#mastubating

a/n: a wise person (@bullseyefuck3r) once said "i wanna suck off dex in a church while he's bleeding out." i wholeheartedly agree. this takes place after another time dex wipes out a bunch of avtf agents like in 02x04 but he gets a little bit more roughed up :p

mdni of course, blood and wounds, oral (m receiving), reader masturbates briefly using dex's blood :p

over the course of two years volunteering at the church, you'd never seen anything quite like benjamin poindexter stumbling through the church's doors looking like hell had been set loose upon him.

you stood at the altar, setting candles up for the next mass, when you heard the familiar creak of the doors being pushed open. you turned around to greet the visitor but you yourself were greeted by the sight of the man in a blue compression shirt and black tactical pants slightly limping towards a pew before groaning as he sat down—like moving at all was agonising.

you don't know how between fussing over him and bandaging up his wounds you ended up knelt on a prayer cushion between his legs, but you weren't mad at it.

he grunted roughly as his hand without the sprained wrist practically fisted your scalp as he forced your head further down his cock. you desperately clasped at his knees as you sucked him off, knowing better than to protest his harsh actions. also, you were enjoying it. it wouldn't make sense to stop him.

your eyes watered as his leaking tip started to prod against your soft palate. you looked up at him through his lashes and hoped he'd look at you. as soon as his demeaning gaze met yours, your eyelids fluttered shut. you couldn't help but remove a hand from his knee and lift it up to a weeping gash on his jaw. a few crimson drops coat your fingertips and you shamelessly slip your hand into your pants.

you keep bobbing your head on his cock as you start to rub his blood onto your clit. the viscosity of it blends perfectly with your arousal and you swear you could come on the spot.

dex watches your ministrations with completely undivided attention before choking out another low groan. his hand on your head pulls you up by your hair and shoves you back onto his cock at an almost violent pace before he finally comes, shooting ropes down your throat. you almost don't even have to swallow with how deep you had taken him.

your own orgasm follows shortly after, and dex watches as you twitch slightly, whining in pleasure around his softening cock before releasing it from your mouth.

you don't make any move to get up and just gaze at him from your place on the floor. dex grins at you, sharp and uncannily at ease for how beaten up he was.

you got the idea he wanted to stay in the church for a while longer.

That one smile too far

fandom: K-pop demons hunters

Pairing: Rumi X reader

Warning: smut, 18+, jealousy, light touching

“Here you are,” y/n exclaimed with a smile on her lips, her eyes shining as she handed the newly signed photo to the fan.

The signing had just begun, and it was going to be a long, exhausting afternoon for the Huntrix. But the worst part? The Saja Boys.

That damned demonic band had shown up demanding two separate tables for signing, clearly attempting to attract more fans. But Rumi wouldn't allow it: such a gesture would split the audience in half, creating unnecessary tension and rivalry. With a firm tone and a look that brooked no argument, she suggested they all sit at the same table.

But Rumi had already regretted it.

What else was he supposed to do? you had been gone for so long and your underwear smelled just like you.

1.7k words of Ryland Grace touching himself to your panties

smut, masturbation, sub!ryland grace

Cross posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84677756

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You had been gone for a week now. Something about a work trip. Ryland wasn’t sure anymore, all he knew was that he missed you. The man thought of you every waking moment of the day. He went to bed thinking of you. You were the first thing on his mind when his eyes opened to the sound of his aggravating alarm. Getting out of bed was easier without your warmth pulling him back under the covers. The first few days were easy on the doctor, but his attention was quick to falter. Towards the end of the week, his colleagues noticed a shift in his presence; it was almost concerning how he carried himself throughout the day. He didn’t care about the whispers, he missed you.

The best part of his day was coming home to unwind with you. Dealing with his classes this week frustrated him more than it usually did. You weren’t there to help him shake off the tension of the day. Ryland fumbled for his keys as he stood at the door of your shared apartment. He opened the door but not without struggling with the lock. Exhausted was an understatement. He shut the door with a loud slam, his back pressed flush against the wood. His eyes found the whiteboard calendar hung up beside the door. You scribbled in the days you would be gone. To his dismay, you wouldn’t return till the weekend. He puffed his cheeks out, his posture sinking even further. He needed you to help him carry the burden of his stress. He pushed himself off the door, kicking his shoes off and leaving his backpack haphazardly by the door. 

His feet dragged across the hardwood as he navigated to the bedroom. Ryland’s foot collided with the hamper, the teacher stumbling back with yelp. He remembered you had promised to do the laundry before your departure, but the weight of the hamper told another story. His hand came up to the back of his neck, he might as well do it before you return. It would take his mind off things. 

Ryland carried the hamper to the laundry room - if you could even call it that. It was more so a closet that housed the washer and dryer. His hands absentmindedly threw clothes into the washer. The fabrics were a mix of yours and Ryland’s. The two of you did laundry together to save time and a bit of money on the water bill; living in San Francisco was far from cheap. His fingers rubbed a foreign piece of cloth. His eyes flew to his hand, seeing his digits clasp around lace. He was slow to pull the garment out, a sparkle that had been gone returning to his eyes. It was a pair of black lace panties with a pink bow on the front. He had bought these for you a few months ago, the memory of you wearing them clear in his mind. 

The two of you were as sexually active as any other couple was, so you leaving for a week shouldn’t be this detrimental to him. However, the way his dick twitched against the denim of his jeans told him otherwise. His eyes were fixated on the piece of lingerie. His mouth fell slightly agape and his breathing picked up. His mind filled with images of you wearing the intimate piece of clothing. The sight of you bent over with the panties being just sheer enough to see the outline of your cunt, or the thought of peeling the fabric off you the same way he would with wrapping paper off an anticipated gift. The feeling of his glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose brought him back down to earth. Ryland pushed his spectacles back towards his face. His fingers tightened around your panties. His head craned up, his eyes now glued to the wall.

This was wrong. He felt pathetic. It was violating for him to take your unclean laundry and use it for his filthy fantasies. But he missed you, oh how he yearned for your touch. Ryland tried to convince himself to throw the garment into the washer and start the load, he had other chores to attend to. As much as he told himself he would, his fingers never loosened their grip around the lace. Grace swallowed thickly, his eyes trailing back down to the fabric intertwined within his digits. Ryland had touched himself plenty while you were gone, but it wasn’t enough; it never was. He wanted to smell you, to feel you, to *taste* you. The feeling of his now aching cock against his jeans only convinced him further to keep the soiled panties aside for his own guilty pleasure. The thought crossed his mind, using your clothes as a medium to touch himself to. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt so *dirty* just thinking about it. 

The battle in Ryland’s head wagered on, his eyes fixated on your panties. His hand moved without thinking. Before he could fully realize it, his nose was deep in the gusset of the pair. Taking a deep inhale of your musk forced his eyes to roll back. A shot of electricity traveled down his spine and hit his aching member. A small whine escaped between his lips. His need for you transcended reason. Ryland’s free hand made its way down to his crotch. He flexed his fingers, now palming his dick that was begging for attention. He stood like that for a moment, inhaling your sweat and using it as fire to fuel his never ending daydreams. 

It wasn’t until the ache began to hurt that he took his ministrations a step further. Ryland unbuckled his belt, swiftly pulling out his cock. The tip was red with anger, precum dripped and  collected under the head. His finger traced along a prominent vein that decorated the shaft. He shuttered at his own touch. He was losing the struggle to maintain his dignity. It didn’t matter, he would wash the pair right afterwards and take this to the grave. 

Ryland brought the black lace to his cock, using his hand to pump the fabric along his shaft. A loud groan left his lungs, one he had been holding back for a long time. He rested his back against the doorway of the laundry closet, his head falling against the wooden frame and finding purchase there. His eyes fluttered closed as he maintained a steady pace. Ryland’s mind swam with you. 

You would come home ready for him. The two of you would waste no time getting to the bedroom. You would speak sweetly to him, telling him how good he was for waiting so patiently. He whimpered at the thought. His glasses slipped down his nose once more from the sweat that collected. The frames eased off, leaving his face to hang off his ear. They were foggy, evidence of the heat that emitted from him by just the thought of you. The closet he stood in grew hot and stuffy. 

Ryland brought the pair of panties back to his nose, inhaling deeply. The mix of his scent now mixed with yours, reminding him of the smell of sex that would fill the bedroom when the two of you were together. The odor brought him the image of your cunt stuffed with his cock. He would piston in and out of you desperately, muttering under his breath about how good you felt and how much he missed you. The thought of your walls clenched around him forced his hips to buck desperately against his hand. He felt like a dog in heat. The feeling of your wet, hot cunt milking him caused him to rut. Every time he took a deep breath in, he would smell the two of you together. His whimpers filled the empty apartment. 

He saw the picture so clearly, the image of both of you finishing at the same time. Ryland remembers it, the sensation of you milking his cock. His hips and hand moved frantically against each other, following no real rhythm. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he chased his high in a frenzy. Once the two of you finished, he’d keep moving his hips, riding out his orgasm with the feeling of your fluttering walls. His mouth fell agape at the thought of a white ring surrounding his member where the two of you connected. He sobbed out your name like a prayer as he finally found his release. 

Ryland’s hips slowed, going through the motions of riding out his climax. His body shook with pleasure. White hot ecstasy flooded his mind as fireworks burst behind his closed eyelids. His throat burned with each inhale, his lungs crying out for steady breaths. His body fell limp against the doorway, his energy completely spent. He felt the abrasive rub of his shirt on his back as he slid down, eventually landing on the floor. His eyes traveled down to the mess he made between his legs. His jeans and your panties were coated with the evidence of his pleasure.

Ryland groaned, the clarity of the situation dawning on him faster than he would’ve liked. The feeling of disgust quickly took over the pleasure he was feeling mere moments ago. His hands moved to begin cleaning up when he heard keys rattle in the front door of his apartment. Grace’s head snapped to the source of the sound. His body was still, his muscles frozen in ways that could only be described as a freeze response. 

“Ryland! What’s with the mess at the front? You never leave your shit at the door” Your voice filled the apartment. You stumbled past his shoes and backpack he had forgotten about long ago. Your gaze lifted from the floor to meet your boyfriend. Your brows raised at the sight.