Wholesome Playtime With Ciaran And Some Newly Bought Toys

Wholesome playtime with Ciaran and some newly bought toys

Smol Ciaran as censorship

whitney stuffs i did during lectures

Insecurity: Looks.

Heavily based on QnA where Vrel said they tell themselves they're good-looking every day but they don't really believe it.

※ Reupload to any other platform is prohibited. No AI usage in any way. I don't allow my work to be used without my permission.

Now introducing…

The Pound

A small funny-ha-ha I’ve started with @dollya-robinprotector , @hakusins , and now @fraternum-momentum. I, Aphrodite, your beloved Pound Owner, have brought all of these wonderful pups in from the streets and they are ALL up for adoption. I always take in more dogs, there are so many lost little souls looking for a home out there… We even have a small breeding program here—maybe you want a specific puppy bred from our dogs instead. No worries!

So much more to come from this~

Last night I finally played this masterpiece 👌👌

Shit you know what I’d love? If Whitney’s parents forced him to bring you over so they can meet you after his friends trash him about having a s/o and then when they make you stay the night bc of a storm you get horny and decide to suck him off/ride him till he wakes up

This ask has plagued me from the moment I saw it. I legit stopped writing something else to start writing it. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have woken up from sleep with ideas for how to write this.

That being said, I….may have gone overboard. Like, three thousand odd words overboard. It doesn't help that at some point I slipped into writing angst and had to cut it out 😖

(DoL relationships, somno, dubcon[? Cause Whitney doesn’t give explicit permission to ride him in his sleep but he def likes it so], some sub Whitney, some soft Whitney)

You're not surprised when Whitney shoves you against the lockers. You'd be more surprised if he didn't. Nearly every day your boyfriend would do something to screw with you, besides actually screwing you. This week's flavor of harassment seems to be public make outs that would end with Whitney grinding against you before vanishing around a corner, leaving you frustrated and unsatisfied.

This time starts no different.

Whitney holds your hands in one of his own, pinning them above you. He grabs your hip with his other hand, digging his fingers into you and making you squirm in discomfort.

"Whitney-" you barely manage to say his name before his tongue is invading your mouth.

Whitney inserts one of his legs between yours, bringing his knee up to grind into your groin. You moan into Whitney’s mouth. He pulls back, smirking, and lets his knee drop.

"You're coming home with me."

"What?" you must have misheard him.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Whitney says, “You’re going to come home with me. Right now. C’mon.”

Whitney keeps hold of one of your hands as he starts to walk down that hall, dragging you behind him.

When you exit the school, a cheer goes up by the front gate. It’s Whitney’s friends.

“Fucking cunts,” Whitney mutters, walking towards the gates.

“Taking the slut home?” a slim girl teases when Whitney is within earshot.

“Piss off,” Whitney replies, pushing past his friends, “this is your fucking fault.”

“Have fun!” a lanky boy yells after you, causing some laughter among the group as Whitney flips them off.

“What's going on?” you ask as Whitney starts to head to Nightingale Street, continuing to drag you along behind him.

Whitney grumbles something under his breath that you can't quite hear. You think you catch him say “knew what they were fucking doing” but you’re not sure. You don't press the issue, knowing it would be pointless to try to get Whitney to do something he didn’t want to.

Whitney stops when he reaches Wolf Street. He sighs, letting go of you and running a hand through his hair.

“My parents want to meet you,” he mutters.

You let out a laugh, “There’s no way I heard you right.”

Whitney turns to face you. While he looks angry, you can spot a light blush starting to spread across his face.

“Don’t push your luck, slut.”

“You talk to your parents about me?” you ask, genuinely surprised before giving Whitney a cheeky grin. “You must really like me! Were you asking for advice on how to profess your undying love?”

Whitney grabs your shoulders and yanks you to him. He brings his face level with yours; his intense gaze makes your stomach do a flip. “You’ll shut your fucking mouth,” he growls, his breath fanning across your face, “or I’ll fuck your throat so hard that my parents think you’re mute. Got it?”

You can only nod in agreement, temporarily losing the ability to speak from Whitney's threat, even as it sends a shot of lust through you. Whitney grins, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good slut,” he says before looping an arm around your waist and steering you towards Danube Street.

Whitney stops in front of one of the mansions. It's a nice-looking place, if a bit sterile. The front garden is immaculate, to a disturbing degree, not a single thing out of place. It makes you feel uneasy. It’s as if you're looking at a picture on the front of a home care magazine, rather than a real-life, lived-in home.

Whitney pulls you through the front door. The front room is just as impersonal as the exterior had alluded. The floors gleam as if recently cleaned and a vaulted ceiling allows for a sparkling chandelier. You suddenly feel very self-conscious about your frayed school clothes.

"Home!" Whitney shouts, his voice echoing around the room.

"In here!" A voice calls out of a side room. Parlor? Is that what it would be called? Did Whitney have a parlor?

Whitney leads you through the door, and you feel yourself relax a little. The room is small, cozy. A fire burns away cheerfully in a simple fireplace, bracketed by a pair of plush sofas. Shelves line one of the walls, packed with well-worn books and dotted with picture frames. This room seems to hold all the personality that the last had lacked.

"I take it you are Whitney's partner?"

Your eyes snap to the voice's source, a woman sitting on one of the sofas. Whitney’s mother, you assume. She has his eyes. Or, rather, he has her eyes, bright and clear. A man sits next to her who, if logic follows, is Whitney’s father. They share a nose and jawline.

Whitney nudges you and you jump, pulled out of your observations.

"Y-yes!" You say, eyes flicking between Whitney’s parents. You're not sure what to say, what they already know about you.

His mother seems to sense your unease and gives you a soft, reassuring smile. She gestures to the other sofa. "Take a seat, sweetheart," she says. "Make yourself at home."

You take the offered seat, and Whitney joins you. He drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a bit closer to him.

Whitney's mother starts to ask you questions about yourself. You're never asked about your family, so you suppose they know you're an orphan. She also calls you by your name a few times, debunking the semi-joke theory you and Robin had developed that Whitney didn’t actually know your name.

All in all, the conversation is pleasant and you find yourself relaxing. Whitney remains quiet, though he started to play with your hair at some point. His ministrations serve to soothe you further and you barely notice the passage of time.

It’s not until a yawn overtakes you mid-sentence that you realize it’s approaching 10 pm. That's also when Whitney's mother offers to let you spend the night. Unbeknownst to you, a blizzard had swept in while chatting. She insists and, really, you can't turn her down.

Soon, you find yourself stumbling into a bedroom that's unmistakably Whitney’s. It's cluttered but not the trash heap you expected from him. A large, unmade bed being the feature that interests you the most.

"I don't have anything to sleep in," you say, eyeing the bed.

"Oh no," Whitney says with a smirk, "how terrible."

"I'm not sleeping naked," you say and Whitney laughs. "Give me some of your clothes to sleep in." Whitney stops laughing, his face going a bit pink. You decide you're better off not mentioning it and instead cross his room, wanting to have a look around.

“Your parents are nice," you say, stopping at his desk. An array of erotic magazines take up most of the desk space. Leafing through the stack, you’re starting to think that your boyfriend was being more than just a prick when he'd sneak up on you in the halls and slip a collar around your neck.

Horny bastard.

"Wait until you get to know them better," he mutters bitterly.

"Are you inviting me to come over more often?"

Whitney chucks a shirt at you, "Pushing your luck again, slut."

The shirt lands over your head and you're enveloped in the smell of clean laundry and Whitney’s cologne.

You pull off the shirt to find that Whitney has joined you at his desk.

"Getting ideas?" he asks, indicating the magazine in your hands. This one is about bondage, a model kneeling on a bed while bound in red rope on the cover.

“Dunno,” you say, tossing the magazine back onto his desk, “red’s not really your color. You’d look better with blue rope, I think.”

“Ha, ha,” he says dryly, but there’s a spark of humor in his eyes, “you're hilarious. Now, piss off. I'm tired."

You're surprised when Whitney shows you to a guest room, having assumed he would want you to sleep in the same bed as him. The guest room connects to Whitney's through a shared bathroom. It's just as eerily picture-perfect as the rest of the house. It's also far nicer than any place you've ever slept in.

Changing into the clothes Whitney gave you, you're not surprised that he's only given you one of his shirts. It just barely covers your ass, the hem brushing your thighs. You wonder briefly if Whitney didn’t take into account that you don’t wear underwear or if he just didn’t care.

You pause before deciding to lock the door leading to the hall. You're not sure if it’s considered 'rude' or not, but living in the orphanage has left you paranoid. Enough so to accept any consequences in the name of a bit of safety. You climb into the bed. It’s comfortable, sheets cool and clean, with two high-quality pillows. You should knock out in a couple of seconds into the most blissful sleep of your life.

You should, but you don't.

You do manage to drift off almost instantly, though your sleep is anything but blissful. Maybe it was looking at those magazines before going to sleep. Maybe it was the fact that you could still catch hints of Whitney’s cologne wafting off the shirt you had borrowed. Maybe it was the simple fact that you were horny. Whatever the reason, you’re plagued by dirty dreams. Several of them feature Whitney in one way or another.

You wake with a start, Whitney's name half-formed on your tongue, and groan. This has become an embarrassingly common occurrence for you, to wake up in the middle of the night with an ache between your legs and Whitney’s name on your lips.

Though, this is the first time you could demand help from the source of your problem.

You find it oddly endearing when the door from the bathroom to Whitney’s room turns with ease, left unlocked. When you enter his room, the first thing you do is to make sure his door into the hall is locked. It’s a weird feeling, worrying about people seeing you have sex with Whitney. He’s not exactly shy, but you assume he wouldn't want his parents walking in on him.

You hesitate for a moment, examining Whitney as he sleeps. This is maybe the most peaceful you've ever seen him. He looks so sweet, you almost feel bad that you're going to wake him.

You tug on his blanket and freeze, blood rushing to your face.

Oh, of course, Whitney sleeps naked. Of fucking course he does!

You shouldn’t find this surprising, but you do. Maybe you’re surprised by his nudity because Whitney had shown a hesitancy to completely strip during sex? You often had sex in public places, so you suppose that could be a factor. Maybe you were wrong about Whitney being shy.

You pull yourself out of your thoughts with a shake. Whitney’s possible insecurities were something to explore another day. It might be fun to tease Whitney about it later but, right now, you wanted to tease your boyfriend in a different way.

Moving slowly, you climb into bed with Whitney, laying down and resting your face on his thigh. Running a single finger over Whitney’s cock makes him shift in his sleep. You figure you should start slow; you don't want to wake him too soon, after all. You keep teasing his cock, giving Whitney soft, light touches, coxing him to an erection.

You shift positions, so you’re more on top of Whitney. Reaching down between your legs, you start giving yourself some attention. Simultaneously, you place a hand on Whitney’s hip and take him into your mouth. Whitney gasps above you, a hand coming down to rest on the back of your head. His grip is weak, but he still manages to curl his fingers into your hair.

You pull back a bit and Whitney whines, bucking his hips up. You have to push down against him to keep him from following your mouth. Keeping just the head of his dick inside, you give a harsh suck and Whitney moans.

The sound sends a shot of pleasure straight to your groin and you have to resist the urge to fuck him with your mouth. You bob your head a few times, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth, before pulling off him completely.

Whitney’s cock stands proud before you, flushed with arousal and wet with your saliva, a bead of precum threatening to spill over from his tip. You know you should keep going, to slick him up more. Maybe take a moment to find the lube that Whitney was bound to keep near his bed, but you’re getting impatient. You want him in you. Now.

Straddling Whitney, you hike your shirt up over your hips and guide his dick to press against your entrance.

You can’t suppress a groan as you sink onto his cock. This is the slowest Whitney has ever entered you and it somehow makes the stretch of his dick feel even more intense. You lean over Whitney, having to brace yourself against his chest. You’ve reached the part of his cock that you couldn’t fit into your mouth. Levering yourself on his cock, you open yourself up more. When you feel prepared enough, you force your hips down in one swift motion, taking the parts of his cock that you weren’t able to lube up.

Finally, you settle, your hips pressed flush against Whitney, his cock fully inside you. You dip down, nuzzling into Whitney’s neck as you rest for a moment. Whitney’s breathing has picked up, every other exhale carrying a low whine with it. You press a kiss into his neck, smiling when you feel his heartbeat fluttering under your lips.

You start to move against him, starting at a leisurely pace. Whitney keeps moving under you, his actions blunt and clumsy in his sleep. You have to keep your hands on his chest to keep him from squirming too much. You can see his eyes moving under their lids as he starts to wake up.

So, you take it up a notch. You start to move with more aggression, angling your hips to fuck Whitney’s cock with rapid thrusts.

“Ah!” Whitney wakes up fully, lurching forward to wrap his arms around you and pulling you down against him.

Whitney’s sudden movement forces his cock to the hilt again, making you groan. “Lovely for you to join me,” you say, breathless, rocking against Whitney as best you can with the way he’s gripping you.

“What are you-?” he trails off as you push him back some. It's easier to do than you expected, Whitney appearing to still be sleep weak.

“I’m enjoying myself,” you say with a lazy grin, slipping a hand down to play with yourself.

Whitney’s breath hitches as he watches you, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. He gives you a soft squeeze, and you take it as a sign to keep going. You start to bounce yourself on Whitney’s cock and he groans.

Whitney’s mouth hangs open, panting hard as you ride him, his eyes unfocused and dazed. You can tell that he’s getting close to his end, so you slow down until you’re once again just rocking against him.

“Ah, ah,” you tut, “It would be rude to cum before your guest, don’t you think?”

“F-fucking whore,” Whitney manages to spit out. You start to laugh, but it morphs into a moan as Whitney knocks your hand aside and starts to play with you himself. Whitney begins to thrust up into you, hard. You have to grip his shoulders for stability.

You’d already been feeling the start of your own orgasm before Whitney had woken up. You had been in a state of arousal for the better part of a day now. Ever since Whitney first pressed you against the lockers, you’ve wanted him inside you. Now, with Whitney fucking you and his hand working you with his customary roughness, you find yourself hurtling towards your end.

As you start to cum, Whitney yanks you down into a kiss.

Whitney keeps fucking you through your orgasm. As you start to writhe in overstimulation, Whitney pins you against his chest. Breaking the kiss, his pace increases.

“Stupid slut,” Whitney mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. “Think you can do whatever you want when you’re the one crawling into my bed? Wearing my clothes?”

“Whit-ney,” you mewl, voice breaking. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him, desperate for something to hold onto while Whitney rails you.

“Think you can get away with being a tease when I own you?”

You can feel yourself starting to become hazy with pleasure. “T-too, ha, too much,” you manage to slur out.

“Aw, is this too much for you?” he coos, his movements slowing. One of his hands slides down to squeeze your ass, the other remains on your back, keeping you pressed against him. “Can my slut not do their job?”

“My, ha, j-job?”

Whitney resumes his violent pace at your words and you bite back a sob. “Taking my cock,” he growls, “whenever I fucking want.”

You’re pushed over the edge of another orgasm. Unable to keep yourself from crying out, you bury your face into the crook of Whitney’s neck. Whitney groans low in the back of his throat as he cums. He presses your hips flush to him, jerking up into you with short, sharp thrusts.

You go limp against Whitney as he loosens his hold on you. Whitney starts to stroke your back, and you relax further, eyes fluttering shut. Whitney moves, sifting you off him, and turning onto his side, keeping his cock inside you the whole time. He starts to work himself out of you slowly, occasionally thrusting back in a little just to make you squirm.

“Tired,” you mumble, curling up on your side when he’s finally all the way out of you.

“Wonder why,” he says with a soft laugh, finding the blanket you had pulled off him and throwing it over the both of you. Whitney settles in the bed next to you, one of his arms locking around you and pulling you close.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Need a shower,” you say, but you don’t try to move away from him, making yourself comfortable in his arms instead.

“Sleep,” is the only response you get. It doesn't take long before the rhythm of Whitney’s breathing lulls you into a deep sleep.