#.𐙚dark content

[dmitriene]

bend over simon's muscular lap, taking every single slap of his calloused palm that burns against your hot flesh, rounded asscheeks is raw red, scorching with pain that resonates through your whole body, jolting forward with your flesh naked, on display for him.

you take everything simon gives you, every painful minute and second of being spanked raw by him, feeling his hardened cock poking under your chest where you splayed on his leg, the fat girth what you'll receive afterward like a good girl, after he'll make you cum on his fingers.

thick digits that stretch your clenching hole, stuffing you full and deep where he fingers every pathetic sob and mewl out of your laxed mouth, salty tears mingling with drool as he makes you cum more than two times, wrenching your brain out of you each time your muscles seizing.

by the time simon lifts you up to splay you on your back, body boneless and head full of cotton, your thighs soaked and trembling with little cramps, fat cunt glossy with your own cum that stains his fingers down to the scarred knuckles, puffy, but when he unzips his pants, you let your legs fall apart obediently.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: mentions of stalking, breeding king, possible kidnapping.

könig is your stalker, and not that you even know that you have one, especially not knowing that it's him, an weird, but absolutely charming man that flirts with you unabashedly, and so foolishly, yet you can't deny that he's adorable.

you can see that he's nervous, maybe not really on his plate in this buzzing, crowdy pub, but he buries it all in advance to stick up to you, acting slightly cocky when he gives you an awkward compliments and flexes his meaty biceps, asking if you find military guys sexy.

könig knows the answer beforehand, trained himself with down written dialogues on a paper in his apartment after he stalked on you, knowing what you like, what your interests are, how often you go outside and where he can find you, hell, he even knows what shade of underwear you wear right now.

and you know nothing about it, completely oblivious, letting him lure you with some silly sweet talk and fleeting touches to your knee and hand, a brush of his calloused fingers that previously were fiddling with themselves, now founding their way to your supple thigh.

you don't know anything about about him despite his name, not even könig's intentions, yet opting to end up this evening sprawled beneath him completely intoxicated and bare, all the clothes long shed off and laying haphazardly on the floor of his apartment.

könig got you exactly where he dreamed, stretched around his fat cock that he bullies in your sopping cunt, pounding mercilessly against your spongy spot, thick cockhead cramming itself in your hole and you almost feel his stupid length in your throat.

he turns you stupid for him, completely brainless, able only to sob sweetly and mewl each time his cock throbs and moves in the confiness of your velvety, clutching walls, not registering his possessive huffs, nastily growled words of how long he waited for you, so he could keep you all to himself and breed you.

and you don't push away nor kick when könig pumps you full of his potent cum, lots of milky and thick seed that floods your pussy until it leaks out in a globs, creating a puddle on the sweaty sheets, just relishing in the way his girth throbs and the warmth envelops you, as his thumb traces along your tummy.

it's only normal when you wake up in the morning still in his apartment, body aching and feeling numb from amount of the teeth shaped marks you have on your flesh, gladly cleaned up, with your pussy swollen and still throbbing, but the weight of the leather around your neck does feel weird.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: possible dubcon, breeding and pregnancy, predator and prey, reader is a dummy.

bear hybrid john price with a bunny hybrid, you're just a pair of fluffy ears and displayed, pure innocence, curious thing that lives in a rather cruel forest, spending your evenings in your nest, and bright mornings while munching at some goods you picked up.

a peaceful, simple life, until your curios fluffy ass found some problems on your own tail, deciding to inspect some further part of the forest, and unbeknownst to yourself, finding your way to the price's nest, a one big, lazy bear.

john is not one for the problems, he enjoys his own peacefulness as much as you, stretched lazily on some fluffy furs and snoring away, until his nose catches a whiff of your cloying scent, his round ears fluttering immediately, small tail stirring slightly.

he doesn't like when someone wanders outside his nest, not to say about the inside, where he arranges everything neatly for his long rests and collects some fruits and plants, tasty things that he doesn't want to share at all, but when john cracks his cerulean eyes open, he is surprised to see a fluffy, cute thing like you.

and do you smell good, like the most ripe fruit, with your twitching tail and round, curious eyes looking at him carefully, you don't bolt away when you study the way john rises up, hefty body stretches up lazily, muscles covered by the layer of fat and some thick fur on his beefy legs and arms.

price moves carefully, he's enticed by you as much as you are, watching the big predator before you with nothing but pure interest, making tentative steps towards him, your scent growing more prominent, swallowing him, and there's a hoarse grunt in his chest, but instead of scaring you off, it makes you keen.

and god, john doesn't know what he did to receive such an adorable thing like you to himself, getting in his nest on your own, lacking the fear of him like someone who can easily snap you in half, but instead he scoops you towards him, dragging you by setting his broad palms at your round hips.

price arranges you onto the warm furs that lay on the ground easily, hands pawing at your body both carefully, but ain't afraid to squeeze with slight greed, and he doesn't take any more time before his hand skims below your navel, finding a warm, slick mess beneath your supple thighs and white fur.

you're just a silly thing, not even knowing that you shouldn't let some unfamiliar predator touch this way, but john rumbles about what a good care he'll take of you, the only thing he needs is your soppy pussy enveloping his fat and flushy cock, receiving every drop of his potent and thick cum.

and you don't want to deny yourself a possibility to rest in a warmer and more comfier nest, eating tasty fruits and plants without needing to collect them yourself, john would do it all for you, and in exchange, you just need to let him bury his fat cock in your gushy pussy, pumping load after load to coat your gummy cervix.

you're just his adorable, cum dump bunny, all squishy for him to sleep with more comfortably and keep his cock drained off cum that fills your puffy pussy almost every night, and it's not a surprise when you get pregnant in following months, all round with his offspring, and so so peaceful.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

thinking about werewolf!könig and naive villager!reader — being in the könig clutches was honestly not so bad, yes, most of his time he treated you as his most possessive treasure, and at the same time a mate, but he was also affectionate.

yes, he kept you locked up in a wooden cabin, and you don't even know if it really belongs to him, but for that you had a comfortable, warm place that you didn't have to take care of yourself, a wide, comfortable bed, often shared with könig at night, when he scoops you up to his broad chest, wrapping his huge arms around your much smaller body, gently stroking you and softly, peacefully growling in your ear — “soft, schönes mädchen„

he feeds you with delicious meals, takes care to keep your nutrition balanced, obviously he is engaged in the extraction of meat himself, but does not let you watch how he does it, so it comes to you ready — with vegetables or fruits, berries on the side, you do not ask questions where he got it all from, only eat quietly, thanking him with gentle kiss on the cheek and quiet, sweet whisper — “thank you, kö„

no one from the village has ever tried to find you, of course, no one would dare to go into the woods, especially when könig himself is wandering around the border, but sometimes the thought of this fact hurts you, not that you want someone to save you, or to go back there, because könig doesn't hurt you.

but that doesn't stop you from curling up under the sheets and sobbing softly, wiping the warm tears from your cheeks and burying your face in the pillow, at least until könig finds you in this state and you're crying against his chest while he gently strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head, growling comfortingly — “shh.. it's alright.. don't cry, süßer has, please„

the more time passed, the seasons slowly changed, you became more and more accustomed with routine, even if it included constant breeding, especially on the days when könig had to change his form, after which you had to sit on his wide, soft and fur coated thighs, cockwarming his fat, thick cock that was settled deep inside your soppy pussy.

he was stretching your tight, already breeded hole that was leaking his thick cum, on his knot, keeping you nice and snug for him even through his constant short rolls of broad hips and little snaps forward, which was making you whine quietly in the crook of his neck, feeling how könig's amused growls reverberate through your smaller body, as his clawed hand caress your fragile spine and hair, his face nuzzling against the side of your face, kissing and whispering — “shh, you're doing so good for me, mein süßer hase, so good„

and you go limp on him, grunting something unintelligible, letting him occasionally continue to thrust into your tight, squelching pussy, rubbing your gummy walls against his fat cock with slow drags and teasing you with his knot, while his claws squeeze the flesh of your plush, rounded ass as gently as possible, relishing in your obedience and quiet mewls that slip past your soft lips, brushing with hot breath against his flesh.

— “just like that, feels good, yeah, bunny? what a good girl you are, mein gutes mädchen„

and he's more than right, you're his, and only his.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[dmitriene]

cw: dark content, slight bit of comfort, dub con, reader is slightly strange, werewolf könig, mentions of scratches and blood, pinv, forced breeding, creampie, degrading and pet names. pairing: werewolf könig x villager fem reader

thinking about werewolf!könig and naive villager!reader — you've been told to stay away, frightened whispers wafted through the village at night, endless conversations and warnings not to go deep into the woods, especially at night, because there's something that constantly leaves torned animal carcasses and deep scratches in its wake.

you've been told to run away if you see something, to escape, but you notice a hunched, tall figure in the darkness between the trunks, and you walk towards it with naive interest, reaching out with your hand into the impenetrable darkness, making something growl from there, a wild, hungry sound, as you whisper a soft — “hello?„

it had been a long time since könig had touched people, moreover, he had not spoken to any, he had been shunned and feared, and könig had hidden himself in reply, driven only by his own interests, but when a charming, innocent thing of its own accord came into his clutches, into his nocturnal abode, how could he refuse?

sweet smell, charming mewls and soft, jiggling flesh under his clawed, wide palms as his hairy, broad thighs are pounding into your backside, thick, meaty cock stretch your weeping, tight pussy to accommodate his fat cock with each harsh thrust that accompanied by loud, squelching sound and your weak moans, as his claws dig into the skin of your hips and thighs, leaving bloody, tingling scratches.

your white, cotton panties crumpled under your knees, adding dirt stains to the already slightly soaked fabric, the light, almost transparent fabric of your nightie are bunched over your hips, exposing your naked mound and plush ass to the cool breeze, as könig thrusts in you with fervor, hammering into your sloppy, leaking cunt as he snarls and growls things that your mushy brain can't proceed — “dummes, dummes breedable mädchen„

he will fuck you 'til your body falls to the muddy ground, staining the snow white fabric of your nightie that will soon be torn to shreds, while the beast, könig, abuses your dribbling pussy with harsh, deep thrusts that let the leaking, fat tip of his cock knock against your womb, thrusting mercilessly till he fills you to the brim with his spurting, potent thick cum, coating your insides and watching how it drips from your swollen folds down your scratched, wet from your slick, thighs.

könig fills you up until there dark spots in front of your eyes, and your wet, dribbling cunny pulsing rapidly against his thick cock with each slow, torturous drag, ripping out whimpering mewls out of your pretty mouth, and seeing how your clenching, breeded hole doesn't push his seed out, he stops, slipping out of you with loud, wet squelch, that makes you wiggle your hips.

— “such a good, braves mädchen„ he growls when you found yourself curled up in his wide arms, intuitively hiding in the warmth of the fur on his chest, pressing your naked, sore body against his much stronger, not at all taking in his words, and you don't have to, because now you will be with him forever, a pliant, adorable thing that would warm his den and give him cute little puppies.

and no one from the village would dare try to take you away from him, he'd make sure of it.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[dmitriene]

simon ghost riley who extinguishes his cigarettes on your flesh, scorching your sweat soaked skin, duplicating the little reddish marks, scattering them all over your body and forming constellations formed from burns.

the air is dense, clogged with the smell of sweat and tobacco, and the only sounds that carry through the space are your pitching mewls mixed with obscene squelches of your soaked cunt, clutching onto his cock with each harsh thrust and forming a white ring at the bulbous tip.

the only thing you can do is only whine like a mutt and bounce on his lap, your tight hole sucking onto his girth greedily, pelvic smushing against his own with his trimmed hair rubbing at your engorged clit.

simon's movements are indifferent, letting you take anything you want, milk his meaty cock while he barely thrusts his hips up, meeting your rolling ones with a chocked moan escaping your lips, his rough and calloused palm settles at the fat of your ass, squeezing, pressing you closer.

there's still a smoldering cigarette between the fingers of his free hand, pressing against your skin where a drop of sweat drips between your breasts, causing the tip of the cigarette goby to hiss on the contact.

the weight of simon's warm and wet palm leaves the supple fat of your ass as it crawls up your back, the calloused fingertips caress the skin and make your back arch until he roughly grabs your hair, pulling, winding around his fist to keep you in one position.

you still, gummy walls of your cunt pulse and flutter around the cock longed against your spongy spot, making you all whiny as you rub your pussy onto him, needy for any possible friction, when the burns on your skin suddenly tingle.

simon's tongue runs over your skin, collecting salty sweat and running over each red round mark, giving you goosebumps and making your body shudder, cunt clenching, as he crushes the remnants of a cigarette in his palm before winding his arm around the curve of your waist, finally fucking up into you.

letting yourself slump forward and nuzzle into his neck, reveling in his heady scent as your ass bounces up and down his muscular thighs, each slap leaving you moaning, as he pummels into the depths of your greedy hole.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: dead dove, kidnapping, cannibalism, gore and dead bodies.

simon riley's butcher shop is quite popular in a small town, where, unlike the usual stores, meat products are fresher and not so overpriced, and dishes from his meat turn out to be so delicious that everyone comes back here earlier than the end of the week, because they have already eaten what they recently bought.

no one understands that on the long counter behind clean glass there is not the usual fresh meat of a once ripe cow or pig, but human flesh, among the pieces of different sizes there may be someone's overly rude neighbor, who once allowed himself to insult simon, or a young woman who was annoyingly sticky to him.

no one even thinks of the small farm in a cold, gloomy refrigerated storage room filled with the bodies of both men and women, dark metal hooks gleaming with a reflective, dim light that fades in simon's liquid eyes, the thick wooden handle of the cleaver clutched in his thick fingers, before simon raises the clean blade over his cornered victim, blood splattering scarlet and warm liquid around.

his heavy hands rest on the pale, slashed neck of the corpse to cover the grisly, blood oozing incision of split layers of the skin, allowing the liquid mess taint his bare, scarred arms and the apron, preferring to stain himself and the floor beneath rather than the walls, which would then have to be washed of ingrained dried blood and the foul smell of spreading rot.

simon is pulled out of his delicate focus as he squats down and examines each limb of the corpse, the tongue behind his closed lips running along the line of his sturdy teeth, his thick hands pondering and feeling the soft, fatty areas of the body in front of him, noting how much he can take, before a bell rings from the further side of the wall, indicating someone's arrival at the store.

he hurriedly wipes his hands so that they do not drip with viscous blood on the floor, running along the sides of his shirt with wet, soaking stripes before heading for the exit from the storage room and looking out into the store hall, eyes quickly searching for the person who came in, before his inky gaze slows down on you, meeting the peering gleam of your stare.

you're out of sorts, not on your plate, fingers tugging at the fabric of your jeans, fidgeting at the pale parts of them as you look around like a wild cat, but unlike them, you twist your nose, skin on the bridge wrinkling when you spot huge chunks of meat on the counter, the mere sight is enough to send a shiver down your svelte spine, and simon is almost ready to be offended, if it weren't for your charm.

he is used to people who swallow lumps of pooling saliva in their mouths from the mere sight of meat, even if not cooked, raw pieces attract them, because they are addicted to them like drugs, the taste of human flesh changes their typical habits of taste, animal meat seems tasteless,not so soft and fibrous, forcing them to return again and again to simon, but you are nothing like them.

you reluctantly move closer to the glass case as he lets out a hoarse grunt, his still slightly bloody hand flexes to run through the air behind the spread out pieces of meat, and when his sanguine hand hit the periphery of your eyes, you cover your mouth with your palm and practically bend over in a broken line in disgust, muffling a gag that rises from your throat, eyes rolling up and fluttering to close briefly.

makes simon wonder what would you look like if he made you sit locked in the midst of freshly butchered bodies and one still covered in flesh, not so long ago some of them were breathing, and maybe even greeting you in the middle of the street, but now their fate is to be eaten, unlike yours, and the very concept of such a depiction should not make his cock fatten up in his loose pants with dull throbbing, but here he is.

when for once, simon allows himself to speak, a smoky wheezing of a british accent envelops you in a heap cloud, immediately turning your focus to meet his rugged mug, his voice a smug tone of purr, wondering what a skittish kitten like you has forgotten here, if you can't even look calmly at the meat in front of you, could you wandered here by chance, mistaking his butchery for a grocery store.

this is your chance to leave, fly off and never come back, bottomless pools of his eyes peering at you through pale eyelashes, gaze dancing with black mirth, eyeing every inch of you with hungry, sickening interest, but you don't notice the signs, fluttering your pretty eyelashes uncertainly as your faces get a little closer together, simon's head turning aside with curiosity.

his heavy, broad body leaning on beefy hands that hold onto the counter, sleeve adorned with different shaped skulls, swirling in black ink down to his wrist, suitable for his image, which you do not yet fully know, as you mumble that you've come for some nice cuts of meat to cook a dinner, and only his store was credible.

it's flattening, knowing that an innocent bird like you recognizes his developed talent, despite all your inner disgust, and simon doesn't mind taking you further in shop to show you what he thinks will definitely fit your request, but you shouldn't twitch too hard when he squeezes your thin neck in his wide hand, fingers press into the carotid artery with a fleeting stroke, before everything floats in front of your eyes, and finally dissolves, plunging you into a gentle, sleeping heap.

simon would keep you, he doesn't want to send you on a ferry of the same fate as corpses in his refrigeratered room, despite your alluring, appetizing shapes, the curves of which he can notice even under a layer of closed clothing, imagine how your fat would feel between his teeth, filling his luscious mouth with sweet blood, instead, he may well enjoy the fat of your pussy.

there's no reason to hurt you, instead, he'll leave you to explore his own sudden attraction, cock straining against his meaty thigh from just looking at your peaceful face, maybe you'll be obedient enough to not resist his curiosity, he'll even wash the blood off himself for you, ain't no point in making an already feisty kitten scared of him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: dubcon that tips on noncon, predator prey, dead animals as a gift, stalking in some way.

taking a winter holidays settled in a snowy mountain is a great idea, if only you knew that there's werewolf könig wandering in the shade of your cabin and woods around, his domain, with you, his kleiner hase, getting willingly towards his maw.

könig could hear your call from miles away, the seductive, saccharine scent of you possessing his senses, making a wolf in him preen and scratch, itching to be set free and haunt you around until you're terrified, sweetened even more by the scent of fear clinging against your ripe flesh.

it's started with someone getting missing, buried forever in the depth of a snowy forest for other predators to feast, continued with dead animals at your porch, small, pure silly things with soft furs and no canines, laying with a claw mark on their bodies, stained with blood, a gift for you, even through it makes you disgusted.

you don't suspect anything when there's pained whimpers in the pitch dark forest, a night sky settled above, too dark with small speckles of starts, you just go out there without any weapon, worried that someone got hurt while wandering around the snowstormed area, not knowing that there's a wide grinning face and sharp claws awaiting for you.

könig has a bright eyes wide on the pleasure of taking you as his, a drooling mouth beneath a cloth of his mask that waters at your ambrosial scent, wondering why you fight him when you lured him in the first place, a tasty thing with plush flesh and cute little pussy beneath thick layers of clothes.

he'd have so much fun with you, make you gag on the swelling knot of his cock with warm tears coating your cheeks, salty drops that he'll lap off your face afterwards, keeping himself denied of cumming until in your cunt, with your vulnerable body pressed against the tree, stretched around his thick girth, taking every inch.

with your cervix battered by the fatness of his knot, strange and unsettling feeling that makes you jolt and both mewl, head tilting back to hide away from him, but könig rubs his nose against your throat and licks at the crook of your neck, pistoning in the tightness of your gooey walls with sloppy thrusts and whiny growls.

you should've believed in predators stalking around the area, listened to people's warnings of someone non human living in this territory, but now it's late, and könig picked you as a good, breedable hole for himself, as his mate.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

riding werewolf!könig, your naked body, which supple flesh is flushed with a slight blush due to the bubbling warmth in your body, is covered with his cloak made of wild wolf's fur, enveloping you in warmth and softness, as well as the thick, deep scent of könig's musk.

könig growls beneath you, calloused hands paw with a rough grip on your hips, sharp claws dig sharply into your soft, rounded ass, scratching the thin skin with small bloody scratches, as you bounce up and down on his meaty cock, your gooey walls pulsing around his fat, leaking girth.

his blue eyes stare into yours with an animalistic, hungry gaze, black pupils dilated and gradually absorbing the brightness of his blues, his cock throbs in the tightness of your stretched, silk pussy, as könig watches your breasts jiggle with each thrust, practically howling at the mere sight.

until your perky, sensitive nipples are between his sharp canines, wet tongue draws circles and sucks, as he more actively impales your squelching cunt on his weeping cock, squeezing and lifting you by your supple hips, deliberately quickly pumping into your cervix as a knot forms on his spurting tip.

könig making sure to fill you to the brim each time, letting the outline of his cock bulge in your tummy, as he jerks and coats your slick, pulsing insides with his thick, potent cum, making you shiver and arch rigidly with chocked, syrupy mewls slipping past your swollen lips.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[dmitriene]

cw: dark content, dubious consent, spanking, humiliation, thigh riding.

you were a proper brat, the one that town sheriff jonathan price couldn't stand at all, every outing you made to the town was leaving him with bulging veins all over his neck and forehead, jaw grinding harshly as his calloused hand stroked his mutton chops.

price just hadn't a single nerve for your antics, wandering around the town in the tight little shirts of your daddy that you sewed to fit your body, the slinkiest denim shorts that was possibly existing were hugging your rounded ass cheeks, soft flesh barely peaking beneath when you were bending against the shop's wooden counters.

you were john's menace, stealing for your own fun some fresh juicy fruits from some poor lad's shop, never paying and always giggling, charming his brains out of his head so he wouldn't notice your arm full of sweetest peaches.

wandering around john's office, twirling your ass all around and chatting with muppets that were sitting in jail cells, the same place you should be sitting at least couple of hours as well, but price doesn't have a strength to run after you, and his boys were failing on catching you as well.

you outrunned every one of them, from charmingly annoying scott, to the politely sunny man that was called kyle, and even the behemoth of a man that everyone was naming as a ghost, mostly because he gave up the first time you shoved your tongue at him and sprinted away by jumping through the gates.

your biggest fault was stealing something from sheriff himself, wandering to price's office while he was out for some deal as you wiggled yourself through the open window, just «a silly joke» on him for not letting you having your fun and reporting each movement you did to your daddy, but oh, you shouldn't have touched his things at all.

shouldn't turn his neatly organized office upside down, climb through his shelves and touch folders with important documents, as well as shouldn't open the jail cells and let out those who were sitting there for malicious mischief and other, similar to this one, things.

it really wasn't worth it to end up bent over a hard, muscular lap, with your tight little shorts dangling at your feet and cotton panties crumpled just enough to expose your rounded, soft rear to the silent room, where the only sound that resonates off the brick walls is loud, raw spanking slaps.

it's the first time in a long when john was that much furious, making his face go deep shade of red out of anger, fists tight and whitening at his sides when he opened the door to his office, catching you off guard in the middle of your antics, azure eyes darkening almost immediately as his fingers twitch and grasp at your hair, rippling out a loud, strained squeak off of your pretty lips.

you clearly didn't expect to see him, that john could tell, as well as end up half naked before his intense, burning gaze, a complete mess with your hands literally tied, now you couldn't run away from him, not when he finally caught you up.

maybe he enjoyed it too much, the thrill of having something that was constantly running from him made warmth bubble in his bulky body, like a game of cat and mouse, but finally you got exactly what you deserved, and john intended to feed it to you till the last spoon.

— “cocky, impudent little brat„ he all but barks and growls, making you shook not only from the stinging pain on your bulging ass cheeks, but also because of slightest fear that grip your body in its clutches, holding you unmovingly on john's thick thighs as you let out whimpers and tiny, ringing mewls.

tiny rope bites at your sore wrists, calloused palm slaps against your completely raw, reddened flesh with licking pain, your limbs feel absolutely putty, useless in your current state, with fat salty tears rolling against your fluttering eyelashes and down the flushed cheeks.

he smells of musk and gunpowder, sweat, scent with which he came back at least hour ago, and you knew that you're in for trouble, because he reeled of irritation.

all this situation was supposed to scare you away, make you beg for forgiveness, but you welcome each and every harsh slap with pooling wetness in the gusset of your cotton panties, the gentle lips of your pretty pussy visible just enough for john's gaze to catch on, and he straight on slows down.

the only thing that you register in your buzzing brain is harsh puffs that comes off his mouth, before dry ungloved fingers slide up against your folds, gathering the sticky, pooling mess, and you jolt, sobbing out a high gasp, which makes price huff out bewilderedly — “fuckin' hell, you're getting off to this, sweetheart? enjoying the humiliation?„

that makes your blood run incredibly hot, cheeks and ears burning up harder than the sensitive flesh of your perched ass, and you wiggle intuitively, pussy throbbing on itself and making you whimper, sincerely plaintively, cotton fabric sticking to your slicky folds, as you gather the courage to wobble out the small — “n-no„

but your body doesn't agree, you're aching, every limb feels as if it's itching and pulsing, you don't see how price bores his cerulean eyes into the slick gathered on his thick fingers, his own body rolling with waves of heat, clothes feels suddenly too tight for his own good, before he yanks your tied hands.

sudden movement makes you choke a squeak, rope still biting into the thin flesh of your wrists as he moves you to straddle his thighs, sitting securely, making your denim shorts slip off your legs completely and to the floor, as air in his messy office bites your sensitive ass cheeks, before there's another delivered, stinging slap.

you cry out, body jolting and pressing against his as you fall face first into his shoulder, inadvertently inhaling his cologne and hints of leather, his rough fingers knead your ass, calloused thumb rubbing strangely soothing circles that make your plush thighs squeeze together around his, desperate need for some kind of relief wells up hot and bothering, in your tummy and pulsing, currently neglected cunny.

price drinks up your every reaction like the most delicious whiskey, the labored breaths and the feel of how your pussy throbs, he can feel it all, together with hardening sensation in his boxers that makes his pants feel too tight beneath you, but it all will end up more than soon, cause his free hand moves to grip the back of your neck.

he's tugging, making your spine arch as your mound rubs against his leg just the right way, and he growls, head tilting to whisper out in your ear, his facial hair rubbing your skin harshly — “let's see how brave you are for real, darling? get off what's bothering you, and maybe.. maybe i'll consider to not telling your daddy what happened here today„

that makes you mewl so embarrassedly, nod your head silently into his muscular shoulder as your rounded hips roll cautiously, sudden pleasure sparks all through your shaking body as you still hide your face from him, but it doesn't matter, cause you're already signed the deal with sheriff jonathan price.

and no one in this town, if it's not the future dead man walking, will risk betraying the deal with him.

so you roll your hips rhythmically, letting your sopping pussy glide smoothly against his clothed thigh as your ass perches up, with his thick hand still caressing and kneading shamelessly, your strained, panting voice huffs out ashamed and delirious — “y-yes, sir„ which pulls a wide grin to his lips and a dark glint to his vivid eyes.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[dmitriene]

THOUGHTS ABOUT PROFESSOR SIMON CORRUPTING HIS PLIANT STUDENT.

cw: dark mature content, shameless smut, corruption kink, kinda comfort, reader is delirious, possible age gap (reader in legal age) blowjob, pet names, praises and humiliation, pinv, breeding, intense sex, spanking, creampie, kissing, simon is a bad man. pairing: college professor simon ghost riley x college student fem reader

simon hates the feeling when he has to admit to himself that he's a horrible person, horrible by breaking something purer and more valuable, when all he wanted was a quiet, peaceful life.

but can he really break and stain something that was already perverted by itself, a pure, adorable soul that was ready to kneel before him just from the first sight.

and you don't have any shame at all to admit that it's you.

and either don't simon, by admitting that he loves the sight of you on your knees for him, corrupted by your professor and don't even asking for something in reward, just politely and obediently coming down on the harsh floor to suit yourself between his thick, spread muscular thighs, fat cock that oozes globes of pearly precum already fished out of his trousers, ready for your wet, tight parted mouth.

he's doesn't ashamed to paint your tight throat white, making you choke and gag on his bulbous cock that bruises the back of your tight, hot throat, fat tip spurts milky thick ropes of cum and making you swallow it with muffled gurgles, with your pretty face buried in his pubic, slightly trimmed hair, inhaling the musky aroma and rolling your watering eyes back, not at all registering his roaring, punched out growls — “good fricking girl, such a tigh' slutty throa' for your professor, heck„

and you are, a beautiful thing for simon riley, with puffy slicken lips, shining eyes that see only him in person and in your shameful silly dreams, which makes your thighs rub together almost everytime, silky skin exposed just enough by airy skirts that you wear as if special for him, simon guesses, and he's more than right.

simon feels almost bad, he quit army for better purposes — he had this chance more than anyone else in the forces, and wanted to take full advantage of starting an more quiet, peaceful life with teaching lessons at college, but currently the only thing he takes advantage of is — you.

all the guilt rolls off of him, replacing itself with burning coil in his stomach that makes his broad hips snap purposefully into your backside, plush ass jiggling in front of him and begged to be slapped just right, when a ruler lying nearby falls under his scarred arm, coming against your tender skin with bruising, hard slaps, making you yelp and wail with melodious sobs — “mmph! nn, p — professor riley!„

it's only makes your sloppy pussy gush more slick against his meaty cock, the whole veiny girth stretching your gummy walls and fat tip probes against your cervix with sharp, deep thrusts, leaving you limp and shaking beneath him on the cold, smooth surface of the desk, crumpled papers scattered all around the floor, beneath his feet and sticky from your dripping cleary slick.

simon pounds with purpose, looks how sexy your soft flesh looks scattered with red strikes that ruler left, now laying somewhere long forgotten as his calloused, scarred hands grip your jiggling asscheeks and rounded hips, little skirt crumpled and pushed up enough to open you up to your professor in perverted way, urging him to snarl and fuck you on his hard, throbbing cock harder — “look a' you, such a slutty view, and all because of your professors cock„

you can't even utter a single word, nodding dumbly as you just lay splayed and almost drooling, lips agape to let out incoherent mewls and broken cries of pleasure, pussy drooling and pulsing with each harsh thrust that pounds against your spongy spots so deliciously, fat tip of simon's cock almost nestles against your womb and throb, curling upward to make you shake and sob in pleasure, chanting for him — “s..simon.. mmgh! p — professor!„

he abuses your puffy, pulsing and clenching cunt for what feels like hours, until both of you snap, your hot walls clench and pulse around the fat cock that nestled in you to the brim, clamping and creaming to cover everything with your cum and slick, as simon fills you up rope after rope of thick, potent seed, huffing out growled praises — “good, good fucking girl, take it, jus — fucking take it„ as he rocks his hips, making your cheek squeeze against the cold surface of the wooden desk as your body jolts with each agonizing, overstimulating thrust.

the amount of his cum in you makes your tummy ache, you don't really feel when simon slips his cock out just barely, piercing dark gaze looking hungrily at the creamy mix of fluids on his thick length and how his cum gather in globes to leak out of your clenching hole, before he pushes back again, stuffing your cunny, warm palm moving to lift you off the desk just slightly.

you hear his hoarse chuckle, deep smoky sound as his thick fingers clean the drool off your lips and chin, tilting your head and forcing your bleary, unfocused gaze meet his own, back arching deeper and making your ass jutt out, pressing against simon's hips as he lowers his head to slot his chapped lips against yours, chiseled features rub against your face with slightly ticklish feeling of his light, overgrown stubble.

for a first time in a while, he savors the whole colors of situation, licking into your obediently open mouth gently, sucking on your tongue and lips as you smudge saliva all over his lips and chin, answering him sloppily, an eager sweetling, forcing a deep chuckle off of simon as his palm lays on your throat, feeling your calm pulse as his melted, dark gaze studies your disheveled appearance, thin pale lips curling in so wide, pleased grin as he rumbles — “thinky you deserved the extra credits, dove, did so good for your professor„

maybe, simon doesn't really hate this bubbling feeling inside of him when he sees you, especially when you gaze at him so deliriously, eyelashes fluttering prettily and wet, swollen lips forming into lopsided little smile.

simon riley promised to himself to never come back to his darker side, but does it count when an adorable thing like you holds him in your dainty clutches?

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[dmitriene]

ghoap, but when simon riley comes back home after trojan horse mission, body freezed in the hallway with gear stained from dried up blood, hands shaking at his sides, dark crimson as if soaked into his flesh.

you know that something is wrong when you don't see johnny beside him, there's no echoing chuckles outside, no bickering between them, a chocking silence when you realize that there's only simon now, dark eyes in front of you surrounded by reddened sclera.

simon declares that he's dead, soap, johnny would never come back again home, because now he will remain on the battlefield once and for all, and it sounds so simple coming from behind his balaclava, so indifferent.

you know that this is not true at all, because when your ears fill with white noise, and your eyes are rounded in disbelief and doubt, filling with tears, you see the same transparent veil in his eyes too, hear from the thump of his shoe how he takes a step forward.

simon crushes his feelings under the weight of his chest, soothes the trembling in his hands and the blurriness of his movements, focusing on comforting you, not letting you break down in this moment.

he touches you softly, with trembling hands that shed his balaclava to the floor, face tired and sulked by all the events for which you reach with your palms as he cups your cheeks, presses hastening kisses against your lips with dripping salty tears from his eyes.

and you both break, with muffled sobs and chocked whimpers, when simon's body maneuvers yours across the hallway to the living room, cornering you against the couch, grabbing onto your body to turn you.

pressing and bending you against the cushions, not letting you gaze into his face when your back meets his chest, as he strokes your sides gently and with barely here touches, until bunching your bottoms down your legs while unbuttoning his pants.

there's nothing but need to drown, simon's movements sloppy and hasty, and even through the warm tightness of your gooey cunt welcomes his veiny girth inside, letting him lost himself in you, there's still hurt.

bleeding feeling that makes you choke on broken moans that turn into sobs, with his face nuzzled against your shoulder with wetness and warmth, bulky body pressing yours down harshly, his hands wrapped around your torso and tugging, incredibly closer, where through simon's musk, you can still smell johnny.

disgusting metal scent that hunts your senses while you tremble and seize around simon's cock, painfully tight, making him groan behind the bitten lip, holding his eyes open even when they're burn, because either, he wouldn't see you, but a pair of cerulean eyes.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: dead dove, kidnapping, physically hurting, ghost is a broken man that breaks.

ghost kidnaps you because you're the freedom he lacks of, because you have long, delicate unclipped wings that makes him jealous, because he lost his own long ago, a rooted, scorching scars on their place, filling him with hatred, a need to take and ruin until your wings rip off.

you can fly anytime you please and chirp high pitched, soothing songs until your throat wouldn't feel sore, no one is able to stop you and deny you of your freedom and possibilities, but it's the broad shouldered man that hides in the dark corners of the pub, watching you, a ghost.

the one that can get you caged down, fluttering from one side of the metal bars to the other, and you no longer would see the outside world, wouldn't be able to lift your arms and roll your hips against the beat of the music, flutter your wings out and flash an coy smile in the corner where he hides.

the bird in you is dying, chirping desperate, incomprehensible pleas, because birds can't talk, and ghost doesn't let you, he seethes when he hears your sweet, gentle voice, wants to rips not only your wings, but your vocal cords as well, because he expected, wanted you to cry and scream, bleed on the cold concrete floor, snuggled in the corner, but you won't.

you still chirp, talking his ears off, buzzing questions that make him snap at you, the darkness of his eyes is menacing, steelingly cold, and even through you meet gazes with him, you won't stop pressing up, and he feels the smoky, acidic taste at his tongue, rising up from within his gut.

you won't stop smiling, won't stop talking, won't stop meeting his eyes without a humility in your own, you act the same as before you ended up full of the cheap, spiked cocktail and in the harsh realm of his basement, but your wings are clipped, ghost is sure of it, he tugged and ripped at them himself, locked you in this handmade cage, ruined your life.

even when he makes you cry, relishing in the saltiness of fat tears that roll down your cheeks, in pained sobs that escape your bleeding lip, a fleeting snap ghost let slip out, harsh surface of his calloused palm meeting the sensitive flesh of your cheek, you still continue chirping.

you ask him why he did that, and he manages to find his words through gnawing bile in his throat to tell that it's a punishment, and when you ask him what was the reason for punishment, he can't tell, and he couldn't never tell after, he just hopes you wouldn't ask again.

you sleep almost peacefully on the thin, uncomfortable matrace he placed you on, your face relaxed and body ain't curled in itself protectively, you're completely calm, a bird ain't of any kind, and ghost can't sleep, doesn't even manages to close his eyes even when they're burn, sitting beside your sleeping form till the dawn clocks in.

he can't understand, and neither can ask, he can't bring himself set you back free even though you didn't quenched the oppressive jealousy in him, or you did, but in the way that isn't seems right to ghost, but you won't act the way he expected, and it makes him confused, unable to let you flutter out until he understands.

main masterlist. quidelines.