? He’s totally mean about it—in that stubborn, childish Zanka way.
He’s weirdly squeamish about going down on a woman, muttering about how it’s “gross” or “not necessary” even while his fingers are already buried inside you. He prefers using those long, bony fingers—fucking them past your folds with precise, almost clinical strokes, calloused pad grinding firm circles against your clit when he feels like being generous.
You’ll be spread open on his lap or pinned beneath him, whimpering and rocking against his hand while he watches your face with that stern, slightly flushed expression. Complaining that you’re squirming too much.
Only when you start begging—really begging, praising him in that breathy voice he secretly craves—does he finally relent. Despite complaining about how much of a spoiled brat you are and that this is just to shut you up.
But once his mouth is on you? The complaints don’t stop, even as his lips attach to your clit in gentle, almost reverent sucks. He’ll grumble between licks, while his tongue flicks and circles with surprising skill, fingers still pumping steadily. He acts like he’s doing you a huge favor, but the way he presses his face closer, the soft hums vibrating against you, and how he refuses to stop even after you’ve come once tell a different story.
He’s mean in his reluctance, but thorough once he gives in. And the whole time he’s eating you out, he’ll keep that tight-lipped control—until you praise him again, then watch his ears turn red as he doubles his efforts just to shut you up.
____________________
Gris: Gris lives for your pleasure.
Of course, he likes having you between his legs like any other man—those big, calloused hands gently guiding your head as you take him into your mouth, his low, rumbling groans vibrating through his chest while he praises you in that deep, steady voice. But it’s never his main focus.
There’s something about watching you fall apart for him that hits different. That’s where he truly thrives.
He’s more than happy to spend hours between your plump thighs while you lay comfy on his bed, completely relaxed and taken care of. Gris will kneel right at the edge of the frame, broad shoulders settled between your spread legs, giving you the entire bed to sprawl out on. No rush. No selfishness. Just pure, focused devotion to making you feel good.
He starts slow and thorough—large hands gripping the soft meat of your thighs, holding you open as he kisses and nips along your inner legs, working his way up until his warm breath fans over your already slick folds. When his mouth finally closes over you, it’s with a deep, satisfied hum, like he’s the one being fed after a long mission.
Gris doesn’t tease for the sake of being mean. He teases because he wants to draw every little sound, every shiver, every roll of your hips out of you. His tongue is broad and patient—long, slow licks through your folds, circling your clit with just the right pressure, then dipping inside you like he can’t get enough of your taste. He’ll suck gently on your clit, then firmer when your fingers thread desperately into his blond hair.
He can stay down there for ages, strong arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you anchored while you squirm and cry out. When you get close he doesn’t pull away—he doubles down, groaning encouragingly into your pussy as you come on his tongue, working you through it with steady, relentless strokes until you’re shaking and oversensitive.
And even then? He doesn’t stop right away. He’ll keep licking you softly, almost reverently, cleaning you up while you catch your breath, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs and mound like he’s worshipping you.
Only when you’re boneless and glowing does he finally rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up the bed to pull you into his arms. Then he’ll kiss your forehead, voice low and warm against your hair and praise you about how well you did for him.
_______________________________
Follo: Poor Follo can’t decide.
He loves the feeling of sinking into your soft throat, rutting into your mouth like a desperate mutt in heat—whining and panting, hips jerking forward in short, eager thrusts while his honey brown eyes flutter half-shut in bliss. But he also loves having his head between your thighs, lapping at your clit with such ferocity it makes your head spin. The way he buries his face in your pussy, moaning like he’s the one getting spoiled, tongue working desperately against your swollen clit and slick folds.
So most nights, you two end up in a messy, eager sixty-nine—with Follo on top so he can have the best of both worlds.
He’ll crawl over you with that needy, flushed expression, sharp black bangs falling into his eyes as he swings a leg over your head. The second his cock slides past your lips he lets out a broken little whimper, hips already twitching forward, chasing the wet heat of your mouth. At the same time, he drops his face between your spread thighs like a man starved, arms wrapping around your hips to pull your pussy flush against his mouth.
Follo doesn’t do anything halfway. While he’s fucking your throat in shallow, greedy rolls of his hips—leaking steadily, balls brushing the bridge of your nose—he’s devouring your cunt like it’s oxygen. His tongue is relentless: messy, wet circles around your clit, long licks through your folds, sucking noisily whenever your thighs start to tremble. He moans and whines the whole time, the vibrations shooting straight through you, hips stuttering harder every time you gag or swallow around him.
You're just along for the ride—a warm, slick hole for that eager, puppy-like boy as he devours you completely, from top to bottom.
He sets the pace—frantic and needy—rocking between your mouth and your pussy like he can’t decide which feels better. Hands usually ending up gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks, holding you right where he wants you while he loses himself completely.
When he gets close he gets even sloppier, face pressed so tight against your cunt he can barely breathe, tongue flicking wildly over your clit as he fucks your throat with desperate little snaps of his hips.
He’ll whimper against your pussy about being close, the words vibrating deliciously before he tips over the edge with a muffled, broken cry, spilling hot down your throat while he keeps licking you through your own orgasm like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
Even after he finishes, Follo stays buried between your thighs for a while longer—nuzzling, licking softly, pressing lazy kisses to your oversensitive clit like he just can’t help himself.
______________________________
Bro: Bro is the perfect mix of Gris and Follo.
He truly loves eating you out. At thirty-five, the massive Cleaner knows exactly how to make you cum—how to work that huge tongue in ways that leave you shaking and sobbing. But none of that experience stops him from devouring you like a starving man who’s finally found salvation between your thighs.
He eats you with the raw, passionate hunger of an inexperienced teenager—long, dragging licks of that broad tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit, groaning deep in his chest like your taste is the best thing he’s ever had. His hands grip your ass or thighs with reverent strength, pulling you closer as he laps messily and noisily. Sucking gently on your folds before flicking that thick tongue against your swollen clit over and over.
He’ll rumble, voice low and commanding, that you sit on his face. He doesn’t ask. He demands it. No matter how embarrassed the position makes you, no matter how much you hesitate—he’ll simply grab your hips and pull you down until you’re properly smothering him.
And once you’re there? He’s in heaven.
Bro’s huge tongue works you relentlessly—long, fat licks that cover your entire pussy, swirling around your clit before dipping inside you. He moans and hums the whole time, the vibrations shooting through your core as he eats you like he’ll die if he stops. His massive cock is rock hard and leaking profusely in his pants, throbbing painfully against the fabric, but he couldn’t care less. He won’t let you touch it. Growling against your dripping cunt if you try to reach for him, his focus wanting to be solely on you.
When the orgasms start hitting you hard and you eventually fall forward, exhausted and trembling against his broad chest, Bro simply wraps one massive arm around your waist and holds you there— trapping you against his warm, solid body. His other hand stays on your ass, guiding you to keep grinding against his face while he continues slurping and sucking on your clit like it’s his favorite treat.
He won’t stop until he’s satisfied. Until your thighs are shaking uncontrollably and you’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. Only then will he finally ease up, pressing soft, almost apologetic kisses to your oversensitive pussy before gently maneuvering you off his face.
__________________________________
Tamsy: Honestly? Tamsy doesn’t actually care for either.
What he does care about is the psychological edge. The delicious power of having you completely at his mercy, whether you’re choking on his cock or falling apart under his fingers. He thrives on control, on watching that sharp, bratty mouth of yours reduced to desperate, broken sounds.
When you’re on your knees for him, he’s merciless in the most elegant way possible. He’ll hold you down on his cock with one graceful hand tangled in your hair, forcing every inch down your throat until your cheeks burn red and your eyes water. Your fists pound weakly against his thighs while he coos at how cute your fighting is, in that velvet-smooth voice, golden eyes half-lidded with dark satisfaction.
He keeps you there right on the edge—until your vision starts to blur and your lungs scream—only releasing you at the very last second. He watches impassively as you pull off gasping, coughing, and sucking in desperate gulps of air. Saliva drips down your chin while you struggle to recover, him just watching you with that soft innocent smile of his while his eyes beam with sadistic cruelty under long lashes.
When it’s your turn to be on the receiving end, he’s even more devastating.
He’ll have your arms bound tightly behind your back, face pressed flush into his mattress as he fingers you with cruel precision. Two elegant fingers curling perfectly against that spot inside you, over and over, until you’re squirting all over his hand and the sheets. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going—pulling orgasm after squirting orgasm from your exhausted body until you’re delirious, shaking, and babbling from dehydration and overstimulation.
Only when you’re truly begging for mercy, voice hoarse and broken, does he finally give you something new.
He’ll hook his thumb into your ass, using it as leverage to yank your hips higher. Then that refined, angelic mouth latches onto your abused clit in a nasty, messy suck—tongue swirling and lips slurping loudly, completely at odds with his usual pristine image. The contrast is filthy and overwhelming. He’ll keep that thumb buried deep, tugging and pressing while he devours you until you’re screaming into the sheets.
So I'm nearly at 1k followers. OMG, really? Yeah and to celebrate I wanted to open the floor to you guys. I'll be picking out a few requests to do as a thank you for all your support. (Even though I'm heavily behind on my own WIPs... lol)
Anyway, feel free to request whatever. It can be kink or not, as long as it revolves around Bunny. NSFW or not. And don't feel afraid to ask for characters I haven't wrote for yet. (I'm look at you August fic that's growing cobwebs -sigh-)
And thank you again for helping me for getting to nearly 1k! You guys are the bestest!
hi hi lunnie!! i just found ur writing and im literally in love like marry me PLEASEUHHH anyway currently thinking about gris... he's so secretly freaky husband material like hello!! gris would absolutely collapse over ur panties cuz hes so pervy. love how u write him <3
lets get married bby, where you wanna go, ibiza? kyoto? lemme know im ready for marriage
but yes, come sit down with me, let's discuss our lovey dovey hubby, gris <33
that man is a FREAK. LIKE. i dont care, i am telling all of you he's all sweet and innocent, the guy who makes you think he's nothing but a vanilla guy in the bedroom and he would never, ever do anything crazy
but he's the guy who's kissing your forehead as you sob through overstimulation when he comes back to your shared room after a conversation with follo, cooing as he wipes your tears away with that stupid, sweet smile
"hi, sweetheart, you okay? mm, you probably can't answer that, can you? no, not when you're all fucked out like this. just from a vibrator on high? tch, we gotta train you a lil better, hun, one day i'm not gonna want you to cum at all when i'm gone."
oh he's evil, absolute evil. the type to have you give him your panties in the middle of a date right there at the booth. he doesn't care if you are in public, you're a smart girl, figure it out. and yes he will be teasing the fuck out of you if you stand up to leave and there's a little wet spot left behind.
"aww, poor thing...if you're that wet, your panties wouldn't have helped much, would they," he'd tease as you hurriedly wipe it off the seat with a wet wipe as you hush him.
but he can be soooo fucking desperate too that it's hot, whining against your pussy as he all but humps your leg, begging, pleading for you to just give him a peak at your pussy.
"please, princess, it's all i need, just a look? yeah? promise i'll be nice, maybe even just give her a lil kiss, let her know i miss her, 'm just so pent up, could cum just from looking at her--"
oh and he's got a scent kink real bad, like...im talking he's huffing and groaning into your cunt THROUGH your shorts/pants, not even panties, because he's just a perverted dog of a man who's sniffing your scent as he kneels between your legs, stroking his cock as he practically purrs his thanks to you for letting him do something this gross
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𓂃🪶 Good things cum to those who wait. The Missus, however, has been testing that patience. Now its time to demonstrate the direct correlation fucking around leads you to finding out.
Gris Rubion x Reader
18+ Smut. MDNI. Porn No Plot.
Wife!Reader. Chubby Reader. POC Reader no descriptors used.
No Anime Spoilers. No Manga Spoilers
Frottage, CMNF, Cunnilingus, Cumplay (Breasts f. receiving), Creampie, Manhandling (tosses you like your salad), Light Choking, Brat Taming, Dom Gris, Wall Sex, Improper Use of Communication Choker, Men's Work Boots
That's a good man, Savannah🥹
Word Count: 3K
A/N: More of a drabble that I played around with while work was slow today. Also can I just say, holy moley! I did not expect that much interaction from the Enjin fic. I think that's the most traction anything I've ever wrote has gotten. Thanks for all the sweet comments.
It had been assignment after assignment after assignment for weeks now. Clusters of trash beast herds, packs, prides, flocks, murders, colonies–believe him there was more–kept surfacing. It had been weeks trying to find the source to nip this particular infestation in the bud. At long last the source was neutralized and they were to return home.
The traditional dinner was what kept everyone going. Gris was a professional man that kept his personal thoughts personal. He never once complained. He never once spoke of home or his plans upon his return. Only when in the parking garage did Gris reveal his plans differing from the group.
Gris excused himself from attending the congratulatory dinner, claiming that above all he wanted to shower. No one stopped him, completely understanding. That was technically not a lie. Gris did shower and put on the only thing available which was a fresh clean set of uniform, boots, and everything underneath.
It had been a long while, too long away from his wife. He knew as soon as he saw you it would be all over and so he stretched the torture a while longer to make sure he did not sully you. Ever the considerate man.
Gris had returned to base multiple times between these assignments. He was, however, like a tumbleweed. His team was never back for even an hour before the alert of the next cluster was spotted. He had passed you by a few times. Stoic faced but you knew the truth he hid below.
He was a private man.
In those windows the aching got worse and worse. The sight of you, the sound of you, the mere thought of you drove him mad while away. The last time had ended in a spat. In the time apart since, when heads cooled the both of you knew it was never about whatever trivial thing that served as the final straw. Honestly, neither of you could even remember what it was anymore. In any case the truth was simple. You missed each other.
Gris attempted to exchange apologies for his poor behavior over the communications collar. As the devious woman that you were, you accepted his but did not offer yours. He knew what game this was.
You forgave each other almost instantly. Had realized maybe an hour, tops, what it was really about. Yet you decided, throughout the entire length of this final mission, to deliberately be a complete, utter spoiled brat. Every little thing you could think of to undermine, torment or plague Gris, you did.
You forgave each other, of course you did. You missed one another. So you did everything in your power to make this reunion volcanic. It was a dangerous game and you were both about to reap all the rewards.
“Darling?”
It was silent in your shared quarters when the door shut behind him. You were sat directly across from him. Blades of light striping across the floor between you through drawn blinds.
“My love,” A pur. In nothing but a flimsy slip but one that kept just everything technically out of view. Legs crossed, caused it to ride up just so. Thin material cradled nipples that stood at attention already.
“Don’t try to be sweet now.”
“Me? But I am a sweetheart.” You uncrossed your legs.
Gris closed his eyes to cover how they rolled to the back of his head. There was nothing beneath. “Hardly acted as such in times of late.”
“Only ever when the time was late though.” You winked and then the ultimate pin on the grenade. You put on the saddest little smile and tugged at his heartstrings. “You’re right though. I have forgotten myself as of late, husband. Entirely because I don’t know if I can even still call you that. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to be a wife.”
He swallowed. His tone, warning. “Off. All of it.”
You heeded. You stood and let the slip fall. Now the truth laid bare before you both, as naked as you were. Your mouth tucked into an almost imperceptible little smirk. A crook in one corner. But above that, sad eyes, that begged for him, feared for him, waited for him. You stood there in anticipation for his next command with bated breath.
“Crawl.”
A shiver ran down your back. You dropped down to your knees and on all fours crossed the blades between you. Momentarily striped like a tiger with a smile on your face and lovestruck eyes that did not break away from his. You sat up directly at his feet.
“Beg.” You tilted your head, confused. “Show me how much you missed me.”
You smiled. “Permission to touch you?”
“Permission granted.”
You lifted your hands to rest on his thighs for momentary support as you repositioned yourself. You widened your kneeling position and lowered. Your raw, naked, aching cunt rested on his new boots. The rough material dug in nicely. The coarse laces provided delicious texture and friction. With the sultriest, vixen eyes you wrapped your arms around one of his thighs and began rocking.
Gris let out a deep, pained groan at the sight. You, completely bare, on your knees and fucking yourself by grinding your cunt on his boot. All while keeping those evil eyes on him.
“You needy thing.”
You simply nodded. “I always need you.”
“Very well, cum on my boot.”
You put down your weight and rocked. The rough material of his boot dug between your lips and your clit lilted on him. You could feel your nipples ache from the eroticism of the whole spectacle. You built a nice rhythm and as a result it looked like you were practically riding his boot.
Gris Rubion was also evil like his wife. He tapped his foot. Following your rhythm, he added to the delectable pressure. You moaned shamelessly against his thigh. Gris watched transfixed at your display.
He raised a hand to his mouth and bit on a fingertip, pulling a glove off. He raised his other hand to your mouth, silent command to follow his example. You repeated but made sure to kiss the back of his hand before you did.
He threw aside his glove and took the one you possessed. A momentary game of tug-of-war before you released. He tossed that aside too.
He undid his belt slowly, methodically, eye level with you. He made sure he made you watch. He knew how much you liked watching him work off his belt. You licked your lips and ground down hard on his tapping boot that had bounced up at just the right moment. You moaned on him. He pulled out his cock and told you to simply watch.
“Is this what you missed, my dear?”
You nodded.
He worked himself in his hand. Told you that you two would not touch each other any further, as you pleased yourselves to your first respective orgasms. Stretching out the longing just one little bit longer, all to build the eagerness to a fever pitch. You rode his boot like a madwoman. He worked his cock and admired your desperation. His beautiful love that missed him so much she would take even this, the mere sight of him and his boot alone.
“Fuck yourself and cum at my feet.”
And you did. Pressing your tits into his leg to alleviate the aching in your nipples, you bounced, bobbed and rocked on his shoe. Timed your motions with his tapping, placed the rocking so the round of his steel toed boots would prod your entrance. The tangle of laces and the bite of aglets dug against your lips, your folds. Dug into your swollen clit that throbbed.
You moaned like a tramp watching those strong hands you missed work the cock you longed for. Both only a few mere inches from your face. You left your mouth hanging open in hopes to catch a taste of his release when he reached it. Any scrap of him.
“Fuck.” His hand tried it best to mimic the pressure of you around him. “Close your mouth.”
“Hm?” Hurt little eyes looked up at him but listened anyway.
“You heard me.”
You whimpered and humped against the boot that tapped with heavier steps.
“Mnngh,”
He felt you convulse around his leg. The tremors sent him over the edge as well. Gris made sure to aim on those pretty tits and those delicate nipples. Ropes of his cum streamed onto your skin in creamy ribbons. You pushed your eager breasts forward, like an offering.
You panted there together in the darkened room.
With one of his bare hands he took hold of you by the jaw. The first instance of skin on skin contact in ages. You gasped against him.
With the other, Gris removed his communication choker.
“You want to be mine again? Okay, I'm going to make you mine again.”
He clicked the red cord around your neck, keeping two fingers hooked onto the choker. He pulled you forward by his collar. “Prepare me.”
You took his half hard length in hand and gave a few pumps before taking him in your mouth for a spell. Savored the taste and relished in the feel of him coming back to life between your lips.
All the while he took off his shirt and stood bare chested before you. When he deemed the time ready he took hold of you by the scruff of your neck, Gris tore you off of him and placed his hat on your head at the same time.
“Stand.” He didn’t even let you do it himself. That famous inhuman strength you adored lifted you to your feet. He dipped down for a moment and lifted you into his arms with a teasing little toss that sent your heart out of your throat. He smiled at the panic before he had you settled with your thighs hooked over his elbows.
Gris turned and pressed you against the door before he sent you into another squealing panic by bouncing you up so your thighs were now over his shoulders. Your hand flew to your head to keep his cap on. No matter how many times he did this the fear of being so far off the ground added to the thrill.
Legs dangling, back against the door, Gris brought your pussy to face level with him, six feet some change high off the ground and feasted. Your fingers threaded through his hair. You both moaned the second his mouth made contact. His tastebuds were flooded with the familiar flavor of his lovely, lonely lady.
Your thighs squeezed around his head and he moaned into you. Those strong hands sunk into your softness. He rocked his head left to right, as if he could nestle deeper into you. You clutched onto his hair and pulled with all your strength, pitiful compared to his.
You called his name in whispers and sighs. His forehead pressed into your belly, his nose into your clit and Gris moaned into your succulent pussy. He had a celebratory supper after all.
When he heard your pitchy little gasps and felt your weak tugs at his roots, he burrowed. He did not relent the whole way through, basking in the shudders of his wife, that quivered and shook all around him. When he finally unlatched, he gave a parting scan of you with the flat of his tongue. Lapping up any remnants of your sap he might have missed.
With a sudden jump you shrieked, as he dropped you and caught you at his hips. He righted his hat and scolded you. “Now, Mrs. Rubion, you wouldn’t want to startle people.”
He was met with a hysterical, breathy smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rubion.”
He pressed his whole body against you into the door. Chest to chest, his cum from earlier smearing between you both. Gris kissed you deep. He made sure to conduct a thorough sweep of these lips as well. You could taste yourself on him. He could feel a droplet, a mix of both his pre and your sap, trickle down the underside of his length from your weeping pussy.
“Foul, evil wife.” He finally pulled away.
“Neglectful, absent husband.” You tapped between his collar bone.
And you know what? Gris took that personally.
Abruptly and without further ado, Gris buried his cock into you. Your head rolled back and met the door in response when he did. That initial slide always pulled a united, harmonious moan from the both of you.
Gris was ruthless. He gave slow, deliberate, deep, heavy slams. His strength sent impact waves that coursed straight through you, skin rippling, and rattled the door. Who was being the loud one now? Anyone that passed by the hall outside need not venture any guessing how the demurest Mr. and Mrs. Rubion were doing.
Anchored in place between him and the door, Gris dipped his head and helped himself to your neck. The shock of his heavy strokes stole any control of your voice from you, only capable of breathless gasps, silent screams and involuntary high notes.
You clung to him like a vine. When you first got together he was scared he might break you like this. Now he knew exactly how sturdy his wife was and how delicate his wife was. Mastered when to soften and when to hew. When to demolish and when to caress. You missed him, this was a day to raze the threshold of your home together.
It thrilled you how much stronger he was. How a man with the capacity to snap you in half held you, dandled you, kneaded you, crushed you. Protected you. Head and eyes rolled back, you went completely limp, sheer dead weight in his arms, as you let him ravage you. Have his fill, which gave you yours. At his total mercy.
You made sure throughout this long while apart Gris had no mercy left in his heart.
You’re not sure how much time went by having lost track of, well, anything. Disorientated and discombobulated, the only thing that snapped you back was the introduction of a third voice.
“Gris, your mission report.”
You both snapped at attention. You almost whined but he shushed you with a finger over your lips. He looked at you with that soft yet stern look in his eye. He did not pause or slow his pace. “I need you to be quiet, okay? If not, I am going to be very disappointed in you.”
“Okay…” You whimpered weakly.
“Do you think you’ll need some help?”
“Mhm,”
“Okay, darling.” Gris slid his hand, strong and gentle, around your throat. He lightly squeezed on the sides. Air became sparse, your head spun, he did not stop slamming into you. With the hand around your throat resting underneath his communication choker, he answered. Gris responded low and serious and professional, just how you liked listening to him speak everyday.
In an inverted mockery of a lover whispering into your ear, he leant into the crook of your neck and answered the call. You could feel his breath on your skin. A cruel reversal of the intimacy of when he whispered to you, only now HQ was the one he spoke to.
“Target was neutralized.”
Plomp!
…
Plomp!
…
Plomp!
Deep, slow, heavy slams into your cunt. His thrusts were so hefty, your bodies slickened in sweat and cum, there was an obscene suction sound when he pulled back. His unforgiving grip around your throat caused you to go dizzy. Your mouth hung open, gasping silent screams. It took all your focus and will not to release even the slightest whimpers you were still perfectly capable of and desperate to ring out.
“The polluted zone was infested with low level trash beast herds.” He pressed his face into your side, his deep voice vibrating into you.
“The job was done within the day we made contact.” Gris had to grit his teeth between thrusts. “No injuries. No complications. Inventory still fully stocked and in no need for replenishment.”
Plomp!
…
Plomp!
“Any chance for additional spawning?”
“None, we uprooted the heart of the infestation.”
“Perfect. And your fellow supporters’ performance review?”
Plomp!
…
“Tomme exemplified excellent precision in the heat of emergency.” Gris bit you.
“That’s good to hear. As for Follo?”
“Eager to demonstrate himself and exceeded his own expectations.” He kissed where he bit, right on your pulse. “All in all, phenomenal work and prodigious potential still to go.”
Plomp!
…
Plomp!
“Thank you, Gris. Enjoy your leave, sign off.”
“This is Gris, signing off.”
The collar ended the transmission and the voice disappeared. He released the pressure on your throat but kept his hand there. You inhaled the shrillest breath you had ever taken. He admired you as you did.
“I will very much enjoy my leave.” He hammered like he meant to nail you into the wood. He slugged like you were his greatest opponent. He battered your punishment, or reward, for the endless nights of teasing and infuriating bratiness. He fucked you back into the good woman he knew you were.
“Gris!” You clung to him and pitched into his ear.
“I know, dear. I know, me too.” He kissed you before ripping himself away to lock in and focus. Gris slid his face beside yours, pressed his forehead into the door. Gris lost all sense and decency. Gris worshipped you with his pulverising might. His soft, plush, beautiful, evil, good, lonely wife sang his favorite song into his ear as you came hard around him.
Gris shattered.
With one more concluding collision Gris came inside you, the woman he adored. Weeks of yearning emptied into you. Endless waiting spilled into you. Ceaseless longing filled you to the brim with seed and overflowed, droplets hitting the floor beneath. Gris collapsed against you, keeping you pinned there between him and the door that later on you came to learn took all his will not to rattle clean off its hinges.
You remained there, dangling limp in the air, panting and basking in the other’s presence. You found the strength to hold him to your sticky chest, combed loving fingers through sweaty blonde hair.
“I missed you.” You whispered in the dark.
“I know, darling.”
“Don’t leave me like that again.”
He chuckled without humor into your skin, kissed it tenderly. “As you wish, my evil, spoiled, dearest wife.”
