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1800titz · 18 days ago

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ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ & ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ

KNEELING LAMIA | Witch hunter!Harry x Witch!reader

There's too much tension in this cat-and-mouse. Inevitably, it stretches too taut and snaps.

★18+

This is ᴋɴᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴍɪᴀ for the KINKTOBER projects. Witch x Witch hunter au.

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CONTENT/WARNINGS: enemies. p-in-v. degradation. praise. pussy slapping (light). dom/sub undertones. rough sex. bro is simply kind of an asshole, but it's in an attractive way imo.

WC: 3.7K

You hate him.

You hate him, you hate the grease in his derisory, lopsided smile, the one, two-tick at the corners of his mouth, like an omen on the hollow barrel of a cocked gun. The stupid white straightness of them, slick with spit and glimmering off the glowing oil lantern.

The soft humanness in his unchiseled eyes. When they’re narrowed into slits, the color is so soft, so delicate, that they don’t feel nearly as sharp as he intends. The preternatural juxtaposition of a human having eyes that are so mesmerizing is absurd— the pink-rimmed oil painting of his irises, mounted in white, under the tarp of his lashes (they’re long, dark, and cast shadows across the green sfumato). You can nearly find sunstones flecking like gold flakes wading the surface of a pool, if you look close enough.

But the bands are eroded now. Lacking. You always thought his eyes were like the moss speckling the grove in your back garden. Now, the vibrancy of it, crawling up the trunks, feels like a distant memory.

Smeared, pupils bleeding wide like spilled ink.

(You loathe the way his green reminds you of the malachite scattered across your window sill.)

You hate his hands, too. His fingers. The way they notch on reins, and the steel hilt of a gun. The way his pointer stretches across the metal trigger— click— and the way the aim is off. Misses. A bole eats the bullet, and you think, after so many tries, he has to not miss.

He has to not miss.

But he misses, and misses, and misses— the cat and mouse is an old, familiar game, but a fractured part of you thinks he misses on purpose. And you wonder who’s really the cat; when he’ll finally admit you’ve been filling his shoes out in the hunt, long before his time.

But you hate his hands most because of the way they touch you. The way they feel good. Pinching your bones in place, thumbprints carving into your skin.

Pressure points— he’s no good with a gun, but he’s good at finding pressure points, scoping them with his fingertips. Squeezing in.

You hate his teeth, because you hate him, and he hates you, and you want to sweep them off the floor when you fracture every little bone in the composite of his skull with your palms and shatter them out with your fingers. The way they chew into your nipples and stab a crushed squeak out of you.

(It’s the nature of the game— a double helix. Taijitu. Water and oil. You’re meant to despise each other, because dark has to exist to balance light. There has to be a villain in every story, otherwise the narrative collapses—)

You can’t stand the way his stupidly fat cock splits you on him, around him. The way when he groans, the way it starts as a hum between his ribs, and metastasizes into that yawning pry of his mouth, his soft lips.

(Conflict. Resolution. Recycle.)

His hand pawing at a handful of your breast, like kneading dough. Testing the heft when it shakes under the pressure of his hips slamming in wet squelches, sack slapping to your sticky cunt. The blunt of his nails scraping down your sides, prying in where your waist tapers, and wrapping the barbs of his fingers around, where the rungs sit at your back, to lug you against him in filthy, wet smacks. Again— again.

(Fuck, fuck, fuck—)

“—Fuck,” you mewl, scratching out at his temple, fingertips curling into the burnt umber tufts they can reach, pulling, tangling. Scraping. Your thumb grazes his cheekbone. He bites down on your nipple, instead, where he’s been rolling it between his teeth with his tongue, and grunts. It makes you squirm on the table and arch.

When he unlatches and lurches up to loom over you, he looks wild. Like an untamed beast— reminds you of the wolf that lingers by your doorstep— that you’ve lugged along into your kitchen. Let him splay you across the big, oak table that squeals and rattles under the punishing pace he’s set with his hips.

“Fuck— no,” Harry grunts, and slams your wrist down onto the table, beside your head, your stuttering pulse. Cuffed in his grip. Your fingers twitch. His throat bobs when he swallows.

The tip of his tongue flicks out, drags across his lips, and you think of a scenting serpent. He huffs.

“Ought to declaw you,” he muses, hunching over you, narrowed eyes oscillating from your nails to your face. Voice a husk that oozes condescension. As if you’re an animal— a feral cat that needs its talons extracted.

“Fuck you,” you spit, and the words— the petulant tone, the way your chest rattles when his cock throbs inside of you— are enough to crook the corners of his pink mouth. Wry. Acid across his lips, in the ridges between his teeth.

He sticks his thumb in your mouth, but not really; presses in against the flat of your front tooth when you bare your canines, squeezing at your cheeks. Pressure points— under the side of your mandible, beneath your cheekbone.

“Better watch that mouth,” he taunts. When his eyebrows climb, three ruckles seep across his forehead. Maybe evidence of how he means it, how firm his resolve is, but the way he tips his head down at you, it's goading—

Your chest rolls. “Fuck— you.”

And you get it. You do. Coexisting is an absurd, incompatible fantasy. Deluded, when you cup your teeth around the world and still feel hungry. It only stretches so wide before he’s under your teeth, too, and nobody wants to live in a hungry, sharp mouth. It’s a means of resource. Sanctum; I want sanctum, and you my friend, are preventing that like gum jammed into a lock on a gate.

This slow dance is called perfect, incongruous symbiosis, like a winter coat and the hot sun. You don’t fit together. You’ll never work— not in tandem.

It’s just that he doesn’t get that it’s the circle of life.

A snake and a mouse. That works. It’s unpleasant, but it doesn’t have to be watched.

But it’s ugly. You get the angry men with the pitchforks. You get him— vigilante, here to stab the head off the python with a wooden stick and wring his hands out after, like the hero he’ll be if he manages to tame the beast (glorified pest control— snub the snake in the backyard). You accepted a long time ago that all the little people would get mad that you were eating their little people.

Nasty, vicious thing in the back garden— get rid of it.

But hey— that’s life. The ugly, vicious wasp nest dangling off a poplar tree deserves to exist, too, because that’s the anomalous, hideous shape mother nature’s hand squeezed it into. And that’s, you think, the disconnect. The electrical cord spitting white-hot, fizzing sparks from where it’s been gnawed down the middle.

You swallow. His eyes are blade-sharp. So unco. Contemplating, calculating.

You get all that. What you can’t wrap your mind around is the untethered snap between you, like a bungee cord lugging you into a collision. It makes you feel feverish. The fracture in the foundation below you, every atom bred from this, predestined narrative. The sizzle beneath your skin— a charred brand in the shape of his kiss under the layers of your dermis— (a lowly mimicry of what lovemaking is, all teeth). It’s brutal. Sharp. A skirt of canines across your collarbone. A notch across the bone. A means to satiate, a compound of loathing, and pining, and the cozening haze of desire. The yearning curdled in the spiral of the communal pool of your animosity.

Because he smells like the rain rapping across your roof when you stand out with the door propped, sticking to the fireweed in rivulets under your porch steps. Like suede. Musk. The wilting coriander sprig on your altar. Your resolve is wicker snapping under his thumb. A melting glacier under the heavy heat dripping from his eyes. You don’t like it. You can’t get enough.

You tip your chin up and his thumb snags on the blunt edges, smushes into your lower lip. When his heavy cock slips out of you and slaps up against his belly, a whine prickles at the back of your mouth. You encase it with your throat like a dirty secret left to write on paper. You won’t whine for him. But he’s thick. His cock is stupidly fat, and it throbs like he can feel the encroaching emptiness between your legs for himself.

You won’t whine, but you feel hollow, and it makes your hips cant up involuntarily. Forward. To him— you hate that— but the stamp of his palm to your cunt makes your thought process crumble apart like notes plummeting off their bars on a sheet of music. A smack of skin on skin is the aria of your twisted affection stretching and collapsing.

It doesn’t hurt. Not really. There’s a dull pang that blooms there, under his touch, but it feels smothered under the white-hot lightning streak of shock that jolts your shoulders and sculpts your face. The mortified, blistering heat that spumes your cheeks when the whites of your eyes pool a little wider. You flounder up at him wordlessly.

Harry hums. It’s haughty, and mocking, and it makes something ripple in your underbelly. “Say that again, little girl?”

You swallow. Squirm. The pseudonym has something bristling in your chest. You’re not a little girl. This thicket has belonged to you for hundreds of years.

But the warm prickle between your thighs is an ugly, ugly paradox.

And you hate the way his hand is this humongous thing between your thighs, across your sex, swallowing your smarting cunt in the cup of his palm. The way he leaves it where it landed. His thumb stretched out and lingering in the crease between your mons and your tucked up thigh. You hate the way you drool slick against his fingers, the way your clit pulses under the heel of his hand. Your chest rolls.

His amusement is acidic. Patronization sloshes off his eyes and burns a hole right through the layer of your mettle when he cocks his head down at you, the way your hips hitch. His lips twist. “Oh you liked that, did you?”

Your face pinches. The corners of your lips curl down despite the way your empty pussy flutters under his skin.

“No."

He makes a sound. A hum that granulates into a rich chuckle, and his eyes flicker off your face, to his hand, and back, and back. Something brews in the depths under his lashes, you think— a sinkhole cratering into the ground beneath the canopy of the woods, driving the forest ground out into a void— watching the breadth of his hand envelop between your thighs. Maybe at the molten heat, or the way he can undeniably feel you clenching up. Throbbing. Against him. For him.

“Is that right? Look at that, mm— drippy, little pussy,” Harry tells you, voice hardly over a whisper. The words are a livewire zigzagging up your spine, riding the arches of the knobs, spilling something noxious and cloudy along your cerebrospinal fluid.

It goes straight to your head.

“Needy, little cunt. Bet you could cum just from me slapping it.”

His middle finger grazes your asshole. Your toes curl, you can’t even argue, despite the vitriol puddling on the back of your tongue like stagnant water. He tips his head. Smiles. The flash of teeth carves an ache into you that makes your bones ring.

“Aren’t you… just the sweetest thing when you’re put in your place,” Harry murmurs down at you, eyebrows climbing, and he’s— unctuous. A headache. The kind that clusters around the arch of your skull and squeezes taut like a bundle of rubber bands. Talking down to you like you’re a wily thing for him to put into a corner, once and for all. Like your demesne isn’t stamped in his soggy footprints, layer after layer, year after year.

You bare your teeth and jut your chin defiantly, but then he drags his thumb down along your pebbled clit, and it makes your shoulders wobble.

You used to cut hunters down like the loggers muscling in on your timber. Hatred was a pearl folded into your heart. A bead tucked into the soft, fleshy tissue between the little pockets of your ventricles, and it stung like a splinter in your gums.

You wear it in your chest like his name shaved into a rib. The perfect harmony of dysfunction. You don’t know why being under him kindles a flame. Just that it does. He’s live coal, and you crackle over what he gives you.

The moment of reticence between you has that shattering weight of your little truce, and you’re reminded of the plunge from the hillscape of your dignity.

Maybe it’s worse that you don’t mind.

His shoulders swell. You like the spit-slick rim of his mouth, the way the color is an insignia of your teeth making landfall.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

When he plants his hand beside your ear and stretches forward a little more, his cockhead slips across your clit. Hot, like a firebrand coated in sateen. You curl your fingers and realize your wrist is still pinned down. His eyes sway to it like he knows what you’re thinking, and his mouth twitches.

“Gonna keep your hands to yourself?” Harry purrs, grunting when you roll your chin away in scorn.

“Because—“ His finger prods onto your cheek. Then, two. Under your jaw, enough pressure to turn your head. “You know I love that wild shit. But, can’t have you fucking up my pretty face—“

The humor coagulating his tone tastes bitter when you breathe it from the air. Swallowing it down into your lungs where it ghosts with the subatomic heaviness of want. Your eyes flit. You hate him— you hate—

He grins down at you. Not quite. Close-lipped, eyes vats that shelter his dogma. The intensity of his seriousness. “Can’t do that,” he muses, but his tone is softer than his countenance.

You look away. And you don’t watch it, but he huffs, like he’s losing patience for your still-not-quite-subservience and lack of zeal. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. Hums.

“Mm. Come on, doll. You know I don’t want you if you don’t want me,” he tells you, but his mouth crooks because he knows— he knows.

You blink up at him. His eyes burn down at you from the bridge of his nose, and it feels like you’ve been swaddled into a sudden, wet heatwave. The words would nearly be considerate if it wasn’t for the condescending undertow that spills under the vowels like an oil slick.

His pointer traces the corner of your mouth, brows furrowing as he tails the motion with his gaze. “Just you say the word.”

And despite the way you blister, something itching under your skin, you won’t. Your teeth are clenched, but you couldn’t pry them apart with pliers to turn him down, not with the fever spilling its way across you. You settle for contempt— let it set your face like a cast congealing, but he doesn’t chase the tail of your indignation with anything beyond mockery.

He stares back at you. Doesn’t let it wither, drowns in the deluge of your inkpools, mouth curling but-not-quite.

“No,” he sighs, after a beat of your lull— bereft of your protest— drawing his forefinger away and slinking it down the naked space of your sternum, then around your swollen nipple. You gnaw into your cheek. “You know what I think?”

“—I don’t care,” you pick your head up to hiss.

You expect to face something crumbling at the retort. Discipline. Retribution— to watch something clot inside of him the way it wads in your chest, caking gravity across his features because— need to be taught a lesson in respect. What did I say about watching that mouth?

But it flickers over him without a hitch. Slides off.

Instead, he doubles down, hunching back over you. “I think you love this cock too much. Don’t you? Got you wrapped around it, by now.”

The flame from your core licks up to flare at the apples of your cheeks. He breathes when he straightens out. Deep. Like the prelude to a sigh, and you wonder if the same burning kisses along the nooks of his lungs. You don’t say anything, and he pulls his hand back.

“That’s right,” Harry coos, cocking his head down at you, “Just a sweet, cockdrunk, little whore, by now.”

Your eyes narrow into thin slits. Dagger splits. The wobble in your voice is a swordblade. “Shut— up.”

He laughs. Laughs. This muted, soundless thing that manifests more in his shoulders, the jolt across their breadth. The crater beside a smile line. He shakes his head, and cups the root of his cock with his fist. Your eyes follow it. You swallow.

“Mm, no,” he muses, gaze pooling where the mushroomed ridges of his tip slide along your sopping rim, your puffy lips, your clit, “I think you like it. Gushing all over the table.”

Embarrassment ties its tendrils along the base of your throat. Cogon grass germinating and feathering out across your esophagus, until you’re choking on your spit. You grit your teeth. Your hips nudge up. Forward. He underscores the presumption by pulling the head of his cock back, and sundering the string of tacky slick that’d stretched between him and your seam.

“Makin’ a fucking mess with your messy, desperate pussy,” Harry tells you, pressing his index to his thumb and prying them apart for emphasis. Your slick shimmers in the light. “Look at you. There’s a fuckin’ puddle.”

Your face creases. Cheeks buzzing, white-hot. You feel yourself leaking down along the cleft of your ass, and your fingers itch. A thunderbolt streaks across when you recognize that your hand is still flat against the table. Just where he left it.

He aims his cock back against you, so thick in his palm, and murmurs, “You want it?”

You don’t know how you ended up here.

You do, but the motions between point A and B feel like a nebulous smear. Hands in motion. Fabric tangling across the floor. Teeth, and tongues, and bones, and claws.

(“Always liked an older woman,” you remember he told you, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. The hubris of a boy sewn into the shoulders of a man. The irony of your preternatural youth folded into his proposition as his eyes roamed across your face.)

(“So let’s put …this,” a motion between with a jutted finger, a murmur drizzled in allure, tucked like a secret into the shape of the night, “aside for a time-out, you and me.”)

You don’t know why you said yes. How. Why your body reacts like he’s a breath you need, whispering along your lungs. Why you let him unspool you over his fingers, his tongue, fucking into you like he was starving.

But you nod.

You nod, and he presses his weepy tip against your cunt, and it only takes a nudge for him to pry you open around him again. Enveloping him. Sloppy, little pussy pulsing over the tip like a frenetic heartbeat.

You turn your chin and bite into your own shoulder to stifle the mewl spiraling between your tonsils, and he groans. The sting is better the second-go, but the pressure of having your rim stretched taut anew doesn’t lose its edge. The ache settles in your underbelly. Flourishes in the molten geyser of your arousal.

“Oh, shit,” Harry hums, pasting his palm flat to your tummy, right over your navel. Like this, you can feel his fingertips under your heartbeat. Across it. Thrumming. His eyes glued to where you swallow up his cock.

He feeds his cock into you slow, but it feels incongruous. The pastiche of what you’re feeling is already enough to cloud your head into delirium— you want teeth. Tongues, bones, claws.

“Harder,” you grit, catching his eye when he stalls, hand braced across your waist. You resolve paints your words firm, “I can take it.”

For a moment, Harry stares down at you. The whiplash of pause morphing to taunt, like a seamless rebound, has your rim fluttering over his girth. “My, my. Aren’t we eager.”

“Just—“

Your cosm ripples around you when he drives his hips forward, and lugs you back, hips colliding with your skin in a smack. A horrible, wet sound when he crams his way in, wedging your fuss back into the depth of your stomach. It flings you off your rationale.

He shivers. “God, you’re slutty. Slutty pussy on a slutty witch.”

The pace he sets is brutal. Merciless. It caters to your complaint, and squashes it out under his thumb. Under the kiss of his tip to your womb. Deliriously, you think he’s going to spill his hot, thick load inside of you, and then what? Then, what?

It feels like he’s wringing you out between his hands, until all that’s left is a pool of want.

You hate the way he’s chiseled in a place for himself. A tern across your branches, nested in twine and spare filaments of organs that belong to you. A little sinew peeled off of your liver. A sliver off your lung. Maybe that’s why—

You suck in a tight breath and let it rattle the nest he’s built, when he hits something unfathomably deep inside of you. Plugged on his cock, there’s no way for you to smother your moans out. He batters in to the hilt, cupping you by the waist, and rocking you back onto him, over, and over, and over.

“I want this sweet pussy to cum around my cock,” he pants over you. A curl has flopped across his eye, and your ire is eclipsed by your yearning. The ball inside of you unspooling as if he’s peeling the layers of muscle on your heart back like an onion to temporarily pluck out the undiluted loathing. “Do you hear me?”

It’s a mindless motion— your fingers creeping to land over where you connect, where he’s splitting your gummy walls to what feels like their ceiling. But he bats your hands away, and rams into you until your mons is kissing the wiry bed of hair that’s smattered over his shaft.

“It’s gonna cum around my cock,” he grunts, “or it’s not gonna cum at all.”

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comicallylargemango · 8 months ago

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🥭 : teeheeheehee author here, I've been having major Francis brainrot so now I gotta show the world :3 (I can now proudly call myself one of the first few people to write a Francis X reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Francis Mosses/Milkman x DDD! Gen! Reader

Other: some swearing, shit talking, mentions of injuries, reader is using crutches (caused by the injuries), reference to the red handed doppelganger.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

It had been a long day at work, there were more doppelgangers than usual and it really took a toll on you. A doppelganger even started, about how all this was useless and blah blah blah they'd win anyway. It even fought back, and boy did it put on a fight.

You limped on your bandaged leg as you mainly used your crutches to walk, not your first time to have been injured so badly you had to use crutches. You sighed exhaustedly and you imagined your Husband lightly reprimanding you for being so careless once he got home, you quickly brushed that thought away and went back to focusing on getting home.

As you got to the door man's window, you painstakingly take out your ID and entrance request, the Doorman raised a worried eyebrow at your state.

"Bad day at work?" She asked while examining your ID and entrance request.

"Tell me about it." You only sighed and leaned on the small counter Infront of the window to give your (working) leg a break.

"Everything seems good..." She murmured, "you're good to go."

"Thanks." You thanked her and started walking.

---------------------------------------------

You made your way to your shared apartment, letting out a sigh of relief as you jammed the key into the keyhole, twisting to doorknob.

Imagine the shock as your eyes land on your Husband sitting on the couch watching TV, he's usually home late in the afternoon. His head turns to look at you with a slight glimmer in his tired eyes.

You smile softly as he makes his way towards you at the doorway, making notice of your crutches and bandaged leg. The cuts, scratches, and dirt on your clothes and skin didn't go unnoticed either.

"What happened this time..?" Francis asked worriedly. Guiding you to the bathroom to change.

You took your dirtied shirt off as Francis looked away blushing slightly, making his way to the bedroom to get you some clothes.

He arrived soon, still looking away until you gently turned his face to meet you.

Sighing exasperatedly, you softly kissed him on the nose while taking the clothes from his hands, smiling tenderly as you see the ring on his finger.

"I'll tell you after I'm done, thank you Fran."

He simply hummed and looked you up and down, making you smile as a blush tinted your cheeks.

you had a hard time taking your pants and bandages off, that's when you noticed Francis still looking at you, leaning on the doorway with a concerned look on his face.

"Do you... Need any help?" He spoke up, standing up straight and rubbing the back of his neck.

Your eyes softened as you nodded. He made his way over to you to help you stand up, taking care in taking off the rest of your clothing.

His eyes roamed your body, growing more anxious as he takes note of every single scratch and cut. Meanwhile you were nearly falling asleep from his hands gingerly tending to you.

You only woke up from your half asleep state when you heard him speak again.

"Why don't you take a break for a day?" Asked as he turned you around to peck you on the lips, setting you down on the bathtub as he twisted the handle. Checking the temperature and adjusting it according to your liking.

You, once again dozing off. Absentmindedly muttered your answer.

"I should be asking you that." You chuckled softly, turning to look at Francis as he took off his clothes to join you. "Looking good Fran." He blushed.

He scoffed light heartedly as he took a seat behind you so in that way you were sat right in-between his legs with your back facing him.

"Seriously though, you've almost worried me to death. I can't handle seeing you like this, all..." He gestured to your leg as he sighed, applying a good amount of shampoo into your hair and massaging it into your scalp.

"Mmm, don't worry. I've been put on leave for a few weeks. Besides, This isn't the worst I've ever been." You leaned back into him, relishing the touch.

"Why didn't they just send you to stay at the hospital anyway? You would've been better there."

"Because I requested to be sent home, sweetie. I wasn't gonna spend two weeks at the hospital when I could be fine at home."

He washed off your hair and started applying the conditioner, "that's sweet, darling. But you really need to be more careful next time." He kissed the crook of your neck, enjoying the shiver that came from you.

"Hey it's not my fault my job is dangerous." You crossed your arms and exhaled.

"It kinda is, you applied for it after all."

"Fair enough."

He washed the conditioner off then dried your hair using the towels, helping you get out the Bathtub and handing you the towel to wrap yourself in. Doing the same for himself with another towel.

He walked to the bedroom to get himself clothes while you changed in the bathroom with the prepared clothes.

He returned soon after to help you out on the remaining clothes, wrapping some fresh bandages around your wounded leg. Also making sure to compliment your "Magical Ass" along the way.

you two made your way to the bedroom to rest, you immediately flopped down onto the bed which worried Francis. He had barely ever seen you this tired, he was exhausted himself but he can't imagine how tiring your day must've been to have completely drained you of energy.

"You gonna come over here or nah?" You snapped him out of his thoughts. he unfurrowed his eyebrows, not knowing he even did so. Mumbling a quick "sorry" before getting into bed with you.

You immediately grab him and snuggle him much like a child would sleep with their plushie. Despite being injured and all, you we're still very strong. As expected from the lead officer of DDD. he laughed through his nose as he turned to look at you and smiled softly. Kissing your forehead.

"Mind telling me what happened now?" He said, wrapping his arms around you to pull you impossibly closer. Burying his head into your chest. (Y'all can't tell me he ain't a chest man)

You sighed, recounting the events of today.

"We were called for another extermination, thought nothing of it until the stupid thing started talking about how this was useless and they'd just end up 'victorious' anyway." You hugged Francis tighter, letting out a huff of frustration as he hummed to let you know he was listening.

"It ended up getting it's hands on a piece of broken glass and I'm sure you can tell what happened next." You gestured to your leg.

"We called for backup a buncha times but they refused to send more people because apparently I'm a veteran officer and that somehow means everything is fine."

You yawned as you mumbled the last sentence. "Can you believe it Fran?"

"Sounds like the higher ups were being a dick." He replied, enjoying the sensation of your fingers drawing circles and shapes on his back.

"They were." You kissed the top of his head, Francis returned the favour by looking up and kissing the tip of your nose.

"Enough about my day, what about yours?"

Francis hummed, "yknow just the usual, Mara being the massive stick up my ass."

Mara, or Maratha. Was a daily customer Francis wouldn't mind losing, she was really a stinky old bitch, always complaining about nothing and everything at the same time. One of her usual complaints being that "the milk was more watered down than usual!".

"I don't even know why she's saying it to me as if I'm the one milking the cows, I'm just the one delivering it. Say it to my boss why don't ya?"

You snorted, "normal Mara behaviour."

"Normal Mara behaviour." He sighed. "And, there was this girl in that newly renovated building across the road who tried hitting on me?"

"What..?"

"Yeah, i don't even know her name. Told her I was married too but she wouldn't back off. She said something along the lines of 'marriages don't even last long. watch, she'll leave you in a few years.'. " He visibly cringed at the memory.

You laughed at his facial expression, "just because your parents are split doesn't mean others will too."

Francis started laughing with you, wrinkles forming at the edge of his tired eyes. "She didn't even buy milk, saying how they were 'putting microchips and chemicals into the milk.', ridiculous."

As the laughing died down, a comfortable silence settled in the air. Only the sound of your breaths and the occasional beep of a car, the sound of your heartbeat and rustling of the the trees outside.

If only it could stay this way forever, unfortunately though you may not have work, Francis does.

"What a shame, huh? I asked to get sent home instead of the hospital just for you to be at work most of the day. To think there's even some girl hitting on you while I'm not there." You said, eyes slowly closing.

"Mhm, I'll try and ask my boss for a day off tomorrow." He started dozing off, "and if he refuses Ill just put you on the phone."

You smiled triumphantly as you remember that time you had a meeting with his boss.

He looked so Nervous in agreeing for a day off for your husband that it made you wonder what would've been the outcome of you weren't a DDD officer.

"He'll have to accept then huh? Unless he wants to discuss the matter face to face with totally amazing and wonderful me." You joked sarcastically

Francis laughed through his nose, "you got that right dear." he smiled, eyes closed. "Hey, honey?"

"Yes Fran?" You whispered.

"I love you." He slurred, finally falling asleep.

"I love you more." You gave him one last kiss on the head before turning off the lamp and joining him in Dreamland.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Should I make a part two?

A/N: eat up pookies

#Francis Mosses #Francis Mosses x reader #Milkman x reader #thats not my neighbour #thats not my neighbour X reader #milkman thats not my neighbour #Francis Mosses that's not my neighbour #X reader

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simdertalia · 1 year ago

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🎍 ACNH Harmonious Set 🌺

Sims 4, Base game compatible | 55 items

Type “ACNH Harmonious” into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

I hope you enjoy!

Build: -Moss Brick Wall | 1 swatch

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on November 28th, 2023

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets will be early access from now on. If you like my work, please consider supporting me:

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @public-ccfinds

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bitchimasnake-sss · 8 months ago

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one last time ft. vinsmoke sanji!

a/n: continuation of my time travel series as asked by anon!! sanji, lost you when you were both 27. now, three years later, aged 30, the cook travels back in time and sees you again. *cue angst* not proofread, im so sorry for mistakes!

warnings: none!! just my crappy attempts of writing angst tbh

"it makes no sense" nami mumbled, peering down intensely at the old cook as if examining her personal lab rat. the alleged thirty year old had materialized in the main room of the going merry through thin air; and nami had almost knocked him out with her staff.

"nami-swan let me-" the man tried to speak but the red-head cut him off, "you ate a devil fruit and you traveled back in time?"

"you're so gorgeous even when you boss me around-""

"sanji." nami cocked an eyebrow.

sanji sighed lightly, trying to reason, "well, i mean i actually ate like just half a bite of it. i don't think this time travel thing is permanent. i'll be out of your gorgeous hair in just a minute"

"no, you being here isn't the issue." nami corrected herself, "i think im just surprised is all. the idea that there exists something like this is just-"

but someone barged into the room before she could finish.

"what the fuck?" the swordsman looked at sanji, taken aback by the sudden blondie appearance, "he looks awfully like the shit-cook."

"it's nice to see you too, moss-head"

"ah-" nami groaned at the swordsman appearance, "well, i guess i'll explain to everybody. out on deck, both of you"

"why are you so tall?" zoro gave the older cook a nasty look.

"zoro, out."

"why is he so tall-"

｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆

"so..." the younger, blonde man asked, "you're me but 30?"

the older man shrugged, "yes, pretty much."

"i cannot believe you committed to the bangs look for over a decade, sanji" you giggled, looking from the older version to the younger one.

"if you like it, then i can keep it for the rest of eternity, my love."

you laughed again, sending the cook an amused look, "sure, i like it."

while the younger cook was swooned at your words, sending you a love-struck gaze. the older was busy contemplating whether he wanted to hug you so hard till his ribs broke down and he disintegrated within you, or if he should keep his distance, saving himself all that hurt.

your hair was choppier and the strands moved gently in the wind, the tresses cashmere kisses against your sun-kissed skin. all the signs of aging were absent from your skin, all those signs of you and him together were gone, just like that. as if you and he hadn't existed at all.

there was no scar on your lips from the time you fell down in the dark while sleepy, no cuts on your arms and legs from battles long gone. every evidence of the life you and sanji had built together was gone, leaving a twenty-three year old you behind.

well, technically that life was yet to come. it would take you and his younger version another five months, 23 days and 6 hours till you both got together. atleast, if his calculations were correct.

it would take you another 9 years, 2 months and 4 days to leave him. he knew those calculations by heart.

and so, sanji held back the urge to ask you if you liked two sugars in your coffee right now too? and did you light up when the moon was out in all it's glory? did your favourite constellation stay the same as years passed you by? did you look the same when you kissed him awake? did-

instead, he said nothing and stared at you, transfixed.

when ussop shook the older cook awake, the blonde man gave the younger crew members a pained smile. and when luffy jumped up and down, asking whether the cook still cooked, sanji found himself laughing and offering to make a meal.

atleast, this way, he could resign himself to an old kitchen, boundless memories and endless suffering, away from your ghastly presence.

the door stood ajar and you slipped inside just as silently like you always did when you wanted to surprise him in the kitchen. he looked up from the chopping board, well-versed with every one of your silent exchanges.

"want some help?" you offered, walking over leisurely and standing opposite to the man on the kitchen island.

the man looked down, focusing on not cutting his fingers up, "uh- no, thanks."

"damn, did you change?"

"hm?"

"where's the added "my love", "mon cheri" or "darling" at the end?" you cocked up an eyebrow, giving him a confused look, "don't tell me you lost those with time, that'll be a real shame."

sanji looked up, dumbstruck at you.

ofcourse he didn't. how could he? how could he when you were all that and more to him. under breathy whispers, loud declarations of love and silent hums in the dark of the night, you were every stringed syllable in every language to him.

he must have been silent for too long cause you shook your palm in front of him, paranoia sewn into your skin, "i mean it's okay if you lost it. like, it's not that big of a deal-"

and sanji laughed.

"excuse me? it's not nice to laugh at a lady."

"you looked so adorable like that." he looked down at the chopped vegetables, hands skillfully adding the veggies to the heated pan. then he looked up through his eyebrows, skillfully avoiding your gaze fully, "you're quite cute, love."

"uh-" your ears went red and you looked away, "thanks? y-you too."

"how have you been, yn?" he looked back at the food, his voice was tender. every hitch of the breath was audible against the backdrop of distant laughs from the crew.

"oh?" you replied shocked. then you smiled, "good. i'm good."

"good?" he repeated, ever so slowly as if turning the word on the tip of his tongue to remember the way you said it.

"yeah, i've been good, sanji."

"i'm glad." he pursed his lips, turning his back to you under the lie of fetching bowls from the cabinet.

"what are you cooking?" you asked, leaning over and peering at the vessel on the stove.

even without turning, he said, "you'd lose balance, careful now."

you marveled at the simmering dish, looking at his back and smiling real big, "you're cooking hand-pulled noodles with broth?! i think its my new favourite dish! i tasted it like a few days ago and i've been dying to eat it againn"

sanji smiled, still turned away from you, "is that so?"

as much as sanji prided himself at his ability to identify you from lightyears apart, at his ability to hear you in the noisiest room, he must have not been paying attention.

because you had sneaked up behind him and pressed yourself against his back, giving him a hug. you smiled gummy against his back muscles, "thankyou! thankyou! thankyouuu!!"

sanji froze under your casual touch. after a second, mindlessly, he lay his bigger hands on top of yours, relishing in the way you felt under him. he closed his eyes, trying to etch the moment in his memories. then he smiled again, promising against the thin air, "i will make you this as many times as you ask me."

"really?" you beamed again, letting go and standing beside him, "promise me?"

"i promise you." he gave you curt nod, melting under every one of your happy dance moves.

"now i would bother you for the rest of our lives." you stuck out your tongue at the blonde man.

"i would rather not be bothered by anyone but you, my love."

"aww-"

"hey geezer." the younger cook stood at the door, eyeing the negligible distance between you and the older man, "get away from yn-chan, you fucking pervert."

"rich coming from you, mr. nosebleed" the older man gave the younger a dirty look.

"HEY THATS NOT MY FAULT"

"SAAAANJI" luffy whined from outside, "ARE YOU DONEEE? WE'RE STARVINGGGG-"

vinsmoke sanji, aged thirty, yelled back "YEAH LEARN TO WAIT SOME MORE."

"YOU'RE SO MEAN SANJI! I MEAN- OLDER SANJI? I MEAN SANJI??- alee? I MEAN THE COOK OF MY SHIP?? NO, THE COOK OF MY FUTURE SHIP-"

"JUST SHUT UP LUFFY." the two blondes yelled in unison and you laughed one last time, lighting up the kitchen on fire.

oh wait, no. that is just the smoke due to the burning veggies in the pan.

well, fuck.

atleast you were laughing. and sanji would have killed entire nations to see that sight again, so, what were a few vegetables for the sacrifice?

#one piece #opla #op #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji angst #one piece angst #one piece fanfic #sanji fic #x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece sanji #sanji imagines

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improbable-outset · 6 months ago

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cw sorta dub con

"honey?" you said, your voice trembling. you were terrified. what happened to francis? what was this creature that was right in front of you right now? fucking your insides harder and better than your husband ever did?

"hooon- hoooon," was all the creature said, giving your milky a nice squeeze.

despite it looking like your husband, well mostly anyway. he wasn't your husband, he didn't smell, sound or even *feel* like it was your husband. you felt guilty about having another man fuck you, but was it really another man? essentially it was francis, nobody would see you through the windows and think you were cheating on your husband, right?

he continued to thrust inside of you, harder and faster. the climax in your still swollen belly coming to an end.

"hooon- gonna cum 'nside. knock you up with triplets," he said with that ominous voice of his. it almost sounded like francis.

"francis- what are you doing?" you asked frantically. you can't have another baby just yet. you went through so much already with the one. you weren't ready yet.

"i-im not ready! look at what the first one did to my body! i still look pregnant, my boobs are so sore, i can't even sleep because of the babe crying all the time!"

you wanted a large family, eventually. but you just couldn't picture yourself having any more kids any time soon. it was very tough on your body, let alone the doppelgänger crisis currently sweeping the world. it's no place to raise a baby, let alone bring any more into the world. but then again, wouldn't a doppelgänger husband and children be able to protect you from the dangerous doppels that wanted to hurt you?

your string of thoughts were cut short by you finally reaching your high, riding out your climax as "francis" thrusted his cock into you. obnoxiously squelching as skin slaps on skin. he eventually releases his thick green dark green load into you.

you were so overwhelmed right now.

you think the creature knew that so he gave you a quick peck on the lips, then quickly shoved a pointed, sharp finger into your cunt, scooping his cum that had leaked out of you back in.

-💜anon

ITS A BIT SHORTER BUT LIKE RAHHHH

👀👀

#★— inbox missions #that’s not my neighbor #💜 anon #francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #the milkman

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tobyfier · 8 months ago

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The Mailman

Ah yes, the mailman. The new resident in the apartment, the complete opposite of milkman, aka Francis Mosses. How does Francis feel about the new person in the apartment? Will he hate him or not? Continue reading to find out!

;Male Reader

(P.s English is not my first language, feel free to correct my mistakes!This is also written from Francis’ pov)

ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★ ᯓ★

I didn’t exactly know how to feel about the new resident of the apartment, however I did know his name. M/n L/n was it? Yes, I thinks so. He was..energetic to say the least, quite the surprise considering the current situation about doppelgängers. The other residents didn’t seem to mind his personality, in fact they all seem to like him a lot..If I had to be honest I envy him.

I mean who wouldn’t? He’s nice,energetic,approachable,and pretty charming. Not to mention he seems to enjoy his job as a mailman, while I’m stuck here being the boring milkman. Nobody really approaches me, saying I look intimidating and not much of a social guy..rude but technically yeah, I could care less about socializing and I only want to finish my job for the day so that I could go home, I never really had much of an interest for romance or socializing with other people. But he seems to be the complete opposite, whenever we was by each other he would always flash me a smile and greet me. I never really say hi back but he doesn’t seem to mind that at all. And whenever he delivers a message or package he would always make small talks with the person, whether it be how their day was or how the weather looks nice. Sometimes I wonder how someone can be so sociable with others.

One time he started talking to me ranting something about space and how he likes stars, he wouldn’t stop ranting. And so I told him to stop talking and left..the next day I was doing my usual job as a milkman, delivering milk to people who ordered when I saw him going house to house delivering a mail or a package. And when we went pass each other, I expected him to ignore me considering I rudely left him on the street yesterday. But he greeted me morning as usual..he’s such a strange and unpredictable man.

Few weeks later..

“Hm..” I hummed as I press the doorbell of the house, I put the bottle of milk down and continued walking to the next house. I could already hear the person talk about how much of a loner I am, just like the other houses..ugh I just want this deliveries to get done fast so I can go home and lay down on my bed..Ah there he is again with his upbeat personality, as usual. How can someone talk so much, if I ever tried that I would be tired before I can even manage to say a paragraph. What if I try to greet him back this time, would be nice if I change my pace a bit, right?

“Morning Mr. Mosses, nice to see you again once more!” He greeted, tipping his hat down as he flash me a smile.

“Morning to you too, L/n.” I greeted walking past him, I could tell he stopped walking for a few seconds because I didn’t hear his footsteps, I walked pass him so many times to the point I could distinguish his footsteps from others..would that be weird for others? I looked back to see that he wasn’t walking anymore, rather skipping like a happy person..cute..

Timeskip

Ugh finally, this day is finally over. I could go back home and rest..once the metal door opened I went inside and gave the doorman my ID and blah blah blah, the usual routine. After checking that I was the actual person, they finally opened the door to let me in the apartment. I walked up the stairs to the third floor which was tiring to say the least, and went to get my keys in my pocket. Once I got it I led the key to the knob but noticed something, the door that led to M/n’s room wasn’t lit up as usual. Usually he opens the lights after he’s back from his job, perhaps he’s later than usual? I sighed, it’s probably nothing I’m probably-

“Oh Mr. Mosses!” He greeted, I turned my head to see him standing beside me except..he doesn’t have his hat on, is this the first time I’ve seen him without it? “Looks like you got here first!”

“What do you mean?” I asked him, a bit confused

“Oh it’s nothing..” he said quickly “and uh-here!” He handed me a letter but it’s not showing the front, hold on a letter for me?

“Oh thank-“ before I could even thank him, he was already closing the door, he seems to be in a hurry. I checked the letter to see who it was from and saw that there was a heart, a love letter? But from who.. “From M/n L/n; to Francis Mosses..” I muttered.

Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought..

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #francis mosses x male reader #francis mosses x reader #thats not my neighbor x male reader #thats not my neighbor x reader #x male reader #x reader

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haerenven · 3 months ago

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♯┆SOFT SPOT .ᐟ ★ - roronoa zoro

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ────── ⋆ .⺌ ⟡ ⊂ ✦ ⊃ ⟡ ⺌.⋆ ────── ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— you are the only person who can be trusted by Zoro when it comes to his swords, we all know how much he is so possessive and clingy and careful about his swords, but you were absolutely different

— he barely can handle anyone try to touch his swords, but her ?.. absolutely fine, you also sometimes clean his swords and blades until they get Completely clean

— “Zoro, I’ll borrow your swords” she said confidently before stand up and pulled His precious sword Wado Ichimonji and he actually didn’t mind at all ! , he was leaning his head on his arms that placed behind his head and muttered “don’t step over me”, she pulled the sword and looked at the little boy “let’s see what you’ve got” she said with deep tone, meanwhile Zoro lean forward the table, watching and absolutely enjoying the whole scene with proud smirk, and the little boy was He was trembling with fear.

— girls? NAH, her? HELL YEAH !!

— when you with both of Nami and robin go to shopping on new island you guys stopped in, Nami was showing her new clothes to the rest of the crew (with both of Sanji and brook compliment), Zoro was lay on floor on his side and didn’t look.., the robin came and show her new clothes, and still Zoro didn’t care..

— but when you came and show your new clothes, Zoro turned his head to look at you while still laying

— he usually like wasting his free time on training or naps, but if you were free and saw you needing company, all pleasure…

— he usually don’t understand any of things you actually interest in, but he don’t mind listening and when he hear weird things he be like “what the hell is that ?” He looked confused raised an eyebrow and rubbed the back of his neck, but keep listening to anything you say

— and that it the next point !

— Zoro don’t listen to anyone orders only luffy…and you, even he can not even say or admit it, but yeah that true

— “I’ll go to look, too” Zoro said huffed, Sanji stopped him “wait, moss-head !” , Zoro rolled his eyes before placed on Sanji “what?, gotta go to find an old man whose head is cut off, right?”, “you?!, go looking for someone??” Sanji said annoyed , Zoro start getting annoyed “shut up and let me go you shitty cook” , “then who gonna look for you?” Sanji said hating that idea, Zoro thinks before saying “well…” , “he is right, Zoro !! Stay here” chopper said worried and freaking, “you too ?”

— she sighed and said with soft small sweet smile “just wait for us here” she said softly, then Zoro said “alright then…”

— in any sudden fight or any uncomfortable situation, Zoro had this kinda thing it might be habit, that he make sure he step forward A front of you and make sure you behind him to protect you from any sudden attack, (even when everyone knows you are one of the strongest crew members and definitely you can hold yourself)

— when both of you be chosen to go and shopping for the rest as task, when you keep your eyes on any random stuff, specially when it’s something clearly you really like it, he will wait for you to be busy with anything else and then he pick up the same thing you were looking at seconds ago

— when you comeback to the ship he came to your cabin, “hey? I saw that earlier and I thought you might like it”, she gasped softly and smiled joyfully “woah !, thank you zo”

— when one time you both had an random conversation, “I can be anything for you, just tell me what do you want me to be”, she chuckled and shook her head “you’re dumb” she said joking, he had a small “I can be that” (the notebook movie)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ────── ⋆ .⺌ ⟡ ⊂ ✦ ⊃ ⟡ ⺌.⋆ ────── ⊹ ࣪ ˖

#roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #opla zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #op x reader #op x you #op x y/n

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illusioninfnty · 21 days ago

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Oil Me Up!

જ⁀➴ Masseuse : Day 11

feat. Bo Sinclair ᯓ★ You've received a gift certificate for a free massage at the sketchy parlor down the road! Hopefully there aren't any weirdos working there!

warnings! : NSFW 18+, non canon au, inappropriate use of massage oils, fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, this is so unserious guys

ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3

Your hand clenches around the flimsy paper card in your hand, trying desperately to ignore the pats on your back and the congrats from your various coworkers. You stare down the company’s ultimate bingo prize that you had won.

A gift certificate to the sketchy massage parlor down the road.

Seriously? This was all your shitty bosses could invest in for a mandatory bonding activity?

You feel a migraine coming on as you force a smile on your face that you’re sure looks more like a grimace and weave your way out of your crowd, away from the assholes you work with.

When the weekend hits, you find yourself utterly bored and unmotivated. You should probably get some laundry done, but your back is aching and you really don’t feel like getting up and doing any sort of manual labor.

As you lay in bed, your mind drifts to the gift certificate. You rummage through your purse that hangs on your nightstand, eventually pulling out the crumpled up paper. You contemplate whether or not you should go before realizing that you really don’t give a shit.

Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen? At least you’re getting a free massage out of it.

You manage to roll yourself out of bed and put on clothes that make you look presentable, fumbling for your keys and making the quick drive to the parlor, an almost identical route that you take to work.

Your nose scrunches as you really get a good look at the place. It looks a lot dingier up close. The walls are rusted and covered in moss, and the sign is barely visible, clearly not having been updated since before you were born. The space looks way too tiny for a massage parlor to be run inside of it, and you can find the door half open, looking as though it’s broken and can’t be closed.

You snort, wondering which poor intern your bosses sent in here to fetch them the gift certificate.

The door creaks loudly as you pull it open causing you to wince. You really weren’t in the mood to deal with a migraine today.

“Hello?” You call out, immediately cringing by how you sound like one of those horror movie victims.

You hear some rustling in the back office, and then the loud footsteps of what seems to be workman’s boots. An odd choice for a masseuse parlor, but you weren’t surprised if this place had some oddballs working in it.

Suddenly a man emerges from the office, and you’re shocked to be greeted by a tall man wearing what seems to be a mechanic’s jumpsuit.

Now, were you a real nice sight for Bo’s eyes.

He hadn’t laid his eyes on something as pretty in ages as you in ages, if he wasn’t counting that meaty hot dog he ate last night.

He whistles at you. “Well, hello there, gorgeous, what can I do for you today?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, and Bo can’t help but be turned on a lil’ bit at your feistiness. “If you fucking worked here, you’d know I was here for a massage.” You hold up a small piece of paper between your pointer and middle finger. “And a free one, at that.”

Bo raises an eyebrow at the paper, snatching it from your hands and taking a good look at this. Look, Bo wasn’t the best employee, but he’s pretty sure he would remember if they were giving out free fucking massages. Which they weren’t because this place didn’t have the money for that. He was lucky that he still was getting his biweekly paycheck without it bouncing.

Bo also notices that the word massage on the certificate is missing an s. He hands the card back to you.

“Yeah, that ain’t real.”

Your face drops so comically that Bo almost bursts out laughing.

“The fuck do you mean it’s not real? I won that in bingo!”

Bo sighs. He’s used to people complaining, and even though you’re really hot he isn’t in the mood to argue with anyone today. “Listen lady, you’re lucky that I’m actually here right now and not off—”

“Don’t you listen lady me, you big oaf! I drove all the way out here on my day off to get a free fucking massage that I won fair and square, and now you’re telling me it’s fake? I better be getting this massage one way or another!”

Big oaf? That was a new one for Bo. Usually he was just cursed out by pervy old men coming in looking to get fondled by some chick. Now that he’s thinking about it, he was probably hired in the first place so this place could avoid any sex trafficking allegations.

You look like you’re two seconds away from starting to actually whack at Bo, so he figures he should probably de-escalate the situation and put those VHS training videos from all those years ago to use. “I can still give you that massage, if you really want it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “For free?”

He smirks. “For a different price.”

“Is this your way of saying you want to fuck me for it?”

Bo is surprised by your bluntness, but he thinks that he probably shouldn’t be at this point.

He raises his hands up in faux innocence. “You said it, not me.” You seem to contemplate it for a bit, but probably not as long as you should’ve. “Fine,” you finally say. Bo keeps his cheers in his head. “But you better be a good fuck, or I’m going to be real pissed off.”

You turn to head into the only room that’s opened, walking past Bo. But then you stop and turn your head towards him.

“And no fucking until after the massage.”

You slam the door behind you, presumably to undress and get yourself ready, and Bo takes that as his cue to also get his things prepared—namely his oils and waxes.

His dick throbs thinking about you naked on the table, oiling you all up, laying nice and pliant for him to—

He shakes those thoughts away and ignores his boner, not really wanting to face your wrath for not giving you your massage first.

Massage, then pussy, massage, then pussy…

Bo repeats the mantra in his head until he’s ready to see you naked, not bothering to knock because he really just doesn’t give a shit.

He sees you lying stomach down on the massage table, a towel already covering your ass. Damn, missed opportunity. You look unamused as you scroll through your phone, looking as though you’ve been waiting forever for him when he’s pretty sure it was only a couple of minutes.

“Finally! Feels like I’ve been waiting forever!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he gives you a toothy grin. “Wanted to make sure I got all the best products for you.” That was complete bullshit, as he just grabbed whichever ones smelt the girliest to him.

You look as though you don’t believe them, but you seem to drop the issue when you put your phone down beside you and rest your head against the cot.

Bo takes that as his cue to begin. He does all the fancy stupid shit that’s required of him before he can start touching you. You don’t seem to mind it too much, your eyes closed and a small smile across your face.

When Bo finally lathers his hands in oil and places them on your backside, he’s pretty sure he knows what heaven feels like now.

Out of all the years of working here, Bo has never felt the touch of a woman. He’s only working when all the old men come in, and most of the time they usually leave once they realize that Bo would be the one massaging them. He’s actually only massaged two people before, and one of them was his boss before that guy just mysteriously vanished.

But hey, he just gets paid by the hour, not the massage.

Bo presses his hands into your back, gliding them up and down in a way that he thinks seems right. He gets you nice and oiled up, paying close attention to your lower back, right where the curve of your ass begins.

“That feels good,” you murmur as he hits a particular spot in the areas he was focusing on.

Bo is surprised, he was hitting that spot because it was the closest he could get to your ass without you questioning it, but hey, if you were giving him the go-ahead he sure as hell was going to take it.

Bo’s cock throbs in its confines as his hands dip lower and lower across your back, grazing your ass momentarily.

He feels you jolt, but you remain silent instead of yelling at him. Bo takes this as his cue to keep going on, his hands traveling down to start kneading your ass. His cock stirs as he hears your faint moans, no doubt trying to hide your sounds from him.

“How ya’ feelin’ now?” he asks, although he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. He just wants to see if you’ll tell him the truth.

“F-fine, I guess,” you reply, and Bo tuts. Guess you’re playing hard to get. Looks like he’ll have to try a bit harder.

His hands begin to massage you below your ass cheeks, making their way between your thighs. His fingers swipe at your bare pussy, and he’s pleased to find that you’re already wet down there.

“You may be able to lie, but this pussy surely can’t.” Bo chuckles, hearing your intake of breath. He continues to pet your pussy, fingering at your puffy walls, not yet slipping one inside. He enjoys the way your arousal mixes with the oils on his calloused fingers, making it even easier to fondle you all over.

“I thought I said massage first,” you mutter to him weakly.

“Yeah, but you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

Bo barely misses the way your head shakes, a smirk rising to his face as he feels the way his cock pushes against his jumpsuit. “Say it,” he teases.

“...I don’t want you to stop.” You admit to him.

He teases a finger at your slit, relishing in the way you practically jump in your spot when his finger finally penetrates you. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You moan unabashedly, no longer concerned with hiding them considering the way he curls his finger, hitting spots inside of you that haven’t been touched in forever. Your toes curl as he sticks another inside of you, the thick digits deftly exploring your pussy.

The sounds of your wet pussy are like music to Bo’s ears, and his cock reacts accordingly. He could spend all day with his fingers shoved up your hole.

However, his impatience gets the best of him.

He pulls his fingers out of you in favor of undoing his jumpsuit, just enough so that he’s able to pull his cock out, his hard length standing at attention. His tip is red and angry, and he can’t wait to stick it inside of you.

“Already?” You turn your head towards to look at him, an annoyed expression plastered across your face.

“Clearly wet enough for me to stick my cock into. Why the fuck would I wait any longer?”

“Men,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes.

Bo doesn’t really give a shit about your complaints, because he’s about to get his dick wet. He aligns his length with your hole, rubbing it across your oiled-up ass before sticking it inside.

You had the tightest pussy that Bo could remember ever being in. He manages to contain his groans, as he slowly inches himself inside your hole, your walls squeezing him so well.

“Fuck, baby, you’re clenching around me so nicely. Such a greedy pussy you got here,” he hisses, falling into a rhythmic thrust of his hips. The oil allows him to glide nicely, and he squeezes some more onto your backside, letting it drip down both the arch of your back and between your ass cheeks.

“Ah!” You gasp at the new sensation of Bo’s cock inside of you, gripping down on the flimsy table you lay on. “Slow down!”

“Can’t with you sucking me in like this.” His hips meet your ass with every thrust, the sound of skin on skin reverberating throughout the small room.

As he continues to thrust, he feels you bucking your hips back onto him. The force of you moving against him has you tightening up even more, a feat Bo didn’t realize was possible.

“Shit, yeah, I’m gonna cum.” His thrusts are more erratic now. He throws his head back in pleasure, focusing solely on warmth and tightness of your inner walls as they squeeze his length.

“You better fucking pull out!” you cry out.

As Bo feels his orgasm coming, he manages to pull himself out of your pussy, just enough to see his cum spray onto your back. It travels up your spine with the way your back is arched.

As you’re both panting, recovering from your orgasms, Bo can’t help but to get one last jab in at you.

“Well you got my tip, it’s only fair you give me one. I did provide a service today,” he jeers.

“You’re so fucking gross,” you reply as you stand, choosing not to cover your naked body as you begin to redress yourself. “I came here for a free massage, so you better believe I’m leaving without paying a single cent.”

You walk past him swiftly out the door, his limp cock still hanging out of his pants.

Before you leave the shop, you turn to him one last time, raising your middle finger up. “You didn’t even make me cum, asshole!”

Bo sighs, zipping himself back into his jumpsuit. “Worth a try.”

Man, he fucking hated working a customer service job.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair smut #house of wax x reader #house of wax smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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devocred · 4 days ago

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#time to be terrified to be an am.er.ican #for a whole 4 years #and a wo.man on top of that #not even worried t.x couldn't remove cr.uz #we never can #politics cw #[ ooc ★ moss rambles ]

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mlmxreader · 10 months ago

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When Your Head's Too Loud | Nikto x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Angsty time with prompt number 30 “You were right, you were so, so fucking right and I hate it” and 34 “I love you, I really do” where reader is so frustrated of Nikto who doubting himself about not being loved in fact everyone actually love him and care for him. ❞

: ̗̀➛ Nikto's head gets loud often, but there is one person he can always trust.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, mental illness, depictions of d.i.d, saneism and ableism

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Nikto often doubted himself, doubted that those around him actually cared from him, and part of it was due to his Dissociative Identity Disorder, as he was often told that he was alone in the world and that nobody actually liked him, not even you.

It would usually make him stow away from everybody else, hiding out in the woods where you had first told him that you loved him, amongst the tall and towering trees that you would often climb and the thick bramble bushes that tugged him closer to their embrace.

Near the small running stream that was usually a murky olive colour, deep and dull green as it kicked up sediment and moss; the sound of it rushing would calm him, and drown almost everything else out.

Nikto knew that he shouldn’t have isolated himself from everybody else, he always got an earful about how unhealthy it was; but it made him feel safe, and it made him feel better.

Insecurity was not a new friend of his; even before the development of his disorder, he had always been taunted on the playground - the ugly kid. Billy no mates.

He had been picked on and kicked to the ground far too many times; a dog that had been beaten by its master to the point of giving up and giving in.

Nikto knew that his career was on thin ice, mostly because nobody wanted to work with someone like him; they called him names, and made comments about his disorder and how it made him violent, unpredictable… you never did, though. You never once did any of that.

His teammates trusted him, of course, but they still held some caution around him; the only one who ever truly let their guard down near him was you.

You would be completely at ease at his side, but for some reason, he still doubted himself. He would always still doubt himself.

Even now, as he sat up in his cot and looked around, he could feel your breath against his hip from where he had pushed himself up, and he could feel your arm lazily draped over him; he grabbed his mask, fixing it on quickly before taking a deep breath.

His eyes were wild and frantic as he heard them talk.

“No one likes you, you know.”

“Nobody can ever trust you - do you really think they’ll ever see you as anything but a psycho killer?”

“That’s all you’ll ever be to them - why do you think they keep calling people psychopaths? They don’t care about people like us, especially not you.”

“Stop it,” Nikto murmured, shaking his head. “Stop it. No, no. We are not- we are okay.”

You stirred upon hearing his voice, rubbing your eyes as you yawned and sat up, your hand coming to his shoulder as you blinked to clear the sleep from your eyes. “Nikto? Why are you wearing your mask?”

He glared at you, shaking his head again. “We’re not…”

“Not what?” You hummed, tilting your head to the side. Your voice still thick with sleep.

He swallowed thickly, the sound audible and loud against the quiet, isolated room. “We’re not good enough for you. We don’t deserve you, never have.”

You scoffed, flopping back down and taking his mask with you. You held it on your chest, smiling as you traced it gently with your fingertips. “Like I give a fuck. Did you forget that I have plenty of blood on my hands, too?”

“You were right,” he muttered, although not to you. “You were right, you were so, so fucking right and I hate it. We’ll never be loved…”

You cleared your throat as you gently smacked the back of your hand against his bicep, drawing his attention to you again. “I love you, I really do, Nikto. I don’t… I don’t let my guard down around many people, but you? I love you enough to never feel unsafe when you’re nearby… even if I’m being shot at.”

He grumbled, slowly lowering himself down so that he was laid next to you, pressing his temple to yours. “You sound almost angry…”

You shook your head, stealing a quick kiss as you sighed. “I’m not angry, just… sometimes, when I hear you talk like that, it’s kinda frustrating - you can’t see yourself the way I do, you can’t see how much you make me laugh when you tell your shit jokes. You can’t see how much my heart races when I get to see you after a day apart. You can’t see how handsome you are… I adore you, every inch and every atom. I adore you… and so, so many of your teammates love you like a brother, they might not adore you like I do, but they do love you, and all of us care about you unconditionally.”

“You mean that?” Nikto asked quietly.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Forever and always. I wasn’t… I wasn’t gonna ask you until we went to your house during our break, but…”

“But?”

“But, would you marry me?” You asked softly. “And I don’t mean it out of pity - I’ve been thinking about asking for a while, now, and… just seems like the right time.”

Nikto nodded, cracking a smile. “I would.”

“I don’t have a ring,” you admitted with a soft laugh. “Can I give you a bit of barbed wire, instead?”

He nodded. “In the morning.”

“Alright,” you smiled, stealing another kiss. “Next time you have doubts… do me a favour? Just wake me up, please. I don’t want you to suffer in silence thinking… y’know.”

Slowly, Nikto nodded again as he turned onto his side and put his arm over you. “Thank you.”

“You know this,” you whispered. “But if shit’s getting too loud in your head, we can go down to the woods together. I’ll keep out of your space, if that’s what you need. But if we go down together, you won’t get a bollocking.”

“I will,” he told you. “Thank you, my love.”

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