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monstersholygrail · 1 month ago

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New City, New Life

5k celebration 'Choose your own adventure' story

Dragon x fem!reader— hate fucking, rough sex, marking, fire breath play, restraints (tail)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3

You stomp out of Minotaur Boss’ office in a blind rage. Your vision blurring with either anger or arousal, you’re not exactly sure. The sound of the door slamming open doesn’t attract any attention, your coworkers far too busy fucking to watch how hot you look when mad. But you can’t help but watch them, eyes drawn to the carefree way they drown in their pleasure. Caring more for satisfying themselves than continuing to work their job.

It was simply astonishing. They all hold a freedom you’ve never known. Not until yesterday when you got here, that is. The longer you stare the hotter your body grows, your pussy gushing with arousal. You feel your world spin, trying to accommodate to your new reality as you would have to accommodate a massive cock. Your thoughts quickly stray away from your mission, the arousal overtaking the anger brewing within you.

For a moment you seriously consider joining one of them. If this is your new life, who’s to say you shouldn’t take advantage of it? You bite your lip, slowing your pace as you walk past a pair of Cat Hybrids who look like they’re in heat.

No—

You can’t risk getting too distracted right now. You had to go confront your Dragon Headhunter and maybe, just maybe, you can blow some of this steam off on him. In whatever form that may take. With a deep inhale you try and clear some of the lust clouding your mind. You turn back toward the conference room, intent on going in, when you immediately bump into a man devouring someone like it’s his last meal.

A small yelp leaves you as you go flying back, not wanting to interrupt, but you quickly lose your footing and once again go tumbling to the ground. You briefly wonder if that sexy Secretary Bunny will catch you again. No! Focus! But then a pair of hands are on you and your heart, and your pussy, flutters.

The stranger’s hands quickly switch you around, causing you to plop firmly in his lap as you straddle him. A moan freely slips past your lips as you already feel his fully hard cock beneath you. As your head snaps up to look at your new rescuer your jaw drops, your eyes sweeping over his infuriatingly and impossibly perfect features.

But unlike everyone else you’ve met in this city… he appears perfectly human. That is until his eyes flicker, his pupils forming a small flame to reflect his burning desire. He wasn’t a human, he was a robot. No wonder he’s the most perfect specimen you’ve ever seen. You glance down, eyes trailing his form when you notice his IT badge. How ironic.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the main event falling right into my lap,” he purrs, voice smooth as silk as he leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw.

A small whine leaves you, his skin impossibly smooth against yours. Your eyes flutter and you hate how easily you melt against him. An IT Robot shouldn’t be so damn comfortable. You find yourself baring your neck to him, seeking more of his touch. His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin and you shiver, unintentionally grinding against him. Or was it on purpose? Fuck, you couldn’t even tell anymore.

“Technically you got me into your lap,” you sigh with bliss, your brain only growing fuzzier the longer you stay in his embrace.

It was like he knew exactly where and how to touch you. You were sure it was just from some strange programming he’s downloaded but who were you to question it? The IT Robot’s touch slips beneath your shirt and his large hands caress your curves reverently.

“And what else can I get you to do with me?” IT Robot’s voice rasps and curls into your ear as if putting you under a spell. A spell called his cock. He rolls his hips as he speaks, pressing his hard length roughly against your clothed clit.

“Nngh… N-nothing! I have to go, but damn I wish I didn’t,” you say through gritted teeth.

You force yourself out of his lap, your body vibrating and your cunt pulsing with need. You push the office chair he was sitting in away from you and he laughs. The chair stops as it bumps into another person but his eyes don’t stray from you.

“You’re always welcome, doll.”

It takes all the strength left in your tired and yet still somehow horny body to turn away from the sexy IT Robot but you do. You keep your eyes firmly trained on Conference room D, determined to see this through. Your Dragon Headhunter is the only one right now who deserves the impact of all your pent up emotions.

As you near the door, you stop short, surprised when it opens. For a second you wait with bated breath, wondering if maybe the Dragon Headhunter is looking for you too. You don’t even question the way your pussy floods with arousal. But your stomach drops as a Fae walks out of the conference room and sneaks off, not even seeing you staring after them.

Your fury returns tenfold to the point where you can’t even think straight. You rush for the door, barging in and smashing it closed behind you. The Dragon Headhunter jumps from the noise, lazily glancing over his shoulder at you. Your eyes automatically widen, a gasp leaving you as you finally see him in person. You’d video called dozens of times yet it all paled in comparison to seeing him face-to-face.

He was broad and painstakingly attractive. His scales glimmer in the sunlight that streaks in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. His suit fits tight against his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination of what lies beneath. The fabric clinging to his thick ass and strong thighs. A slow smirk forms on his lips. The sight has you shuddering where you stand and it only serves to make you more angry.

“Well, if it isn’t my newest treasure…”

Your eyes flash, focus returning back to his face. Just in time too to see the smug look painted across his face. You’re in front of him in an instant only to push him back. The creature barely even moves. He sways, although you know he only did it for your benefit.

“Where have you been? You have no idea what’s happened today?” you ask lowly, hands shaking from your anger. Sure, the dicks been great, but this wasn’t how you expected your new life to start.

It’s Dragon Headhunter’s turn to look you up and down, noting your disheveled appearance and lustful expression. It has his smirk growing somehow wider across his face. He crosses his arms, admiring what he’s done to you, what this city has turned you into.

“I believe I have an idea.”

The air grows thick between you and the Dragon Headhunter. You can barely breathe, only managing short shaky breaths as you stare each other down. Your skin burns under his gaze but you refuse to squirm and let him win.

“Of course you do. ‘Cause you fucking tricked me into coming here. Why?” You ask firmly, finally demanding answers from him. You won’t be leaving here without them. And you’ll do anything to get them.

You slowly walk up to him, trying your best to intimidate a beast such as him. But all you do is make yourself feel smaller as he towers over you. The height different has your pussy clenching around nothing. His nostrils immediately flare and you know he can smell how turned on you are. You cry out and push him back again with all your strength.

“Why?!” You demand with a ragged shout.

Without a single word, Dragon Headhunter swoops down and claims your lips in a searing kiss to shut you up. A low moan rumbles through your throat and the Dragon responds with one of his own. One that has you turning to mush in his arms. Your mouths clash together as they fight for dominance. The Dragon’s claws sink into the flesh of your wide hips and he whirls you around, pressing your ass into the conference room table.

Dragon Headhunter ravages you, his tongue swirling through your mouth as if trying to taste every last bit of you. He pushes against you harder and harder until he growls and lifts your plush frame up like it’s nothing and drops you easily on top of the table. You grunt and throw his arms off of you, forcing him to kiss at your pace. His claws sink into the wood and screech loudly as he drags them down, trying to resist grabbing at you again. But as you suck his tongue into your mouth he can’t take it any longer.

He pushes you all the way down on the table with as much as a small shove. You cry out as you go flying back, glaring at him. Dragon Headhunter starts furiously trying to shred off your clothes. You grunt and wrestle against him to get your clothes off without ruining them. He doesn’t bother, shredding his own clothes with a few swipes of his claws. You two glare at each other even as lust fills your gazes. He jerks your legs open to reveal your glistening folds and smoke leaves his snout with his huffs.

“This is where I fucked that pathetic little fae and now it’s where I’m gonna give you their sloppy seconds,” he snarls in your face and you grit your teeth. Your stomach churns with a jealous rage.

Before you can snap back at him, Dragon Headhunter snaps his hips forward, impaling you on his massive cock with a solid stroke. Fire shoots from your core and burns through your entire body. A fierce scream echoes off the walls and your pussy spasms around his girth as your body tries to adjust to being split open on his cock.

But the Dragon barely lets you take a breath before he’s rearing back and snapping his hips back against yours. You groan lowly, actually thankful for all your previous lays today as they helped prepare you for this. Your pussy opens up for him, allowing him to drive in even deeper inside you with each movement. Letting your fury fuel you, jerk your hips, meeting his thrusts. The Dragon’s eyes roll back in his head.

“F-fuuuuck— augh— knew this fuckhole was gonna be good without even seeing it. Looked like a damn slut who’d take anything given to them,” he says darkly, his tongue slipping as he gets more and more lost in the pleasure of your cunt.

Your eyes narrow at him, no matter how good he’s making you feel. Each pump of his hips brushes along every nerve in your core and it sends you flying, your body shaking with unimaginable pleasure. Your sopping cunt sucks him back in with every thrust, needing him inside you despite everything.

Wanting to drive him to the brink of insanity, your hands snap out and sink in between his sensitive scales. The Dragon throws back his head and lets out a ferocious roar. Then he falls forward, elbows caging you in and rutting up into your perfect pussy.

“Tell me why you sold me on this job. Did you think I was right for it?” you ask lowly, your breaths mingling with your close vicinity. Needing to ask and know the truth.

Dragon Headhunter chuckles and your pussy flutters around him, making him groan. He leans in and bites down on your neck, marking you with the memory of this moment. Then he leans back enough to look in your eye to deliver the blow.

“Nah, I just wanted this sweet cunt,” he says breathlessly, his words so simple yet infuriating. You dig your nails into the flesh beneath his scales the Dragon groans in pain, his hips surging forward into your tight heat.

“Fuck you.”

Dragon Headhunters eyes burn brightly, finally matching the anger in your own gaze. He smirks wickedly, flashing his fangs at you in a clear threat.

“Gladly.”

His tail whips out, quickly wrapping around your wrists and pinning you to the table. With a growl that sends chills up your spine, the Dragon picks up his pace, fucking up into you with a stamina your poor human body can barely handle as it jerks up with every thrust. A loud mewl rips from your throat as his cock bullies into your cervix with each stroke. His eyes gleam devilishly as he watches how much of a mess he’s turning you into.

But it’s not enough. His free hand flies to your puffy little clit and rubs your bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. Your jaw drops, all the sensations building up inside you have you nearly losing your mind.

You scream in relief a when you finally fall off the edge. Your body shaking, hips rising off the table with the force of your orgasm. For a moment you see white and you hear the Dragon roar once more as he follows right after you. And when you open your eyes you gasp to see fire shooting out from his throat, teasing you. The heat it emits just turns you on even more, prolonging an already intense climax.

It’s only once you finally come down from the high of a lifetime do you seem to gain common sense again. You huff, your anger still palpable but more half-hearted as you tear yourself away from him. You slide off the table, heading toward your discarded clothes, needing to get out of here.

“I’m leaving,” you announce, quickly sliding your clothes back on. Ignoring the way your combined release drips out of you and pools in your panties.

“You’re under contract, sweets,” Dragon Headhunter replies, his tone filled with amused arrogance.

You whip around to face him yet unable to reply. He’s right. You’re stuck here. But is it really that bad that you are?

Seeing your hesitance to reply, thoughts clearly spinning through your mind, Dragon Headhunter smirks and saunters up to you in all his naked glory. “Welcome to Free Use City. Embrace it.”

Leaving the conference room you think over what he said. This was your chance at a fresh start and you wanted to make the most of it. In a Free Use City you guess that meant fucking strangers. Truly embracing the city for what it was and what it offered. You could do that! In your office building alone there were hundreds of people to choose from. You look around the office, wondering if IT Robot’s offer was still on the table. He’s bound to know everything about pleasuring a human. Or perhaps you could find Bunny Secretary and see if you could throw yourself at him again. And well… there was always that Demon Guard you passed on the way in. You’re sure he could show a sinful time.

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ghostaholics · 1 year ago

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

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moonlight-prose · 4 months ago

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HEART MADE OF GLASS

a/n: this is totally not to make myself feel better. totally not self indulgent cause i couldn't finish cooking my dinner last night. that gif is also self indulgent. but also hopefully a distraction from how angsty this kind of is. divider as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

word count: 1.1k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, disassociating, depression isn't outright stated but that's what it is, meat eating (sorry i'm an iron anemic bitch), logan's love language being acts of service.

The fire alarm never went off when you were in the kitchen. So he felt his heart jump at the sound of it blaring through the small apartment. Even down the hall and in the bathroom he smelled the bitter smoke as it rose from the pan you were currently staring at. A blank expression on your face and hand gripping the handle.

He meant to grab his flannel and join you for dinner. What he didn't expect was the emptiness of a silent kitchen not filled with your usual music. Your soft hums as you try to keep in tune with the song.

Logan's favorite pastime was standing in the doorway watching you cook whatever creation came to mind. Whether it tasted good or positively vile, he'd eat it one way or another. He'd swallow happily with a grin simply to see that smile bloom across your face. A look he did everything possible to keep right where it was meant to be.

"Bub?"

You startled, flinching at the sound of the alarm as you shoved the pan away from the burner. "Shit. Sorry."

A frown etched onto his face at your quick apology—your eyes never quite meeting him. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said, lying right through your teeth. "I just got distracted."

Logan could hear the bullshit louder than the alarm. He knew something was wrong, because he'd seen it before. The silence that filled a once loud household. How you slowed down during the day, unable to finish simple tasks without pushing yourself over the edge. He watched you dwindle down to the barest bones your body had to offer and yet you never asked him for help.

You never explained why it occurred.

This wasn't in part because you didn't want to. You did. You simply held no real reason for why your body—your mind—chose to betray you at the oddest of times. At first you figured it was the lack of sleep. The restlessness that ate away at your body each night—keeping you up and active until finally you wore yourself out.

But this wasn't that.

This came from deep inside your chest, lingering beneath the surface—waiting for something good to happen before it struck with a vengeance. This protruded out of your very nightmares.

"Need some help?" He knew the answer before it came. No.

What could he possibly do that you hadn't tried a million times over? There was no easy fix for something this brutal. Silently, you begged him to leave the kitchen and find something else to occupy his time. He stubbornly stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you dumped the now burned pan in the sink. What might have been a delicious steak now looked like a charred brick.

The sight of it still smoking only seemed to dampen your mood further.

You fought to keep yourself there, in the moment. But the dazed expression from earlier began to slowly trail its way back up your face. Until you could do nothing but stare at the mess you made, exhaustion slicing down to your bones.

His looming presence became an afterthought to all that filtered through your head. All the brittle and vile thoughts you tried to keep at bay. Some days they managed to weasel their way past your infinite walls. Some days...they found joy in tearing you up inside little by little.

Voicing it aloud though would never be an option to the havoc you tried to tame.

"C'mon," he muttered, his hands pulling at your hips to move you. "Out of the kitchen."

"I can finish–"

His glare was devastating.

Most of the time you'd ask him to tell you what he was thinking. Tonight you understood his demand. Get out of the kitchen before you hurt yourself. Let him do what you often did for everyone else.

Give him the chance to put you first.

He points to the chair originally pulled out for him. "Sit down."

But unlike other people he encountered, you were far more stubborn. "I don't–"

"Sit on the chair bub. Or I'll tie you to it." The grin he gives you is filled with sarcasm, but you can see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn't hesitate to follow through on a promise like that. He wouldn't even blink. "Your choice."

There was no argument left to throw at him, because his attention was elsewhere. So you sat. You allowed yourself to rest as he stumbled his way through the kitchen. Logan couldn't really cook. He picked up what he could through the life he lived, but nothing came out exactly perfect. That wasn't what warmed your heart at the sight of him standing there intent on delivering a meal worth eating.

He didn't shy away when you tried to push. When the horror that you needed someone to help was no longer a fact you could ignore. No matter how hard you shoved and bit and did what you could to scare him off. Logan pushed back. He quelled your bite with a stature of resolute stoicism.

With an exhale, he flipped the burner off and slid whatever he'd made onto a clean plate. Watching him move felt as if you were being placed in a trance. You almost told him that once in your first week of dating. Something told you he already knew by the way your eyes tracked him from the kitchen to the table.

"Steak," he said, sitting with a grunt.

A quick glance told you one thing. Logan didn't know shit about cooking steak.

You grinned nonetheless.

"There's..." Red spilled down the side, pooling on the plate as steam hit your face. "How long did you cook it?"

He shrugged, slicing it with ease and plopping a piece into his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."

"I'm sure it does."

"Watch it bub," he muttered mid chew, his lips curled into a smirk.

Making a show of zipping your lips shut, you took the piece he offered you. And as he did each time before, you ate it with a grin simply to watch his smirk turn into a smile. There may have been no salt, no extra flavor, and strangely a charred sensation with each bite. But you could taste the love spreading across your tongue with ease.

"Delicious," you garbled in the hopes he'd understand how much you loved him.

He snorted, shoving the plate to the center of the table. His thumb swiped at the juice that leaked from the corner of your mouth, causing your heart to jump erratically in your chest. Even on your bad days he managed to flip the switch in your mind with simple touches and soft looks.

"'M gonna order a pizza."

Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his wrist. "Thank you."

#just need a large man to cook me food when my mood dips drastically #manifesting this for all of you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #wolverine #my writing

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hwajin · 2 months ago

Text

☆.° — breathe me | hhj

genre: smut

pairing: nerd!hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

warnings/ content: ice play, lots of fingering

this is my fic for @whatudowhennooneseesyou's kinktober 2024; ice play with hyunjin! also an unofficial part 2 for my nerd hyune fic 'study me' hehe <3 hope you enjoy, check out the other works too!! (pst @hyunverse)

It's been a while — three months, give or take — since you and Hyunjin had started going out; officially, and openly. You remember the looks on peoples' faces, slightly irritated, perplexed, when you and him would enter the classroom, hand in hand, sitting down next to each other and giggling shyly about something only you two understood. The group project three months back — which you were grateful for every passing day for bringing you closer to him — had been long over; so why were you hanging out with the loner, the unnamed loser, the nerd sitting in the first row by himself every day anew? You had found a certain satisfaction in those looks; something about them had made you proud, made you feel lucky. As though you’d understood something no one else had.

By now, people were used to the pair of you; seeing you together in the campus cafeteria, accompanied by some of your friends and a heavy blush on Hyunjin's cheeks wasn't as bizarre anymore; hearing your quiet chatter echoing from the first row was normal, almost — except it didn't occur all too often, and far too seldom for your liking. Yes, Hyunjin became your boyfriend over the course of a couple weeks, and while your studies and academic affections suffered beneath that, his didn't a bit; surprisingly.

"How are you acing every class!?", you attack him one evening. He had scored 99 out of a hundred possible points on a Statistics test — your one and only mutual class —; you had barely gotten a 49.

"Don't tell me you're actually getting anything done when we study together?"

You had sat in the library, and your too loud voice had flustered him, so he had responded even quiter than usual; and not without a hint of judgement:

"Of course I am." Brows furrowed, genuine question in the way he'd looked at you. Then, after a moment, he had cocked his head, in near fearful realization; mouth agape, eyes big behind his nerdy glasses. "Wait... you wanna tell me you're... not actually studying on- on our study dates?" The last words had sounded from his mouth shyly, almost bashful. You had chuckled internally at that, though had given him a sultry look; playful, a wink accompanying your gesture.

"No, I'm way too distracted by how good you look studying that I can't get anything done myself."

Another thing that hasn't changed over the last three months — Hyunjin has seemingly not gotten used to your flirtations. To any flirtations, any intimacy at all. Every time you touched him, as innocent a touch as it was, every time you gave his lips as little as a peck he froze, utterly clueless in his own body, scarlet in the face and down the neck. It was adorable. A part of you hoped he never would get used to it; that he would always stay the bashful, quirky man you got to know him as. That he would always drown in red when you shot him a playful look, fire behind your eyes and igniting Hyunjin, fixing his glasses with a quick motion, clearing his throat and diverting his eyes, only to notice you're still staring when he looks for you again. You liked initiating things, liked the way he still shied from as much as kissing you, reaching out to hold your hand. That when he did — reach out, touch the back of your hand with his own, slowly entangling your fingers and acting unknowing all the while — it wasn't without fluster, wasn't without you giggling about him because his crimson neck and his blown pupils were so ironic, considering you'd been entangled in bed together two hours ago, naked and pressed against each other.

Another thing, undeniably, you had loved about the past months; the sex. Sounding perverted upon admission, though you had to; because it'd been better than you had anticipated. Hyunjin was shy, and he'd only been learning to voice his own wishes and desires fairly recently; but he was eager. Eager to please you, eager to do anything you asked him to, to learn. And he was more open than you thought, too, more experimental; there was barely a thing he denied, even if never without shyness, but always saying yes with a face red as crimson.

And he'd said yes this time as well.

You were sprawled out on the bed, in the nude, limbs shivering and skin pearly, covered in a million tiny bumps. It was strange, the contrast to the heat Hyunjin emitted; fires ignited beneath your skin but you were cold, so cold to the touch against the warm air of the room. Yet, you were glowing. You were burning and freezing to death at the very same time.

Hyunjin was holding the little, melted down ice cube he's prepared the day prior against your skin. You had brewed an ice coffee for the pair of you, as innocent a date as ever, Hyunjin talking your ears off with a new computer he's acquired, and how setting it up was — apparently — the most fun he's had in a while. You liked listening to him, could never grow tired of his hobbies you learned to love so dearly, viewed as so adorably quirky; but you also couldn't have suppressed the suggestive remark you'd made:

"Oh... really?", puppy eyes while you’d turned to face him slowly, and he had sat by the kitchen counter perplexed, nodding and going on with his demonstration of his new set up. You had stepped closer to him, ice cube mold in hands. "Even more fun than... we had yesterday?" You had eye-fucked him by now, eyes big and dear-like, blinking and playing with a lose strand of his hair; it had gotten so long over the past months, and you could never keep your hands from it.

Hyunjin had gulped, visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, and a feeling of heat had lain as a blanket in your lower tummy. You had seen the memories of last night flash before his eye in a second, and a familiar blush had lain over his pearly skin. He hadn't, and the faint outline of his developing erection had been proof.

"I can remind you, in case you did."

A futile promise; not only because he hadn't forgotten, but because you would remind him nevertheless.

Hyunjin's eyes had hushed to the ice cubes beside your hands on the counter, and upon the deepening of his blush your eyes had started glistening. That was the thing about your boyfriend; he knew what he wanted. He knew exactly, only too shy to admit to it, too ashamed to speak the words out loud. He had never said no to a proposal you've made, because he'd wanted it as bad as you did — more so, maybe. You'd smirked, following his eyed and then locking them again.

"You wanna try these...", you had barely whispered, "...on me?" Head cocked and eyes questioning. Hyunjin had gulped again; then he had nodded.

Fast forward half an hour, you were shivering against the cold of the ice cube. Hyunjin was clumsy with it, utterly helpless; he didn't quite know what to do with the little bit of frozen water, where to touch you with it, what to do. After the third one has melted without much an outcome, Hyunjin looking both distressed and apologetic, you finally took matters into your own hands with a giggle.

"Fuck, I'm sorry; I have no idea what I'm doing." Hyunjin sounded frustrated, and you entangled your fingers in his locks, messy and raven around his face. His glasses were sliding down continuously, and he had grown tired of fixing them; they were forgotten, sitting almost at the tip of his nose. You slid them up, looking down at him where he was positioned between your bare legs, and he grew bashful; he always did when you fixed his glasses for him. He held you, big hands on your waist, so casual but your skin burned beneath every touch.

"Calm down, babe.", you smiled at him, and his brows furrowed closer together.

"Should I... help you? Tell you what to do?"

He had laughed then, thankful relief, had nodded and had kissed your lower tummy; you loved when he wasn't shy to show banal affection, when his lips and hands felt a home on your body.

"Take an ice cube in your mouth.", you commanded, voice silk and honey. Hyunjin blinked up at you twice; then he obliged, momentarily. Almost with no hesitation; he was slave to every of your word, your wish his very own. He trusted you to take the lead, and his plump, scarlet lips wrapped around the frozen bit of water, securing it further with his teeth; and he shivered at the coldness of it. You hissed in a breath at that; you needed to remember using the ice on him, at some point; he would look heavenly flustered and red and shivering.

Hyunjin looked at you, expectedly, waiting for your next word. He wouldn't do anything but.

Your fingers played with his hair, and you watched his glasses slide down his nose. He scrunched it, likely unaware of the little movement; but your breath hitched, and you bit your lip.

"Kiss my body with it."

He did. He lowered his head to be level with your bare stomach, eyes never leaving your own. He watched you intently, if waiting for the next command or simply not wanting to miss every breathy sigh you let out, every shaky moan you weren't sure.

The ice touched your hot, burning skin. You were surprised it didn't melt right away; Hyunjin's breath was even hotter than you, and the contrast of it — his warm huffs of air and the freezing cube — sent a electrifying shiver down your spine and right to your core, tickling there until you squirmed to ease the feeling off. Hyunjin's eyes held surprise; then he started making out with your body as if it was your lips he was kissing, and as if the ice had disappeared. He played with it, clumsy and more passion than plan, and you could tell he liked the filth, the lack of sense. He gave the flesh of your hips open mouthed kisses, hot and wet and cold, he let the cube of ice disappear in his mouth to bite down on your skin before his tongue fiddled with the shrinking block again to let it drop on you, unexpectedly, cold and whine-inducing. He groaned too when you let the sound rip through your throat, enjoying the way you enjoyed it.

The ice cube melted eventually. Hyunjin kissed your body some more without it, losing himself, lips and hands unable to let go of you. He did so until you whined out when he wrapped his lips around one of your breasts, hot spit coating your nipple, his cold, delicate fingers playing with the other one. He looked up at you then, knowing and questioning all the same, and you whispered a single word, enough to make him hurry putting the second ice cube between his teeth.

"More."

You shook your head, though, when Hyunjin was about to come back to his previous ministrations. You held his arm; you had gotten so sensitive so suddenly, feeling like slipping away if you didn't grab onto something.

"Let it drop here.", you said, pointing to the core of your chest. He did as you commanded, and searching for your next wish in the depths of your eyes.

"Move it down my body."

He did, straight down, aiming for your belly button, and you shook your head again.

"No, no, slowly. Here first.", you whispered, wetting your fingers in the cold trail of water the cube left, and circling one of your nipples with it. Hyunjin blushed upon that, suddenly. Torn out of the haze from before he as though found his way back to reality, always bashful when you played with yourself in front of him. He watched you close your eyes at the pleasure you brought yourself, the way you hummed out quietly before looking at him again. And he obliged; he let the small cube travel over both your breasts, long and slow, until the ice had almost fully dissipated when he reached your belly button.

"Another one.", you hushed, and he understood. He let an ice cube drop just over your belly button, where he had stopped prior, and continued his journey further down; he kissed your body to elicit sounds of pleasure from you, breathy and hushed and needy whenever his hot tongue danced across trails of cold water, when it circled a nipple; when the melting cube of ice touched your core, finally. Your back arched into him; and after an approval look and a nod of yours Hyunjin fiddled — clumsily — to lay the cold against your clit. It wasn't sudden and yet you jumped, yelped in your place, grabbed onto Hyunjin, digging your nails into the bare skin of his arms. He hissed at that; he hadn't yet admitted to it, but he enjoyed the faint sting of pain, you were sure.

He kept fingering you slowly with the remnants of the ice cube. It wasn't much by any means, almost melted entirely, your wet heat enough to make it, but the sensation remained. You were sensitive, worked up, and Hyunjin above your body so obedient, watching your every move to accord his ministrations to them, that you felt your high sneak up on you, quicker than you had anticipated. It was almost there, almost palpable; but it needed more.

And he felt it. He had eased into it, into the night and into you, and he became more courageous — he grabbed for another ice cube without you telling him to, placed it on your pelvic bone to warm it up, just a little. He kissed you then; impulsively, passionately, moving the cube against your body, cold thumb of his circling your clit. Slowly, not necessarily with a goal, just because; slow circles, barely doing anything, but you still jerked in your place, against him and then into the mattress. And you kissed him back, grabbed the back of his nape, the very ends of his hair, tousled and messy and warm against the cold; and he inserted the freezed water with two of his fingers, into your hot wetness, making it cold and wetter, so suddenly sensitive that you groaned out deeply into his mouth. He ate up the sound, returned it with the same fervour, curled the ice cube up and removed it again, leaving you empty and shivering, aching for more. For again. You whispered the word against Hyunjin's bruised lips, deep red and bitten, and he obeyed; he inserted two fingers and the ice cube into you, curling his digits and pushing the cold deeper. Everything around you turned white, and silent. You saw nothing but him, heard nothing but Hyunjin's staggered, deep breaths, felt nothing but bliss, purified in the way he granted it to you; unapologetic, readily, as if was everything he was born for.

You squirmed against his body, steady and warm above your own. You could feel his erection against your leg, could feel he was moving and squirming too, to remove friction, though it wasn't his primary goal. He moved thoughtlessly, out of an instinct; his focus, though, lay on you. He didn't dare remove his eyes from you, repeatedly fixing his glasses to not miss a second of the changing expressions on your face, or your shivering body, your pearl-covered skin, the way your flesh broke waves with every move you made, with every hard breath you inhaled, exhaled. And he went deeper, bit your neck harder, held your hips closer, kissed you faster; and you groaned louder, squirmed heavier, until finally you shook, body convulsing and waves of electricity running through your body, wetness gushing down Hyunjin's fingers and staining the mattress. Your chest heaved, your warmth having melted down the ice cube to mere cold water, and Hyunjin watched in awe; he hadn't yet grown used to the sight of you coming, especially for him. The way he could see your soul leaving your body and returning again, the way your eyes crossed before rolling into the back of your head, how you held onto him, how your toes curled and the hairs on your body stiffened; he would never get enough of it. He could watch it - watch you - over and over again, shaking and coming against him, your hot breath igniting fires on his skin.

"Fuck.", you breathed out, tearing Hyunjin out of his thoughts. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and only then Hyunjin noticed he hadn't yet stopped fingering you, slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm though overstimulating now, surely. He leaned down, kissed your neck, slowly removed his fingers, eliciting a sweet sigh from you. He did then something which could only be accounted to his incredible neediness; nothing unfamiliar whenever he waited his turn, whenever he prioritised your satisfaction over his own. He sat back on his heels, looked down on your shivering, sweaty body; and he licked his slick fingers clean of you, eyes locked with yours intently. His tongue swirled around his digits, slurping noises filling the room. His ears turned red and the blush crept down his neck, upon the filthy action, and upon your sweetness against his tongue, but he didn't stop; Hyunjin put on a show for you, and he loved to see the effort pay off - your eyes deepened with a sense of desire, dark and seductive and alluring, and a smirk played around your lips; Hyunjin knew you loved when he wasn't shy to show his lust. Only when you grabbed him by his collar, only when you tugged at the hem of his shirt and your legs wrapped around his torso, toes playing with the waistband of his pants he knew the night wasn't over; and wouldn't be for long.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @astraystayyh

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios

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hysteria-things · 5 months ago

Note

CANNN YOU MAKE A CHRIS FIC LIKE THISSS

ENEMIES WITH BENEFITS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the hatred you have for chris sturniolo is ungodly… well; until you guys are alone, at least.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, p in v, hair pulling, spanking, orgasm denial, dumbification, fingering, semi-public, stomach bulge, breeding, praising, low key toxic

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,475

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i kind of want to make an enemies with benefits chris universe… like not a series but some more fics in the same timeline/backstory does that make sense😪

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… you've hated since childhood.

"i hate you, chris." you whimper, wiggling in his gamer chair that you’ve been sitting in since you got here. “i hate you! i hate you!”

while repeating your hateful words, you tried your best to push his head away that was feasting on your insides. he doesn’t budge, his tongue flicking rapidly against your puffy cunt. legs draped over his shoulders, he eats you out so good that your toes curl. it’s like you’re the best meal he’s ever eaten, arousal coating your inner thighs and around his mouth. some even drip down his chin, the squelching sound turning you on even more.

blabbering out bits and pieces, you finally find words to let out a coherent sentence. “i-i wish i never met you. you— f-fuck.” slouching more into the seat, chris sucks on your clit, your eyes fluttering and mouth wide open with whines leaving it. you tug on his messy hair, letting out a cry when he sticks a pointer finger into your drenched hole to stretch you out more.

“i’m gonna cum!” you sob, a tear trickling down your cheek. he hums, intensifying the way he’s suckling at your swollen bud. shaking from the pure overwhelming sensation, your cum leaks beautifully onto his tongue.

“such a pretty pussy.” he whispers, collecting the sticky mess. “tastes so fucking good.”

all you do is sit there. panting with your eyes crossed, twitching when you try to get back to your senses, and nothing more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… would pull your ponytail every chance he got.

FUCK FACE

you’re fucking irritating

i’m a big girl and you’re not the boss of me

i don’t even know why i do what i do with you

is that right?

yeah, asshole

fuck off

i never want to see or speak to you again

who do you think you’re talking to?

can’t be me because you weren’t talking shit when you were screaming on my dick last night😂

womp womp life’s tough

you ain’t all that anyway

i’m sick of your fucking attitude

get over it

you’re not going to do shit about it so🤷‍♀️

it’s like your scalp is on fire. the stinging makes you hiss, eyes shutting from the pleasurable pain. chris has you stiff under his weight, your ponytail wrapped tightly around his fist to keep your head in place. your ass is arched against his pelvis, meeting his brutal thrusts that are pounding into you with no mercy. his balls slap against your clit as your cheeks bounce back onto him.

guiding your head down, he gives you a smack on the ass. you moan and grip the pillow for dear life, your body pushing against the corner of your l-shaped couch. ironically you’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the hem being scrunched up at the small of your back.

your knuckles are white, feeling like you can rip the pillow in half at any second if you’re not careful. the couch bangs against the wall, and you thank god that both of your parents had work today.

“said i wasn’t going to do anything about it.” chris mocks with a chuckle. “now look at you. fucking stupid in the head.”

the tip of his cock hits that spot repeatedly inside you, causing a moan louder than the others to leave your lips. “oh, right there!” you scream, it being muffled before he starts to go impossibly faster. you try to crawl away from his grip, but instead, he grabs your chin to lift your upper body to where your head rests on his shoulder. at this angle, he thrusts upward into your pulsating pussy.

eyes rolling back, you bite your lip that’s wet from spit. “you need to cum? hm?” he coos, moving a piece of sweaty hair out of your face. you nod, unable to get words out.

he tuts before pulling out, making you gasp and fall forward. “that’s too bad. should’ve thought twice about that before picking up an attitude with me.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… at family parties, you’d never liked to see.

different aromas of cookout food flood your nostrils, the plate in front of you still full. you fidget the steak with your fork, your other hand gripping the edge of the picnic table. you’ve been trying to avoid eye contact with everybody since you sat down. what you are looking at is what’s happening under the tablecloth.

chris’s fingers pump deliciously into your sopping pussy, knuckle deep and covered in your wetness. originally, you weren’t wearing panties under your dress — upon his request.

fighting every fiber in your body to not make it obvious, you lean your head on his shoulder and exhale. “looks like you two sorted out the childhood banter.” one of your relatives jokes, looking at you cuddled up in the crook of his neck.

he continues talking nonchalantly to the guests when all of a sudden his fingers curl. it makes you jolt, the boy adding his thumb to rub on your clit for more pressure. that alone took you by surprise. giving him pleading eyes, you started to tremble, and before you knew it juices smeared all over his digits.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… you would scream at so loud that he'd have to cover your mouth when people were around.

patience runs thin with him, as you’re fully aware of. first, he snuck you in, and now he’s fucking you on his bedroom floor. matt and nick are home, having no idea what their brother is up to.

jesus. the way he’s fucking into you is different this time around. your legs wrap around his waist, and his thrusts are deep and hard. you engulf his dick perfectly, and he adores that.

covering your mouth with his hand, your sounds of pleasure are muffled, and you still seem to be too loud. your back is arched halfway off of the ground, his cock slamming into you at just the right spot. he removes his palm, taking your wrists and pinning them above your head. chris kisses you hungrily, your moans going down his throat. “shit.” he drags out, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “you’re so fucking pretty.”

whimpering loudly, he kisses you again to swallow it. “shush, baby. you have to be quiet. you don’t want matt and nick to know how much of a cock whore you are for me.”

“but you feel too good!” you whine, eyes crossing when your g-spot starts to get abused with his length. he buries his head in the crook of your neck, releasing your wrists from his grasp to grip the back of your hair instead, pulling you as close as possible to him. your body lifts off of the floor slightly.

clenching repeatedly around him, it makes his dick twitch. “fuck, do that again. atta girl.” letting out a choked moan, you feel ropes of cum paint your insides. that alone sends you over the edge, a ring of white smearing around his girth. you clasp your hand over your mouth to silence your scream.

although, he doesn’t stop. he lays you back flat on the wooden panels, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. your feet dangle beside his head, his throbbing cock still pumping deep inside you. you cry out his name before he shoves two fingers into your mouth for you to suck on, but most importantly to shut you up.

eyes scanning your body, he’s taken aback. there’s a bulge protruding in your abdomen each time his skin slaps against yours. your belly is swollen from his previous orgasm, his hips stuttering at the sight. it’s insanely hot to him.

face all fucked out, your brain starts to fog, stars overcoming your vision. “take my cock. just like that.” he says, glancing down at where you’re conjoined. you’re cumming once again without warning once he hits your cervix, too brain-dead to even realize what’s going on anymore. you slobber around his digits, moaning and whimpering around them.

“might have to fuck a baby in you.” he blurts out, groaning as his muscles tense. “stuff you full of me. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

nodding, even though at your state you don’t truly know what you’re nodding to, he pushes fully into you and stays put. his seed fills you for the second time now, and you can feel every drop on your insides.

with each string, he groans as he milks himself dry. he empties your mouth from his fingers and collapses next to you on the cold floor, his cum oozing beautifully out of your used sex.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎… all this time had a crush on you… but you never have to know that.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws

#✎ ⤾ haleigh’s requests!#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Hahahaha good morning I had the wildest dream last night so I’m going to inflict it on all of you:

(I’m not done with keeper/kept. Just had to get this out)

Warnings for obsessive/possessive behavior, unhealthy and semi-one sided relationship, not-quite-dark John price.

John Price who decides it time he has a wife. Not retiring, god no! He’s not done yet. But his home is lonely when he’s on leave; he’s getting sentimental as he gets “older”. So, he wants a wife.

In theory, it sounds like just what he wants. A pretty warm thing snoozing in his bed when he gets home at ass o’clock in the morning. Someone to fret over new scars and fresh bandages. Someone to fuss at him for “taste testing” meals and wrinkle their nose at his cigars.

In practice, it’s not so easy. If it was, he reckons he would have been married by now. Good thing he’s already got the perfect candidate picked out.

You own a small business in his town. Not fabulously wealthy, but comfortable and independent. Something to keep you busy while he’s away but you make your own hours so your schedule it flexible to see him when he has infrequent leave.

And he adores you, knows that you’ve got more than a little crush on him. You smile and blush and reciprocate his interest, have only refrained from perusing anything because you didn’t think he was serious. But oh, he is.

One day you say something particularly charming and he says, “marry me.”

He’s been dropping these little jokes for a while now and you always start laughing because it’s just the kind of dramatic humor you love. Today you say something different than your usual overdramatic “oh but it could never work, captain.”

Today you say, “if only.”

How pathetic is it that you’re holding a candle for a man you’ve never even gotten a coffee with? Your family laments that your can’t spend your whole life married to your job. That they want grandchildren and nieces/nephews, someone to tell embarrassing stories about you to on holidays. You used to roll your eyes, but the prospect doesn’t feel so obligatory anymore.

Anytime you imagine it, it’s John Price there. You’ve stopped trying to imagine it for your heart’s sake.

Except a week later he’s sweeping into your shop and dropping a kiss on your cheek. An unusual greeting, but maybe he’s in a good mood. His hand lingers on the small of your back while you show him the new product that just came in.

You live above your shop and one day he shows up at the door with a bottle of wine, telling you he could use some good company. You’re shocked and confused but he looks like an amalgamation of every heartthrob in a hallmark or romcom you’ve ever “ironically” enjoyed. You invite him in.

By mid morning, he’s had you in every room of your apartment. Ate you out slow and greedy on the counters. Bent you over the dining table. Bounced you on his cock on your couch. Fingered his cum out of you in the bathtub. And absolutely ruined you twice over in your own bed.

He even changes the sheets before the two of you pass out that final time. And when you finally do wake up, he’s taken the initiative to brew coffee and make breakfast. It’s like a dream.

He fucks you against the door before he leaves.

When he’s deployed again, he calls you every night. You don’t expect it the first time, but it’s a sweet gesture to show things aren’t ruined. You’re not expecting the second time either and have to call him back when you climb out of the shower. The third time you wait for it, but still startle a bit when his name pops up on the screen.

He calls you every night he can while he’s away. You don’t know what to make of it.

Then one day you come back from errands to see movers in the yard. You think it’s some kind of mistake until John meets you at your car.

“Fire in the next building over,” he explains. “Their insurance will cover all the damages but it’s not safe to stay in your place. Mine’s just up the road. Figured you could stay until it’s sorted out.”

You want to be annoyed, and you almost are. But the overwhelm of nearly losing everything - only to have all the stress already handled and the important, nerve wracking decisions smoothed over? You just take the good luck.

To thank John for his generosity (and to fill the void of not running the shop) you bustle around his too-big house. Cook meals, keep things tidy. Keep John company when he manages to snag you from your gratitude-induced work.

He spends hours fucking you nice and slow, whispering things you barely remember in your ear. That you’re perfect for him, so sweet like a little wife, that he’d come home to you for the rest of his life. You kiss him quiet and rock back against him when it starts sounding too tempting.

Eventually, the repairs on your shop/apartment are done. It feels like a rude awakening to a pleasant dream. Instead of moving your things back, John moves more things in. When you tell him that you appreciate his kindness, but you should probably get back to your own space, he gets an odd look. Asks what you mean when this is your space.

And the trap springs closed.

“John,” you half-laugh, shaking your head. “We’re not actually married you know?”

“Not last I checked.”

The marriage certificate gets framed in the bedroom you’ve been sharing for a month. You storm out and stay in a hotel. He lets you for three days before coming to retrieve you. When you try to be stubborn, he gives you an exasperated look (as if you’re the one being unreasonable) and politely asks that you not make a scene by forcing him to carry you of there.

For your own reputation, you comply, glowering out his car window the whole ride to his house. Try to give him the silent treatment which lasts about 30 minutes before he’s got you moaning and whining on his cock.

He drives you to the shop in the morning and picks you up at night. Anytime you try to put your little foot down, he just scoops you off them. The neighbors start cooing that he’s such a good man. You try not to scream.

When he’s finally deployed again, you try to move all your things back to your home. Except the movers apologetically tell you that they can’t trespass on John’s property.

Fine, you’ll do it yourself. Somehow.

You pack two suitcases and some of your cookware. Load it all up in a rental - because John sent your damn car into the shop - and trying to get comfortable in your own flat again.

Except it’s all wrong. The scent of smoke still lingers, it’s cold because the heating hasn’t been turned on yet this year. Half your things are gone and there’s no food in the fridge or pantries. You tough it out. Buy a ready-made meal and new bed linens and pillow. Sleep in a bed too cold even with the heat finally on.

When John calls, you don’t answer. He sends a text that simply reads “I love you.” You toss your phone across the room.

The next night, when he calls again and you don’t answer, he sends a “stay safe, love.” You spend twenty minutes with fingers poised over the keys. Chug a glass of wine and send back a neutral “you too, John”.

When he calls on the third night, you pick up, bark a sharp “knock it off” and hang up. Another text that he was so happy to hear your voice.

Another call, you pick up and demand “what are you doing?” He chuckles on the other end. “Calling my darling wife. I miss you.” You believe him. That’s the worst part.

When he gets back, you ride the long, long river of denial right up until he’s at your door, eyebrows arched. “Really, love,” he hums, “you didn’t have to come all the way over here just because you missed me.”

You want to hit him. You storm off to your bedroom instead. He wanders the house. You hear him clattering in the kitchen and wandering around the living room. When you hear the door close, you think he’s finally left and given all this up.

Twenty minutes later, he’s casually removing the door (sans hinges) and gathering you up. When you get back to his house, he carries you inside and fucks the tantrum right out of you in the shower, growling that you don’t smell like home anymore.

When you wake up from your three-orgasm induced nap, he’s washing the clothes you took to your old flat. On your left hand is a pretty diamond with “JP” carved into the band.

At the store, people start calling you “Mrs. Price”. The neighbors (John’s neighbors) invite you over as “the Prices”. You glare at him when he starts looking too smug about it.

When he’s set to deploy again, he sits you on the kitchen counter, caging you in with arms.

“Don’t make me come get you this time,” he warns, pressing kisses along your jaw. “This is gonna be a rough one. I just want to see you when I get home.”

It’s a warning that you know to heed. You don’t try to leave this time. When he calls, you answer, rattling off stupid details about your day. You’re shocked to hear him remember names and dates and tasks with everything else hes got going on. Promises he’ll deal with the creep at the post office when he gets home.

“And… you are coming home… right?” you ask.

“Nothing could keep me away, love.”

He doesn’t call for three days straight. You tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just anxiety over how the hell to handle his assets if he’s dead.

At 3am, the bed dips, a warm body pressing up against your back. You recognize John’s arms wrapping tight around your waist. You stir.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

“Perfect now, love.”

“Mm welcome home.”

“Good to be home, gorgeous.”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #john price x reader #john price #captain john price

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