How About Ploy Marauders Going To A Party And Sirius Promised To Do Readers Make Up, But Is Late So The

How about ploy marauders going to a party and Sirius promised to do readers make up, but is late so the other two are making an attempt. Sure they might know how to do Sirius's messy style, but do they know big dramatic styles? Can James do a perfect wing?

<3 fem, 1k

“Can you stay still?” Remus asks, turning your face a half inch where it’s held in his hand. 

“Can James stop kissing me?” you ask. 

James pulls his face from the curve of your neck, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. “Sorry, are you busy?” 

“You’re supposed to be helping.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying yourself.” 

You smile. Remus rubs the softest curve under your eye with his thumb, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, concentrating instead on your face and the wetness of your makeup where it’s beginning to sink in. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he sighs. 

“You know better than I do,” James says. 

You don’t know a thing about it, that’s why you’d arranged for Sirius to do your makeup tonight before Marl’s birthday bash, but where is your awful boyfriend? Late, decidedly unavailable for makeup-ing. 

“You’ve done his mascara a thousand times,” James argues with Remus. 

“Yes, but Sirius has never asked me to do his blush.” Remus’ hand moves to the side of your face. “You are lovely, though. I think using only a little of everything is working in our favour.” 

“Sirius only lets him do mascara because he already has nice eyelashes,” you worry. It won’t matter if Remus messes up or doesn’t get close enough to the root. 

“Yes, and because he likes it when Remus holds his face like that,” James points out, eyeing Remus’ hand where it stays at your cheek. Remus has long fingers, ever-so slightly thick with two golden rings that kiss your chin as he lets his hand fall, and he’s always gentle. 

“James, I’m tapping out.” 

James pretends to roll up sleeves he isn’t wearing, your bulkiest boyfriend in a short-sleeved t-shirt that showcases the lean muscle of his forearms, the not so lean ridges of his biceps. They tense as he sits up, his knee jabbing yours, the bed creaking dangerously beneath your angled weight. “What’s there left to do? She’s gorgeous.” 

“What did you want?” Remus asks you. 

“Uh, I wanted, you know…” You sound ridiculously shy. You wish you could just do all of this faff by yourself rather than force their attention, but neither boy seems annoyed. “He does that smudgey eyeliner, it makes my eyes look bigger. And lipgloss, but I can do that myself.” 

“Are you kidding? That’s the best part,” James says. He gives you a smile confident enough to reassure you and handsome enough to make you shy from his touch all over again. “Pass me the black pencil, Remus. I’ve got this.” 

James does not got this, his expression melding from happy, adoring, to perturbed, and then annoyed. “Aw, I’ve fucked it.” 

Remus shakes his head vehemently. “You haven’t! We just need a wet wipe.” 

They search the room for Sirius’ wet wipes and come up empty-handed. A towel is wetted and taken carefully to your eyes instead, cold and rough on your eyelids. 

“Be gentler,” Remus whispers. 

James is practically atop you know, your chin tilted up to his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers in turn, then to you solely, “‘m I hurting you?” 

“No.” You’re whispering too. It feels appropriate; they’re both very close to you, and this movement might fix or ruin your makeup with the party’s start time drawing ever closer. 

“I think I’ve fixed it,” James says, taking the pencil up again, the nib soft as it rolls over the corner of your eye. “Sirius can perfect it in the car, right?” 

“I thought you were good at everything?” you ask. 

James turns your face up impossibly higher, craning his head down for a peck. “Yes,” he whispers severely, “I’m good at everything. But Sirius is usually better. Quick, let’s find your lipgloss before we’re late.” 

Remus tries to tell James that it isn’t true, a serious conversation at a bad time, and James won’t listen to a word of it. They quibble over who’s doing your lipgloss, bathe you in compliments when they’re done —aw, dove, you look so cute, and cute? she looks perfect— then suddenly an abrupt beep is sounding outside. The three of you scramble into your jackets and down the stairs, meeting Sirius where he leans against the car. He throws the keys to Remus, ushering you into the backseat with him for some last minute clean up. 

“Hey, they’ve done a good job,” he praises, another hand on your face to turn it up kindly to the light. “Did you bring your lipgloss?”  

You nod quickly and dig for it in your jacket. 

“What!” James says from the front, turning in the passenger seat to complain. “That’s the one thing we did perfectly.” 

The car starts. Remus laughs to himself behind the steering wheel. 

“Did I say otherwise?” Sirius asks, letting his fingers curve toward the back of your neck. Pale in the light, eyes lit with something funny you’ve yet to hear, he dips in close to you and talks quietly, “I’m sorry, I promised I’d do your makeup for the party. But you’ve all done well without me, you look perfect, especially your lips.” 

“Then what did you want it for?” you ask, confused, your seat belt pulling as Sirius encourages you forward. 

“To reapply.” He taps your neck with a fingertip. “Spare a kiss? I promise I’ll fix any mess.” 

Commotion from the front seat.

“James–” Remus warns. 

“What? I want to watch.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly. 

“How am I a freak? She’s my girlfriend, you’re my boyfriend, and you’re doing that voice like you’re gonna lay her down in the back seat.” 

“James.” 

—

requests r open!! pls think about reblogging if you enjoyed, I hope u did either way!!!

Out of curiosity

And put the fandom its from in tags if you like reblog for sample size yadda yadda

[18+]Pesky Bunny (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

WC: 4k

Warnings: Smut. Polyamory implied. Profanities. GhostSoap implied. Reader is a Barrack's Bunny. Some fun, unrealistic scenarios based on a C.Ai chat many moons ago(I wish I was in her place)

Ghost has a crush on the Barrack's Bunny.

It started small.

You were the newly recruited member of the task force, a communication specialist and infiltration expert, much needed talent among the towering men around you.

Ghost did not like you. You were loud, bubbly and, worst of all, promiscuous. Over time, you'd earned the infamous term of a 'barrack bunny', hopping from room to room during downtimes, letting everyone in Task Force 141 enjoy your company. Everyone except him.

It's not like he was jealous that you'd completely ignored him, it's the way you openly flirt with everyone of his team members, especially Soap. 

Soap likes you. A lot. He could not reconcile himself with that fact, the thorn pressing on his sides every time he sees you disappear into Soap's room for your night of fun.

Worst of all, Soap really loves to talk about you to him the morning after. The positions, the exchanging of fluids—he's sick of hearing it. But he did not know why and didn't want to go digging into his brain for a reason.

"Has she ever come to you?" Soap asked as they were gearing up.

"No, Johnny. It oughta stay that way," he'd answered that question, and Soap never brought you up again.

Then you threw yourself in front of a targeted bullet for him.

"You idiot," his voice harsh as he pressed his hands against your torso to stop you from bleeding out, "We need a medevac!"

He still remembered you smiling as your eyes started to shut. "This is the first time we'd talked," you trailed off before passing out.

Why did he stay in the ward to wait for you to open your eyes? God fucking knows. He'd wanted to tear into you for being so careless with your own life. Wanted to know why you'd do what you did.

"Christ," you began the minute you were conscious, "someone come knock me back out with a baseball bat."

He laughed. It was a forced exhale of air through his nose, but what you'd said was enough to get that reaction out of him. Enough for him to start thinking why he'd thought your talking was annoying him.

He realized he might have had a teeny tiny thing for Soap then, when that damn man walked in with his fancy bouquet just for you, his eyes just for you, his attention-

Fuck. This was not his area of expertise. Thankfully, he could just leave the two of you, or, looking at the line by the door, to the emotional orgy that'd ensue, enough to make him want to stay fifteen kilometers away from the barracks and their favorite bunny.

You'd sit next to him on the way to your next mission. Quiet this time, an unsettling change that made his breakfast turn in his stomach.

"Cat got your tongue?" He asked, not bothering to look at you as he kept his gaze forward.

"I can be quiet if I want to." 

This earned a surprise out of him, purely because you'd spoken those words with a waver of hesitance he rarely heard from you.

"Soap said you think I'm obnoxious," you explained, and it took everything in him not to beat Soap up then and there.

"Not a fan of talkers," Ghost answered with a pointed glare at Soap.

"Which is why I'm zipping up. So you like me better."

He rolled his eyes at your persistence.

"You don't need me to like you. Someone out there made it famous to 'be yourself'."

You smiled as you looked up at him, and he was suddenly too agitated to sit.

"This is me. It's nice to just cool down for a little. To have someone who appreciates it when I don't talk."

And then you were silent the entire ride there. And after that.

He'd adjusted to it too well. Got to know you better because you only calmed down around him, knew that the talking was a coping mechanism for you, that you liked being around him the most because there was no pressure for you to flirt and socialise.

And his wires got crossed, because soon enough there was that same bug in his stomach he had every time Soap calls out his name. And then it grew without him realising it.

"Ah, fuck." 

It was the only thing he'd been able to say as he realised he had a thing for two people. 

Two people who also fucked each other.

He didn't know what to feel whenever he saw you and Soap being all over each other. Jealous? Annoyed? Turned on?

Signals in his brain misfired all over, his next steps a blurry path.

He drowned himself in work. The only solution for him at the time.

If before, he was prone to isolation during downtimes at the base, now he was a hardcore hermit.

How long has it been since he'd seen you, or Soap? Hell, he hadn't even seen Price that much these days.

It was going well until you'd knocked on the doors to his private quarters with concern on your face.

"You been ignoring me?"

He answered with a grunt. You brought him some coffee, but it cooled undrunk on the table.

Your persistence was always one of the qualities he'd loved and hated about you; the latter now that you stood before him with arms crossed and your eyebrows knit. 

"Why did you never go to me?" 

Wires crossed. That wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but now that it's out, there's nowhere to go but forward.

"What do you mean?"

He really needs to sleep. If he knew he was prone to outburst when deprived, he would have never talked to you that day, never let you into his quarters until he could think clearly.

His hands were on your waist. You grinned.

"Don't pretend like you don't know. Everyone had access to you at some point, wh-"

"You make that sound dirty."

"Isn't it? You're basically free to use, aren't you?”

Then you slapped him. And left.

It wasn't until later that he found out that you weren't just room hopping for pure pleasure, but everyone in the task force liked you enough that you even went on dates with them. Do cuddly relationship shit with them. Was that why Soap seemed to like you that much?

"Did you fight?" The man of the question asked him one day several days after you'd visited him in his room. You weren't talking to him. It was clear that he'd hurt you with his words, and the reason was only apparent when he'd stayed to watch you with the others instead of instantly leaving when any flirting commences.

You were the unspoken pivot in the task force. He was so far behind any developments because he'd never taken the chance to get to know you. And always told Soap off whenever he starts talking about you.

"Why did you think that, Johnny? This is how I am normally."

Soap sighed as he leaned back on the wall beside him. Watching him clean his rifle like those fucking shoulder angels.

"She used to talk about you a lot. Now she never does."

His hands stilled on the mag chamber. What?

"She talked about me."

Soap sits down next to him, and he had to fight the devils whispering to lean and kiss the wits out of him, the thoughts of Soap squirming as he went deep-

Soap was grinning.

The boy fucking knows. What else explains the way he looked at Ghost's lips—well, the general area of it, anyway—and then licking his own lips as if the devils were whispering in his head,too?

"Johnny," Ghost swatted the whispers away, "she talked about me." It grew, again.

He smiled as he nodded.

"She talks about you to everyone. Even Price. Gaz asked when you'd be our honorary sixth."

Ghost tilted his head. All thoughts of cleaning disappeared from his immediate list of priorities.

"Honorary sixth?"

And that's when Soap explained to him about pivoted polyamory. Ghost's head was reeling.

"She's seeing all of you?" There was no way you'd have the time to dedicate that much of yourself to every single man without at least one of them feeling neglected.

"Mm. We tend not to get our expectations high regarding the emotional aspects of it, but there were no complaints so far. We can seek others if we want, too. But she only wants us on rotation."

Rotation. Pivot. Polyamory. Too much information, too fast. And Soap's saying things that implied Ghost were among the people in your rotation.

"Listen, you don't have to fuck her if you don't want to. But she clearly sees you both as friends. I don't like the people I care about not getting along with."

The way Soap said it sounded very much like there was another layer to his sentence. That the care he had for Ghost was that on the same level as it was for you. He chose not to dissect the statement, afraid of what he’d find once he did.

It didn’t sit right with him anyway, the way you’d left him that night. He hated to admit that seeing you upset did not, in fact, make him feel better. Or at least remind him of his indifference. Because, weird web of relationships aside, you were a damn good friend to him. 

So the next week, in the break room, after everyone was just returning from another simple mission, he’d decided to apologise.

That glare on your face was definitely why. He would sooner have your bubbly self back than have to endure a glare ever again.

Soap was busy unclasping your gears, kissing every part of your body as he did, and Ghost couldn’t deal with how he wanted to be on both ends of that scene.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked. Figuring being polite could pave the way for a hitch-free apology.

You gave Soap a look. He nodded, kissed you, and said “see you after, darling,” before leaving you both some space. 

“What I say before-”

“When you called me a whore, right?”

He sighed. There was no bunny this feisty in the history of bunnies.

“I didn’t mean to comment on your unique…proclivities.”

“You didn’t mean to call me a whore?”

Jesus. He didn’t even use those words anywhere in his sentences back then. His hands almost raised to your shoulders, wanting to give you a shake, but that won’t bode well for either of you.

“Hear what I have to say. I was tired, sleep deprived. I simply wanted to ask you why you’d go with anyone but me, but it came out wrong.” 

Should his mask weren’t there to cover his face, you could probably see the age lines deepening with every moment he stood there trying to right whatever this is. Why’d he even bother?

Because you were a good soldier. Fantastic in your field, fantastic out of it. And you make his head spin. He’d assumed it was because he couldn’t stand you, but the persistent bug fluttering in his stomach—that felt a little too familiar—suggested otherwise. Just thinking about that made him seemed like a lovesick fucker.

“You never approached me.”

You’d brush something off from your shirt when you answered, like it was casual.

“Can you explain?”

You snorted. He wanted to wipe that look on your face with his cock down your throat. Okay, he had no idea where those sorts of thoughts came from. Maybe he needed to have himself shaken.

“Who’s pretending now? I only sleep with people who’d actually like me, Ghost.”

Now, how did you get that idea in that pretty head of yours?

“I like you,” he answered, short, despite the winded explanation he had ready; of how he’s like this with everyone at first; and you shouldn’t take his stiff demeanor to heart.

“You do?” Your eyes widened. Your ears, red. His words were having an effect on you. He wanted to add a snarky remark, but that’d be too jarring when the moment’s too damn intimate.

He sighed. Emotional vulnerability was not in his list of things to do today, but a certain bunny tends to stomp over his plans and demand he pay attention to her simply with her presence.

“You only think I hate you because I don’t like seeing you getting all cosy with Johnny.”

You sit at the bench, thinking. “Fair enough. You both do give out ‘fuck me’ energy around each other. Figure there was something going on.”

And you’d say that without an ounce of jealousy he’d harboured when he saw you flirt with Soap. Now he feels like a right twat.

“I don’t even want to ask.”

You pulled him to the bench. “You could just go to him in my place and he wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“Why are you speaking so casually about this?”

The way you’re talking, one could have easily mistaken the topic for something mundane, like the weather or how many paid vacations you’d have left this year.

“No need to wind this harder than it is, Ghost. Me and Soap both liked you. I don’t mind Soap seeing other people. And if you liked him, why deny yourself from enjoying what little pleasures we could’ve been having before a stray bullet capped us off?”

“And wouldn’t me liking you add another knot in the thread?” Plus the whole other harem you’d had in your rotation, which he won’t be bringing up today.

“You don’t like me that way. At least, that’s the vibe I’m getting.”

Once again, his hands found their way around your waist. “You have no idea.”

The widest grin broke out on your face. “You’re not joking?”

“Why would I be joking?”

Just to show you how serious he was, he pulled you into his lap. You straddled him easily, your hands clasped at the back of his neck.

“I don’t know how it works, with you and your rotations, but Gaz said something about the honorary sixth?”

You laughed, head dropping to his shoulder as you did. 

“That was an inside joke. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to.”

And here, he was already planning on doing those cuddly relationships shit with you. Of watching a scary movie with you. Having you cling to him for safety from jump scares. Cooking meals with you. Honey bees floating in his head. It was all so unnervingly sweet. 

“I don’t know about anything else, but I wanted more of this.” He gestured at the way you were straddling him. “Sick of seeing the others get the same treatment while I wallow in my mud.”

You kissed him through his balaclava. He returned it. There’s that bug again. Christ, how big has it grown?

“Pick a day, Ghost.”

His eyes narrowed. “A day?”

You nod as you brushed the hair from your face. 

“Six men, seven days a week. Necessary precautions, so I could spend time with everyone equally. The free day for myself, or if everyone felt like sharing. We share a lot, anyway, but some, like Alejandro, liked having no-share days. And that day he’d be the only one to have me. No ifs, ands or buts.”

And then you told him this schedule. Price gets you Monday. Gaz, Tuesday. Rudy, Wednesday. Soap, Thursday. Al chose Saturday.

“So I get Friday or Sunday.”

“I know it’s a little too much…” you picked at the dust on his shirt as you said that.

“Friday.” Just so you could spend Sunday for yourself.

“Friday,” you repeated, before leaning in to kiss him again. 

The break room turned several degrees hotter as you grind yourself on top of his bulge.

“Today’s Thursday,” and that means Soap gets you for the day. But why are you moving as if you wanted him to fuck you here, where anyone could’ve easily walked in?

“He won’t mind. Besides, how long has it been for you?”

He knew you well enough to know what you meant by that. If he were to go forward with this, he might as well get used to you talking about sex like it was a basic need.

“Too long.”

Your hands hover over his zipper. “Can I?”

He made a point to nod in a deliberate manner, as his mask made it hard for anyone to see the movements. With permission, you lean a little back and away from him as you pull down his zipper in glee.

Your hands were warm as you palmed him over his boxers. He exhaled a sharp breath at how sensitive it was, arms holding you tight as you moved your hands up and down the length.

Just as he thought you were going to take him out, you hopped off his lap.

And began to take off your trousers.

“What are you doing?” The break room was a public room. Shit, he wasn't even sure if he could deal with his fly undone.

“I need you inside me, Ghost. You know how many months I’ve fucked myself with silicone, pretending it was you?”

He wanted to clamp his hands over your mouth then, for how casual you were talking about him fucking you. In public. Still, his cock betrayed him, waking up as if you were the sun trying to kick start its day.

“No one’s coming here. Soap knows to clear the way.”

“You’d plan for this to happen.” 

You chuckled, your bottom half already bare, the evidence of arousal clear on your inner thighs as you pressed them tight. “No. I honestly thought you were just going to apologise. We both anticipated yelling and more slapping. Not you being in me.”

You picked up your panties and trousers. Fidgeted.

“I’m getting a little too ahead of myself again, aren’t I?” You chuckled.

He pulled you back so you could resume your position.

“No, need’s mutual. I’ll fuck you, but you need to keep your voice down.”

He took his cock out through the zipper. Pushed his tip to glide in between your shiny folds.

“Never met someone as insatiable as you.” His words sounded like he was disappointed, but he was fully enjoying the way you were watching him toy with you with your mouth parted.

There was no time to waste; this was not his day for him to put you through hours of foreplay.

He raised you and let you sink into his cock in one swift movement.

“Fucking hell, lass. No wonder you’ve got those twats following you around.”

You squeezed him with every movement, your slick alone wetting his cock until it shines under the harsh lighting. How could someone be this wet, this fast?

“You sure you’re not a succubus?” 

Your laugh punctuated with your moans, the erratic reactions pulling a grin out of him. You shoved him, told him not to make you laugh this hard if he wants you to stay quiet.

Eventually, he stood up with you wrapped around him. Wanting a different angle, new depths. His muscles worked their hardest, moving you, fucking you on his cock, sweat sticking through the fabric to his skin. A lot of work before he was comfortable baring the entirety of himself to you, but you don’t seem to mind being fucked with someone in full tactical gear.

Movements were a bit stiff, but as long as your mouth kept letting out those sweet sounds, then he figured he was doing something right.

“Feel good?” He checked in as his cock continued to plunge, so sensitive from all those days of denial that he had to stop every so often to prolong this. Even if he was intending this to be a quickie.

“Fantastic. Love your curve. Hits me just right.” You winked, the praise unexpected and taking him off guard. 

“You’re heavy as fuck,” he quipped the only way he knew, but then re-straightened his course because he’d meant that affectionately. “Wouldn’t want to have it any other way.”

“Good save, big boy.” You laughed, eyes already closed as your face contorted, the fluttering in your pussy letting him know you were close.

“Meant every word.” 

You leaned in to kiss him hard when you came, airing the moan into his mouth like you were trying to share oxygen. He didn’t know why that was the hottest thing you’d done, because soon enough, he followed you over the edge, unloading weeks' long loads deep into you as his knees buckled.

You were both fortunate enough to have the bench beneath him when he slumped. His eyes looked sleepy after his release, the remnants of his orgasm traveled through his body in involuntary spasms.

The cum dribbled back out of you, past his cock and onto his tactical pants. He groaned.

“Be hell to clean this shit up,” he complained.

“Yeah, baby. You made me all messy.” You mimicked his tone, a tinge of mischief in yours.

“You begged me for it.” And he wanted more of that, of you begging him, wanting him, looking at him like he meant the world to you. Like you were doing right now.

“Only because Soap loves sloppy seconds.”

He stilled at your words. His damn cock wanting to hear more of what you had to say. That pesky thing.

“How much do you want to bet that as soon as I go to him after this, he’d throw me onto the bed and eat your cum out of me?”

Now he really did reach over to clamp a hand over your mouth.

“Shut up for a second.” He’d pass out from the heat his body was letting out under his gears.

You kissed his palm, the both of you acting like he wasn’t still inside you, stirring back to life at your admission.

“You think that’s hot,” you stated. Hell, if he could do this, have both you and Soap—share nicely—then it’d be nothing short of one of his dreams coming true.

“Which part do you think you’d like more?” You begin, and he already loathed the vulgar words you’d be saying because he knew his body would have had a reaction to it. “Having Soap eat your leftovers out of me,” you say as you begin to bounce on your feet, “or having him fuck your mess back into me after?”

“Fuck, lass. You and that mouth. You wanted me to fuck you again, is that it? Your cunt hungry for more of my load?”

You simply nodded, vibrating in excitement when he returned your dirty talk with his accent thick, as the release had lowered his inhibitions. The accent you’d tell him you loved.

He made a quick flip of your position, placing you on the bench with your ass pointed towards him, removing the extra effort of having to carry you, of you having to move.

“I’ll give you your cock, but you need to shut that mouth up unless you’re looking for a third load. Understand?”

“I won’t say no-”

“Today’s Soap’s day, love. I can give you as many as you want on Friday, but I’m not in the business of depriving someone of their chances.”

You nod. The dose of affection was what it took for you to yield. Then, you pushed back into him in invitation.

He took it. 

He fucked you hard and fast, fueled by the image of Soap having to enjoy you after with remnants of him still in you. Fuck. He wanted to see that. Desperately.

It didn’t take long for you to bow your back, his name coming out in an airy moan as you clenched around him once more, your hands rubbing furious circles on your clit to help you there.

He kept moving after ensuring you’d come. Now, his pace was purely for his release, brutal as his hips pumped, grunting with every movement in the race to finish.

“You’ll pull your panties straight up after I’m done with you, sprint to Soap, and let him eat my cum out of you, understand?”

You moaned, your head nodded jerkily, as if that wasn’t your intention all along. 

“And come Friday, you’re going to tell me every single thing he did to you as I pound the ever-living fuck outta you.”

“Now, whose mouth is filthy?” Your voice was breathy as you teased, and that didn’t serve as much of an impact as you think it did.

Ghost grunted, exhaling in quick successions as he pulled your hips tight against him, his cum jetting into you as he cursed. 

You rush to put on your bottoms soon after, like he’d told you to, bashfully, as you hop into your trousers with the time limit on your head. Grinning as the post-orgasm flush made their way all down your neck, making Ghost wonder if he could just keep you here with him and make it up to Soap later.

“Go, quick, before I start thinking about putting one all over your pretty face.”

You ran after giving his lips a quick peck, telling him you’ll see him tomorrow.

It’ll be a long night.

bouncing on arts cock in amazon position so patrick can lick his hole while you ride him - can suck on his balls too - and where your pussy is split around him - licks up to your asshole too. every thrust up and down on arts dick is met with a wet glide of patricks tongue somewhere between the two of you, messy and sticky and you're both moaning - when art fills you up and his cum drips down from your pussy onto his own rim patrick is there to lap it up hungrily. mounts you right after to fuck his throbbing cock into you, and then it's arts turn to to lick and suck and kiss where you're joined. he likes feeling the tip of patricks dick against his tongue right before it slides into your hot cunt.

literally if you have sharper than normal canine teeth and you choose to file them down that’s the the equivalent of an angel getting their wings ripped off. To me