#his cut is a little off center
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want to bite his little cheeks <33 đĽ°đĽ°
#he has the cabeza shape of the cartoon head starter kid#a circle at the top then a connecting oval more like bottom of an egg shape for the chin#his pretty lips girls would kill for so they can finally live their dreams and bite lipstick#hes so cute.. hes so babygirl#he reeks of mental illness#he is easily doodlable#his cut is a little off center#he is my jerma.. my Everything#hes uploading a new youtube video and if i see that Typical Youtuber Photoshop Thumbnail#with Obviously Oblivious or Luring Title....#im gonna cry so hard.. ants Will Not survive.#they will be flooded and have a noahs arc with no arc for them#do u want to do that to me sauce?#ur very first 'this guy is cringe#.........i crave his flesh.' enthusiast???#ur number one YES sauce is a BTTM enthusiast??#probably overwhelmingly yes lets be honest LIKE đ i am enthusiastic at his pain and his fails#i am a hell man âźď¸âźď¸ NOT a hype man đŤĄ!!!! ... unless u truly do deserve hype man then ill do u like that#but usually it's bd*m central round these here parts pardner! sorry! dont like it then teeth the ballga#anyways he started it tho. by being cringe#im just following thru like it's football#like a good qb does with a good football throw OKAY?? this is FOOTBALL ! ! OKAY âźď¸âźď¸#WE PUT D*CK IN A S S đŁâźď¸âźď¸#F O O T B A L L !!!!!#anyways#sauce#how babies look at u when they want ur takis n tell u 'i looove spice' 'i can really eat spicy food well <3!!'#like ok? congrats spice warrior now samba the hell out of here please im MUNCHIN !!
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・ďžâ˘âę°á ⥠i like my men older - simon riley⥠ŕťęąâ⢠・ďž
you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.
your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.
you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?
if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.
you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.
he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.
simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.
even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.
"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3
#bunny writes#bunny drabbles#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost#simon ghost riley#simon#simon riley smut#ghost smut#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley smut#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty smut#call of duty x reader#older!simon#reader insert#call of duty#cod smut#cod x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#simon ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x you
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I â NOT YET // When a guy in the club tries to assault you, you ask a random stranger to pretend to be your boyfriend. Little that you know that out of all people, you chose a mob boss.
contents: smut, mafia!au, briefly mentioned assault and tiny bit of violence, Sukuna (yeah, I consider him a warning), reader discretion is advised â 2,7k words
a/n: mada... mada mada~ the very second I heard this menace toying with Panda, Kusakabe and the rest in Shibuya, not allowing them to move unless he say so - my head went straight to the idea of him playing the same game in bed.
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Sukuna never had to get used to being interrupted. Never. Anytime it happened in the past, all he had to do was to glance at the person and it usually got the message across. His gaze has enough power in it to quickly inform the intruder why invading his personal space or cutting him half-sentence is a damn bad idea. One look from him usually was enough to make anyone reconsider if they really want some problems. Sukuna had his eyes trained to be sharp and cold, his body strong and intimidating and his aura dangerous. He spent years building his reputation, earning a position in his world that now guaranteed him calm.
Now everyone and their mothers know that heâs not the one to cross paths with. Heâs a VIP, heâs allowed everywhere and he has no qualms about killing someone. Ryomen Sukuna is a brand, heâs a threat, heâs untouchable, invincible. No one in the right mind would ever try to start anything with him at this point. Thatâs why, when he tried to relax in one of many clubs that he owns in Tokyo, he couldnât believe someone had the guts to push onto him at the bar.
âHey, sorry, can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second?â, he heard near his ear and following the sound and the soft tug on his elbow, he turned his head towards you. Lucky girl, he thought while quickly assessing the view. You were too god damn pretty to be killed, looking at him with those pleading eyes that glistened in the harsh artificial lights. You were visibly scared of something, or someone, and oddly enough it wasnât him who brought you to the verge of tears.
âYour boyfriend, huh?â, he mused, allowing his eyes to trail down your figure. The dress you had on left little to imagination and yet he wished to tear it off to see more of you. It hugged the shapes of your body perfectly and the silky fabric betrayed the lack of bra underneath. You were attractive, but clearly not smart enough to think twice before approaching a stranger.
âPlease, I beg you, this guyââ, you tried to explain, squeezing your perfectly manicured fingers around his veiny forearm, but your sentence was cut in half when a man grabbed you by the waist, pulling you away just a little and harshly pressing your back against the bar. Sukuna watched as you winced when your spine hit the edge of the wooden countertop, he watched for a moment how you tried to push the guy away. With no effect, you werenât strong enough to stand against him, you were trapped between the unwanted body and the furniture behind you, fighting the hungry hands that were groping your figure.
âNaoya, get off of meââ you tried, pushing his face away from where he was trying to suck a spot onto your neck.
âOh, shut up woman, I know you want it,â the blonde-ish idiot grinned, twisting your arm enough to make a space for himself. He wasnât bothered in the least with the fact he was trying to get between your legs in the very center of a club. Sukunaâs club.
Ryomen zeroed the whisky in his glass and got up from the chair. Usually, he would ignore situations like this. Other peopleâs problems were none of his business and he had enough his own things to take care of, to bother himself with anything else, but you. You were a problem he was willing to explore.
âZenin, huh?â, he asked, connecting the name he heard falling from your lips with the wannabe gangster he heard about many times before. There was a certain reputation tied to Naoyaâs name, mostly regarding his treatment of women but as long as he wasnât touching his women, Sukuna couldnât care less about this trash of a man. You definitely were not his woman. Yet.
âThe fuck you want, Iâm busy,â Zenin groaned, pulling his nasty mouth away from your shoulder for just a moment, only to shot a glare to the club owner.
âI can tell that youâre busy,â Ryomen grabbed one of Naoyaâs wrists. It wasnât looking like a hard grip, but the face of the blonde betrayed the sharp, bone-breaking pain he felt.
You felt some kind of relief when the stranger you just met stepped between you and your unwanted date. The large body of him towered above you completely, he was bigger than you thought when you approached his sitting form, but you couldnât think about it for too long when he dealt with Naoya so easily. Once the blonde was gone, he turned to you.
Your heart skipped few beats once you took the image in. The man was huge, way taller than you and built like a greek god. The sharp outlines of his muscled torso beautifully showed through the dark graphite dress shirt. Looking up, you could finally see his face clearly. His features were attractive, dangerous with the black tattooed lines around them. He could easily be a gangster or something.
âT-thank you,â you spoke finally, snapping out from the initial impression of him. He was a red flag, you knew that. If not for the circumstance, youâd probably be the first to run away from him. He was hot. An absolute smokeshow, but he was certainly bad news.
âWas he your date?â, he asked, pulling a chair that he was sitting on previously and twisting it to position, before his large hands landed on your hips. There was no effort whatsoever when he lifted you and sat you down on the seat. He opted to stand next to you.
âNo⌠I came here with a friend, but she left earlier. I was just about to leave as well, but this guy stopped me,â you sighed. âHe wouldnât let me go, I was afraid that heâll just walk after me to my home. Iâm sorry I interrupted you.â
âDonât apologize,â he said, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. The gesture in itself was soft, but you shivered underneath his touch nonetheless. You couldnât quite tell what made him so⌠scary. Was it his overwhelming frame? Or maybe the calm, distant demeanor? He had authority, he was expecting submission and when he was looking at you, you felt like a prey of him. Strangely, you were quite fine with that. You had no wish of doing anything with Naoya, but this man⌠he was different, he was interesting, he made you cross your legs just to feel any kind of pressure between your thighs. âYour name?â
âY/n,â you replied.
âY/n. Nice,â he gave it a soft nod and ordered two drinks. âRyomen is my name. Sukuna Ryomen. Memorize it.â
âSureâŚâ
At this moment, you had no guts to ask why was it important to imprint the name he told you into your brain, but it all became clear just barely two hours later. You couldnât exactly recall the moment Sukuna led you out of the club and into his car. There was something so enticing about his entire aura that made you lose your ability to think. He made you break every rule you ever had for yourself â to not talk with strangers, not go with them anywhere. Before that night you were doing exceptionally good in avoiding danger, you somehow slipped through your life up until that point without any major problems, but once you faced the problem, it was a big one.
The talk was good, it flowed easily and the menacing aura that Ryomen had all around him kept you interested. You had no idea that youâre attracted to bad boys, and maybe you were not exactly into school hooligans. Turned out, youâre aroused by the much worse kind â the kind that keeps a gun behind his belt, drinks pure whisky and makes people run away just by shooting them a glance. Yeah, that seems to be the kind of men you are into, because if there was any common sense left in you, youâd be out the door and running towards the safety of your dormitory. If there was any self-preservation instinct in you, youâd be probably anywhere else, rather than in here.
In the most luxurious house youâve ever seen, not to mention been inside of; somewhere in the outskirts of Tokyo where you were not even sure how you can get back to your home from there. If you were just a little smarter, youâd for sure be in your own bed right now and not on the dark leather couch, with your silky dress scrunched up around your waist and your underwear torn to pieces and laying on the floor. If you had more braincells, maybe you wouldnât be bouncing on that strangerâs dick right now, gripping onto his muscular shoulders as one of his large hands kept your hip in a dead grip, leading your moves up and down his girthy length and the other one tightly squeezed around the back of your neck, from where he was keeping his head close so he could kiss you so hungrily it took your breath away. But thatâs just where you were. And you wouldnât change a thing.
He felt so goddamn good, filling your tight hole to the very brim, stretching you to the point of delirium and he wasnât even fully in yet. His moves were aggressive and yet sensual; he made you feel small even if it was you who was on top of him. You had no control, he made it clear with the way he was holding you and every time you tried to dominate him in any way, he quickly showed you your place back. Maybe later, heâll let you have your way with him, but now, he was in charge.
âThink you can take all of me?â He asked against the delicate skin of your neck, now painted in red and purple marks he nibbed onto it. You could feel him grinning at the way you squeezed your little hands on his clothed biceps. He got you all exposed and yet he only allowed you to free his dick; his shirt was still buttoned up, his pants were still on his legs. There was a certain dominance shown in the way he got you all naked on top of his suit.
âN-no,â you breathed out, âtoo big.â
âOh, Iâm sure you can.â Sukuna doesnât exactly accept no as an answer and he for sure gave you enough time to accommodate to his size. âYouâll take it and thank me for it, yeah?â
âYes,â was all you could mumble, before both of his large hands landed on your hips. The iron grip, you were sure, was going to bruise you but now, it felt grounding in a way.
âGood girl,â he praised, his purr vibrated against your skin as he sucked yet another mark along your collarbone. It distracted you for a moment before he pushed your pelvis even lower, fully bottoming into you. Your clit made a contact with his lower belly, the harsh brush of his skin against the swollen bud making you moan louder than you were meaning to. You felt like all of your organs were moved out of the way just to make more space for his dick and Sukuna couldnât be more satisfied by the way you took him in. âSee? As if you were made to take this cock.â
Something incoherent left your mouth, a tear stained your cheek and the man was happy to lick it away, tasting the saltiness before he bucked his hips up, keeping yours in place. He took full control, thrusting into you with all the power he had in his muscular body and you held onto his shoulders with your little hands. The filthy, wet sounds were filling the interiors, bouncing off the walls and mixing with all of the whines and whimpers that were leaving your lips. Some grunts added to the melody, but you barely heard any of it, too consumed by the exploding pleasure between your legs.
Sukunaâs name was leaving your mouth like a prayer, you felt so close, you felt like falling and you had no intention to stop. The man grinned, licking a long stroke along your throat, his tongue curling upwards as it reached the tip of your chin. The taste of your skin felt intoxicating to him, he wanted to devour you whole, to keep all for himself.
âYou wanna cum, huh?â His voice was taunting. âYouâre clenching around me so fucking hard, youâre gonna milk me as well.â
âYes, yes, please,â you near damn begged, chasing the bliss that you could almost taste on your tongue right now. It filled all of your body cells, rushed through your veins in ecstatic waves of lust.
âNot yet,â he ordered and it felt almost painful to force yourself back from the state of climax. You could tell he was playing with you, toying with his dominance, reminding you that itâs him who pulls the strings in here. And yet, he was still rutting into you, his movements completely different to what he was saying, he was fucking you like he wanted you to cum in that very moment. âStill not yet,â he teased, feeling your little fingers digging onto his shoulders, your manicured nails nearly making holes in his shirt as your eyes fell shut.
âOh god, Ryomen, please,â you whined. Your thighs were shaking, your spine arching and the incredible tension below your stomach threatened to burst any second now.
âNow,â he ordered and just like that, all inside of you snapped. You came all over his dick, and you came hard. It felt like nothing youâve ever experienced, like you were suddenly shot into another dimension and if not for the way he sped up his movements, youâd probably just get lost in the lustful feeling. Ryomen came just few moments after you, wrapping his arms around your waist and painting your walls white. You felt him throbbing, spasming inside of you, the hot seed gushed out of you as he was pumping it in, staining your thighs and the bottom of his black shirt. Then he pushed you down, fully onto his cock, plugging the way out for his cum.
You found his lips, swallowing his quickened breath as you kissed him with desire and he gave in, quickly dominating the kiss. You were tired, the muscles in your legs were burning from the intense exercise, but you couldnât shake off the feeling of still wanting more. He made you hungry, he made you unsatiated and you were sure, you wonât be able to recognize yourself after youâre done with him. You were never such a greedy lover but frankly, you never had a chance to feel that good with anyone. The boys youâve been with had no skills and if not for the orgasms you gave yourself with your fingers, no one else ever brought you over the edge like Sukuna.
âCan you undress?â You asked him, your lips brushing against his as you mouthed the question and he chased your kiss with his head, grabbing your lower lip between his teeth. There was a certain expression painted all over his dangerously handsome features, the menacing aura amplified as he took his sweet time before replying.
âI can undress,â he began, yet there was a but hanging in the air. He had conditions and you were open to hear them. âIâll give you two options, little kitten. Wanna hear âem?â
âYes.â
âI wonât undress. You can pull yourself together and I can drive you back to your home now. But I can also take the suit off, carry you to my bed. Then youâll stay with me till morning, but donât have any hopes for a calm sleep, no. The night will be as filthy as it can get. Youâll be sore tomorrow, most likely exhausted.â
You blinked hearing the options. It was clear as day, stop there or continue? You knew the answer already, your body decided for you even before he came up with an offer.
âWill you drive me home as well if I pick the second option?â
âOf course.â
âThen letâs get you naked.â
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One by one, we are forced into a truck. Someone who is not moving lands on my lap. I fear that a soldier has thrown a corpse onto me, as a form of torture, but I am scared to speak. I whisper, âAre you alive?â âYes, man,â the person says, and I sigh with relief. When the truck stops, we hear what sound like gunshots. I no longer feel my body. The soldiers give off a smell that reminds me of coffins. I find myself wishing that a heart attack would kill me. At our next stop, we kneel outside again. I start to wonder whether the Israeli military is showing us off. When a young man next to me cries, âNo Hamas, no Hamas!,â I hear kicks until he falls silent. Another man, maybe talking to himself, says quietly, âI need to be with my daughter and pregnant wife. Please.â My eyes fill with tears. I imagine Maram and our kids on the other side of the checkpoint. They donât have blankets or even enough clothes. I can hear female soldiers, chatting and laughing. Suddenly, someone kicks me in the stomach. I fly back and hit the ground, breathless. I cry out in Arabic for my mother. I am forced back onto my knees. There is no time to feel scared. A boot kicks me in the nose and mouth. I feel that I am almost finished, but the nightmare is not over. Back in the truck, my body hurts so much that I wish I had no hands or shoulders. After what feels like ninety minutes of driving, we are taken off the truck and shoved down some stairs. A soldier cuts my plastic handcuffs. âBoth hands on the fence,â he says. This time, the soldier ties my hands in the front. A sigh of relief. I am escorted about fifteen metres. Finally, someone speaks to me in what sounds like native Palestinian Arabic. He seems to be my fatherâs age. At first, I hate this man. I think he is a collaborator. But later I hear him described as a shawishâa detainee like us, with little choice but to work for his jailers. âLet me help you,â he says. The shawish dresses me in new clothes and walks me inside the fence. When I raise my blindfolded head, I get blurry glimpses of a corrugated metal roof. We are in some kind of detention center; soldiers walk around, watching us. The shawish unrolls what looks like a yoga mat and covers me with a thin blanket. I place my bound hands behind my head, as a pillow. My arms sear with pain, but my body slowly warms. This is the end of day one.
Read the rest of Mosab's harrowing tale in here (if you don't have a New Yorker subscription)
#yemen#jerusalem#tel aviv#current events#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#news on gaza#palestine news#news update#war news#war on gaza#war crimes#concentration camp#torture#gaza genocide#genocide
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when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^
đđđ°đđŤđ đ¨đ đ¤đ˘đŹđŹđđŹ ! [toji fushiguro]
synopsis: âyou really are your motherâs son,â toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.
pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist
warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! đđ
âIâm just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me youâll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers areââ
You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard âtill this day.
âI wasnât done, you know.â You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. âAnd donât you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fanââ
ââYou worry too much,â Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. âNot gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.â
âYouâre horrible,â you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. âAh! Toji!â you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.
Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. âAlright, mama, go get some rest. Iâll hold down the fort.â
âThank you.â
No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why youâre so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And thatâs mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papaâs waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you donât pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if heâs crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.
Speaking of kisses, todayâs latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.
You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, youâre the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: thatâs exactly how Megumi came to be.
But there are times too, when you were just not having it and youâd gently nudge Tojiâs face away when he tries to kiss you.
It was a typical afternoon. Toji didnât have work that day which was a huge relief for him because youâve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever youâd feel the slightest movements from the baby.
âShhh, youâre alright,â heâd whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. âItâs just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.â
âDonât call him that.â You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.
Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. âI mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? Heâsââ
ââOur baby boy.â
ââAn overgrown parasite.â
Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. âYeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?â
âWhat a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,â Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. âCome on, I just want one sloppy one~â
âNo!â Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.
âMm, yes,â Toji teases. âYes. Come on, baby, just one.â
âYou and I both know itâs never just one.â
Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, itâs not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one thatâs only been strengthened by time and the many trials youâve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hairâs breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. âGuilty as charged.â
And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and itâs beginning to break Tojiâs infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kissâŚ
âMmphââ
There it was.
Tojiâs eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papaâs chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldnât scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldnât possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain peopleâs kisses.
âYou little shitââ
Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.
Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his sonâs face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ainât messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shitâs got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.
Definitely not him, thatâs for sure.
Toji doesnât recall the last time heâs ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: âpeaceâ. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.
ButâŚ
âI meant what I said to your mother though,â Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He wonât recall any of this, but it didnât hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. âThe two of you would be better off â maybe even happier â with someone else.â He presses his thumb against Megumiâs cheek. âItâs what you two deserve.â
Heâs been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him arenât keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.
âIâm heading out today.â
Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You donât even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everythingâs going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.
But for once, Toji was scared.
He had no business becoming a father when heâs lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasnât figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.
Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacketâs pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.
A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what youâre doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasnât coming back. After all, you did say: âI donât wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.â
A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.
Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.
He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, andâŚhappiness.
âŚ
âŚ
âŚ
Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. Youâve been crying. âHeyâŚhey, wake up,â he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. âGot you something.â
He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.
âYou didnât leave,â you said, bewildered. âI thought youââ
ââYou thought wrong,â Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.
âA bank passbook?â You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. âYou opened a savings account?â
Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. âYeah,â he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. âEvery week, weâll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little bratâs schooling one day.â
Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. âYou mean youâreâ?â You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Tojiâs chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.
âGonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.â
Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumiâs chubby cheek. âBut maybe â just maybe â hear me out and donât you give me another glare.â Megumiâs not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much heâs done and heâs willing to do for the both of you.
ââŚMaybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.â
Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter toâŚhiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.
Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking heâs patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.
âYou really are your motherâs son.â
#ââđđđđđđŁ đđŁđŤđđŁđŠđ¤đ§đŽ: đŠđđ đĄđ¤đ¨đŠ đŠđđĽđđ¨ đ#toji fushiguro x reader#toji headcanons#toji imagine#jjk toji#toji x reader#toji x y/n#dilf toji#toji x you#toji fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji zenin#jujutsu toji#jujustu kaisen#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#toji fushiguro x y/n#toji fushiguro x you#toji fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#toji zenin x you#toji zenin x reader#dilf toji zenin#dad!toji#megumi fushiguro#jjk drabbles#toji zenin x y/n fluff
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What about instead of rage giving the reader the silent treatment letâs switch the roles and instead the reader gives rage the silent treatmentt plsss
you were being a chatty little princess. you couldnât help how excited and giddy you were today â the sun was shining bright, the sky a pretty baby blue, the air smelled fresh and sweet, everything just seemed to have been going picture perfect for you. so, when rafe brought you along with him to the country club to catch up with kelce and topper, you were all smiles, to the point where your cherub cheeks and glossy lips ached from being so stretched. you sat prettily on rafeâs lap, even more bubbly than usual thanks to the pomegranate martini youâd been sipping on.
rafeâs hand mindlessly tapped against the side of your thigh as he spoke to topper about this new boat that heâd been eyeing, causing your doe eyes to widen as your lips parted, âoh my god, topper itâs so pretty and i told rafe that he should-â you cut in, oblivious to this being your fourth time interrupting rafe while he spoke to the guys. it wasnât until rafe had finally corrected you that you realized your silly mistake.
âhey, yâgonna let me finish talkinâ to top, or are yâgonna keep on interrupting me?â rafe scolded, his voice cold and stern as he lightly grabbed your jaw, his bright blue eyes hanging low as he sent you a chilling warning look. a soft exhale left your nose as your eyes glazed over with threatening tears, with an obedient nod. now returning his attention to topper, rafe cleared his throat before continuing, âso, yeah mâprobably gonna have it by next week â just waiting on my guy to have it all dolled up for me,â rafe sighed, ignoring the slight pang in his chest as you fiddled with your fingers and kept your gaze trained on your feet.
he could tell that you were trying your very best, not to cry.
you remained silent for the remainder of the day, only allowing yourself to extend a forced courteous smile to topper and kelce, once rafe decided it was time to go home. he didnât miss the way you simply nodded or shook your head whenever the server asked you a question, or how you quickly wiped your eyes before a stream of tears could flow door your cheeks. could rafe do without your constant interjections? yes, but he had to admit that the conversation just wasnât as engaging without your light and airy commentary.
so, rafe decided that heâd play all of your favorite songs, once you were comfortably seated in your passenger seat with your seatbelt fastened, his pink lips running dry as you remained blank of any emotion. reaching over the center console, rafe laying his hand right above your knee, squeezing the plush skin of your thigh, to get you to look at him, âhey, mama â yâdoing okay?â he questions, quickly glancing over to you as you wordlessly nodded, your dolly eyes fluttering closed as rafe sighed in defeat, before bringing his hand back to the steering wheel. he had to admit that watching you leaning your head against the window to fall asleep, instead of his shoulder, stung him a little.
what gnawed at rafe the most, was that you werenât being quiet as a punishment, you genuinely believed that rafe wanted you to stop talking, to the point where even he couldnât get you to say a word to him. itâd been about four hours and he missed hearing you, he missed the way his name fell off of your tongue, the way your accent peaked with certain words, how youâd console him in spanish, but mostly, he missed hearing you call him âpapiâ.
it didnât take long for you to fall asleep, thanks to the two cocktails youâd drank earlier, leaving rafe overtly excited to take the chance to get you in his arms, the moment he parked his car, rushing to the passenger side as he scooped you into his arms, his forearm resting underneath the soft curve of your ass, while his free hand gently slid over your waist. a low whine left your swollen lips as you kept your head leaned against rafeâs shoulder, sighing sleepily as you allowed your boyfriend to carry you inside of tannyhill.
pressing a kiss to your cheek, rafe was quick to take a seat on the couch with you on his lap, he needed this silence to end, before he flipped the fuck out, âi donât like that yânot talking to me, mama â mâabout to lose my mind, not hearing my pretty girl,â rafe coos sweetly into your ear, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you sigh, leaning your head closer into his shoulder. âyânot in trouble, baby, i just wanted to finish talking to topper and i know youâre excited about the boat,â rafe squeezed your waist, beckoning for you to look at him â he needed to make sure that you knew that he still saw you as his sweet girl.
compliantly, you lifted your head, your sleepy doe eyes bright as met rafeâs unwavering gaze, a small huff leaving you as you parted your now barely-glossed lips, âi just didnât want to annoy you, papi ââ you began, rafeâs eyes softening as your sweet voice ran like warm honey in his ears. you innocently shifted yourself on his lap, your swollen lips just aching to be kissed by rafeâs, âi know i was just being too excited,â you sighed, ending your small ramble as rafe simply stared at you blankly, licking over his lips as he shamelessly ogled yours.
the second you cocked your head to the side in confusion, rafeâs mouth was on yours, enveloping you in a disgustingly sloppy, but needy kiss. a throaty moan left rafeâs throat as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, securely holding your face against his as he messily licked into your mouth, spit smearing across your chin as you struggled to catch your breath, âpapi, wait â i canât breathe,â you giggled, your words instantly swallowed by rafeâs mouth as his tongue mushed slush against yours, the two of you whimpering with greed as rafe leaned forward, with you still clinging onto his lap, his shiny, spit-covered lips trailing down to your prettily pushed-up breasts.
âmissed hearing yâfuckinâ voice, mama,â rafe mumbled, his voice broken and hoarse as you smiled cheesily, beaming with the fact that rafe missed you.
#anon#asks#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron#obx imagine#obx#sweetheart!reader
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Lox the Fox
Male Yandere Fox Hybrid x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, somnophilia, implied cum in food, magic, drugging, biting, claiming bites, knotting, manipulation, chasing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, references to an incident with a sweet potato Word Count: 5.6k (I am so sorry that this comm took so long, though I was dealing with a number of different issues. Hope you all enjoy it!)
You were but a humble trader. Once somewhat prominent in the medium sized town of Ridgespire, humiliating rumors began circulating about being caught in a compromising position with a sweet potato. The totally baseless story spread throughout the entire town. You were a laughing stock. When you could no longer handle it you left for a fresh start and new opportunities.
You decided to set up shop in the town of Westwend. It was a small village now, but you saw some serious potential. It was situated in the center of many newer villages and small towns and would serve as a good hub for you. But the best part about your new home was that it was too far for any pernicious lies about you and a sweet potato to have followed.
The locals were very accepting of you as a new traveling trader, though you hadn't had a chance to get close to any of them. Once you had moved in you immediately began planning your trip through the forest to reach a tiny village on the other side. You'd stop there to rest and see if there were any trade opportunities then head north to a larger town.
You stuffed a huge pack full of food, currency, and trade goods before putting it on and setting off on your journey. The village you were heading for was through several miles of forest and the forest itself was a mile or so away itself. You could be there by evening.
You were warned about an infamous fox-man named Lox that lived in the woods. Supposedly he helped or hindered travelers depending on what mood struck him at the time. The local villagers were always wary about crossing through the forest. That is part of what made this trade route so potentially lucrative. Not many were willing to cut straight through the forest.
The weather was cooperating and making your trip quite pleasant. The morning air was fresh and brought with it the scent of honeysuckle, and other prairie flowers. You took the unused and overgrown path and managed to make it to the woods just before the heat of the day, the dense canopy of leaves providing ample protection from the sun.
Though you didn't know it, you had rapidly crossed into the territory of the fox-man, Lox. And with his magic he knew exactly when any human neared the proximity of what he considered to be his land. He had nothing better to do, and delighted in meddling with humans, so with great grace and dexterity he weaved through the tree tops and quickly came upon you. He used his magic to stay silent and invisible so that he could observe you a while before deciding what to do.
It did not take long for Loxâs careful observation of you to lead him to the conclusion that he was intrigued. He used his magic to peep into some of your thoughts and memories to get just a glimpse of the type of person you were. He saw bits of your travels, vague impressions of your views, and something about a sweet potato. He couldnât quite make it out to be honest. But it didnât matter. He could tell from your aura that you were a lonely person with few friends and no current ties to anyone.
He decided that instead of hindering you he was going to help you more than he had ever helped anyone else before you. Not just for your sake, but for his as well. He thought maybe he could be your mate. Though he still needed to get to know you a little better though before he was totally sure. He could only get to know someone so well through his magic, so he really needed a more direct method.
Rather than simply introduce himself, which he was sure would fail, he devised a cunning plan to get you to see him as your hero. First impressions were immensely important, so if your first time seeing him was when he was saving you then that would make it a lot more likely that you would fall for him.
You continued through the forest, laughing to yourself about how easy a trip this was. You couldnât believe how the small village dwellers had cut themselves off from such an easy trading route just because of some stories about some magic fox guy. You could believe that beast men existed, you had never seen one yourself, but their existence was never refuted, but magic? That was just too much for you.
Belief in the supernatural and heading the warnings of the villagers would have served you well, but instead the trap was laid and you bumbled right into it.
As you continued on the forest path, nearly gone due to disuse, you came across a clearing with a small cabin. It looked wildly out of place in the wilderness. Perhaps this was the home of the fox man all of the villagers had been so wary of. After gawking for a moment you resumed your journey. You had been traveling for hours and were probably halfway through the woods by now.
As you neared an old but sturdy bridge that marked the final leg of your travels through the forest, you heard a bone chilling growl and your path was suddenly blocked by three snarling wolves. You knew you couldnât fight them, but the cabin that you had passed wasnât too far. Maybe, just maybe, you could outrun them and take shelter.
Thinking fast you through your pack towards them, hoping the food in it would distract them enough for you to flee to safety. But no such luck. They werenât distracted by it at all. At least without it you werenât so weighed down though. But you were tired from all the walking and the wolves were at your heels. You imagined that you could feel their hot sour breath at your back, but you didnât look back to confirm it.
Just when you were sure that you were going to find your end in the jaws of the ravenous beasts an orange flash came out of the trees from the direction of the house and stood between you and the feral wolves. There was no mistaking it, it was the fox man of local legend.
The hybrid man stood before the wolves with his back towards you, you could see that he was of a lean build and average height with two triangular ears on his head that were the same color as his wavy red hair. And he had a fox-like tail to match the ears.
As confident as he seemed you seriously doubted that he could take on so many enemies at once. And then you saw why he was so confident. A red tinged gust of magic left his hands and blew the wolves several feet away, making them smack into the trees. With a frightened yelp they scattered. You were in awe, magic was real after all!
When Lox turned to face you he could tell right away by the admiration and gratitude in your eyes that he had made the right decision in conjuring the convincing wolf illusions to scare you back towards him.
Normally seeing your first hybrid man may have at least startled you, but when you met his orange eyes and sharp-toothed smile you could only feel relief. You almost wanted to hug the guy.
âThank you so much! I really thought I was a goner. I have no idea what I would have done had you not shown up when you hadâŚâ
Your stomach turned just thinking about it.
âNo problem friend, I just happened to be gathering fruit up in the trees when I saw your predicament.â
Now Lox just had to convince you to stay the night with him. Get to know him better. Once you saw how good of a provider he was and how kind he was you would surely fall for him. He just knew it.
âWell uh⌠I better go and get my things. I dropped them to flee. And then I gotta keep traveling. Thanks again!â
No no no, that wouldnât do for Lox at all!
âDonât be silly! Those wolves could be lurking anywhere, you should just stay at my home while I collect your things. You can always set off tomorrow, I will even escort you through the forest!â
Your heart was still beating at an intense pace with adrenaline leaving you shaky. You didnât really want to just set off alone so soon after such a scare. But you really should set out again, and you had doubts that the wolves would try anything again so soon.
âI really donât think that I should, if I keep going I can make up for lost time and make the village well before sundown.â
He couldnât reveal his true intentions yet, but no matter what happened, now that he had taken such a liking to you, he was never going to be far from you.
âWell, those wolves can be pretty persistent, they arenât really normal. And it would be really nice to have a bit of company. It doesnât come very often out here. I donât think that humans like me all that much to tell the truth...â
Lox put on his best pouting face to elicit your sympathy. To be honest he didnât mind his loner lifestyle one bit. Though he did want just one person in his life. A good partner. And whether or not you wanted it, that partner was going to be you.
His deception worked wonders on you. Instantly you felt immense sympathy for him. He was helping you so much so you should be happy to offer him your company, if just for a day. It wasnât like it was a great imposition on you. You wouldnât even be alive right now if not for Lox and all he wanted was a bit of companionship in return. Besides, you really didnât want to come across as some sort of bigotâŚ
âWell⌠if youâre sure it wonât be burdensome, I guess I can stay the night. Thanks for the hospitality, but I think I should go with you to get my pack. It would be pretty rude to make you go and get it for me.â
This also wouldnât do for Lox, he wanted to enchant your belongings to be able to keep tabs on you even if you left his immediate vicinity. He did not want to run the risk of you ever escaping him, he doubted he would be unable to track you, but it was good to be prepared. The spell was rather loud and involved flashes of magic, he couldnât take the risk that you could wake up and catch him in the act so having you at his house while he went off to do the enchantment on your stuff was his best solution.
âDonât be silly, I can zip along through the trees much faster than you can walk! It will be much faster if I go alone.â
âYeah, I guess thatâs true⌠Okay, if you really donât mind getting it for me.â You felt bad that he had done so much for you already and was now doing more, but his logic made sense.
On the way there you introduced yourself and the two of you chatted a bit about how you both got to where you were currently. He explained the tragic tale of how he had been orphaned as a young teen and had to raise himself in the harsh wilds. The two of you were already pretty close to his humble home so it didnât take long at all for him to lead you there.
The inside was about what you would expect from the home of someone living the lifestyle of a secluded forest hermit. Not messy, but cluttered in a cozy sort of way. Not a lot of open space, every inch utilized in some way. There were some shelves filled with books and various ornaments and objects of unknown purpose, there was a desk in the corner littered with arcane looking scrolls, a small dining area with dried aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling, and there was a doorless bedroom attached with an equally well stuffed bedroom, you could see a large bed with red covers and more shelves.
Before he went off to get your pack for you he offered you some miniature sandwiches and some tea and set them on a small table for you.
You thanked him as he left and nibbled on the food he had provided you. You were hungrier than you had realized though and before you knew it, there wasnât a crumb or sip left.
Meanwhile Lox had already located your belongings and busily casting his little spell on your things. He was hoping he could convince you to stay with him, but realistically it could take a few encounters. This would help ensure that those encounters kept happening. He considered it the âdatingâ phase of your ârelationship.â
He also hoped that you would eat as much of that sandwich as possible. He had sprinkled in just a little something to help you be a bit more compliant with the âromanceâ he had planned for later that night. He could have relied on it to keep you from being too alarmed at him casting a spell on your belongings, but he couldnât be sure how much you would ingest. Lox didnât want to be pushy about you consuming the food either, that would be suspicious.
No, it was better if he just enchanted your things now and then he wouldnât have to worry about if you had eaten enough magic flake powder that he had given you. And if you did happen to consume enough of it then he could have plenty of fun with you.
The fox-man briefly considered whipping up a love potion, but they were often temporary, wearing off at inconvenient times and requiring reapplication. And he really wanted you to actually be in love with him, not just be under the influence of all consuming magic.
When Lox entered the home it had startled you right off the couch and you fell to the floor. Lox quickly helped you up, relishing the chance to make physical contact with you. He was beyond thrilled to see that the plate your food had been on was now empty.
âThanks! Sorry, you coming in so suddenly just startled me. You werenât wrong about how fast you were, I hadnât expected you back so soon.â
âTold ya I was fast.â He beamed proudly as he handed you your belongings.
Over the course of the next couple of hours the two of you chatted while you taught him a card game with a deck that you always traveled with, but you became fatigued much sooner than you usually did. Surely that was just from all the travel followed by the excitement of earlier though.
Lox offered you use of his bed while you used his couch, but you wouldnât hear of it. He had already shown you such kindness you werenât going to just kick him out of his own bed. Finally he relented and just let you use the couch.
Sleep came to you with unusual ease, something that Lox was greatly anticipating. Now youâd be at his mercy and even if you woke up, the mind altering effects of what he had fed you would make sure that you didnât remember it or if you did you'd think it was only a dream.
Lox lubed you up carefully and slid into your sleeping form which he had tenderly stripped bare. He bred you slowly and lovingly, deep strokes into you so that he could edge and enjoy every possible second of making love with his partner for the first time.
It was difficult, but he managed to restrain his instinct to bite your neck all over and make his claim on you visible to the world. He also held his cock at the base to prevent his knot from slipping in and swelling within you. Lox didnât want to leave you with any suspicious soreness.
But the hardest thing for the fox man was pulling out and not filling you up full of his seed, especially when your eyes fluttered open and you moaned and babbled incoherently while drooling in pleasure even if your mind couldnât make sense of anything that was happening.
After that, he came in you quickly and meticulously cleaned you up so that no evidence was left behind.
When you woke up your head was a bit fuzzy, light filtered in through a little circular window and by the angle of the sun it seemed that you had slept all morning. You thought you probably had overstayed your welcome.
You yawned and began to get off the couch when suddenly Lox appeared as if from nowhere with a hot plate of food. Had he been watching and waiting for you to wake up? You didnât entertain the thought long, you were just being paranoid. He was a fox-man; he clearly had enhanced senses and was just keeping the meal warm for you when you finally got up.
"Quail egg omelet before you leave?"
Lox seemed refreshed and energized, and though you couldn't quite place why something about him gave you just the slight twinge of anxiety in the back of your mind. It was easy to push away though.
"Thanks, you didn't have to make me breakfast. I have rations in my pack"
"Nonsense, you're my guest. And I was making one for myself anyway."
It did smell rather enticing and he had gone through the trouble of cooking it so you relented and ate it happily. It was among the best dishes you had ever eaten. You wondered if he used his magic to enhance it. He had, actually, added his own "special ingredient" to the food he made for you, but it wasn't something magical and you really didn't want to know what it was.
After you finished the meal Lox, true to his word, happily joined you on your trip out of the forest. You tried to insist that you didnât need him, that the wolves probably went off in search of easier prey, and that you were prepared now, but the fox wasnât having it.
The trip out of the forest was largely uneventful, filled only with Loxâs chatter and questions focused on you. You supposed most people would have been annoyed by it all, but you knew he didnât get much company and you were still so touched by the kindness that he had shown you.
Overall it was going well.
Until it wasn't. As you crossed the old, but up until this point, very sturdy bridge, it suddenly collapsed beneath you. With a scream you flailed desperately, luckily Lox was able to reach you, hold onto you, and jump back up the side that you had come from. After you caught your breath and let your nerves settle in silence you looked at the damage. The bridge was beyond repair. It would add a couple hours to your journey to go around to the shallow part of the river, but you certainly couldn't go across here anymore.
"God damn! That was... scary! Thanks for... saving me. Again..."
You were still shaking a bit.
"It's no problem! I thought the bridge was a bit sturdier than that. Good thing I caught you... I guess we'll just have to go back for now..."
"No it's fine, I saw an old map of the area, there's a place I can cross if I follow the river. Will just take a few extra hours."
You looked up at him.
"Don't worry, you don't need to escort me the extra distance."
That was, of course, the exact opposite of what Lox planned. He would be at your side for eternity. Whether you said you wanted him there or not.
"No, no! It's not a bother. Really. I'm usually so bored I just sleep most of the day!"
"Well if it isn't a bother, I'm glad to have a traveling buddy for a bit longer."
The two of you sat down for a couple minutes before resuming your newly extended route out of the forest. It went about as well as it had been going before the incident with the bridge, though Lox kept shooting you nervous looks, like he was holding back from saying something to you. Poor guy, he was probably just sad that the two of you would be parting ways soon. You made a mental note to reassure him when you got to the end of the forest.
This wasn't the end at all, you'd see him a couple times a month if this trading exchange worked out. Maybe even once a week if things got really busy.
The fox hybrid was a bit more distant in conversation, focused more on his thoughts. He had been sure that after he collapsed the bridge with his magic and then saved you from the disaster that you would be head over heels in love with him. Clearly he had shown you he can keep you safe from any peril... even if he had to make the danger himself. At the very least you should have agreed to stay at his home a bit longer so that he could get you to like him more.
Sadly, Lox could not glean any notions of love emanating from you using his magical abilities. But he absolutely couldn't accept that you weren't at least somewhat attracted to him by this point. He had, as far as you were concerned, saved your life twice. Then he had been very amicable and hospitable towards you. You must have been in such strong denial that your true feelings were unknown even to you. But he wasn't going to give up on his beloved, he just knew the two of you were meant to be together. No matter what.
His first priority had to be making sure you never made it out of the forest. If you left and he wasn't with you then you could get hurt. Or maybe someone else would take you! But he didn't want to scare you or tip you off.
As the two of you continued on your way the amorous man couldn't help but stare at you and think of all the things he wanted to do to you. Seeing a lack of claiming bites on you almost sent his instincts into overdrive, he had to actively stop himself from fucking you into the dirt, biting all over you, and having his knot tie the two of you together.
The two of you crossed the river and with each step Lox grew more fidgety as his desire to claim you grew, as did his worry that you may escape him if he didn't think up another plot soon. Then he had a great idea. Quicksand! He'd save you from it and you'd be so frustrated, messy, and grateful that at the very least you'd want to go back to his house for another night to rest and clean up!
Lox used his magic to create a patch of quicksand on the path ahead and used his power of illusion to make sure it looked just like the surrounding terrain until disturbed, just like natural quicksand.
And sure enough it fooled you. With a loud scream you suddenly plummeted through what you had assumed was perfectly solid ground. You fell forward and struggled to orient yourself in the thick muck. Lox grabbed your pack from behind and plucked you easily from the quicksand. You gasped for breath and wiped the mud from your face.
"Holy fuck, I would have drowned if not for you! You're a real lifesaver, Lox."
This time you didn't waste more than a few seconds trying to catch your breath before getting up.
"I guess we should head back to my place, we can get you all cleaned up and try again tomorrow."
"Oh don't worry! We only just passed the river, we can go back and I can rinse off there!"
You started to head towards the water with Lox at your side.
"Are you sure? You must be tired after all the excitement we just had..."
You stopped and looked at Lox. He seemed almost panicked. The gears in your head finally started turning. The dots were connecting.
"Every time something happens you are very quick to suggest we head back... and it's pretty convenient that you are always right there to save me from these sudden disasters..."
"What are you saying?" The fox asked with a surprising darkness.
The question hung unanswered, heavy in the air, as the two of you stared at one another. Then you bolted into the dense foliage. But this was Lox's forest, he had years of experience tracking and keeping eyes on any humans who wandered through it, and he had never been so motivated.
Every time you made a turn Lox would appear in a puff of smoke in front of you, using his magic to teleport short distances. He grabbed you, but you struggled out of his grip.
"I love you babe, but I am getting tired of this little game. Let's go home now okay?"
He used a wave of magic to animated the vines near you, they snared you easily. You wriggled and writhed like a maniac as he slowly approached you with a creepy smile on his face.
"You must be tired after that little chase. You need a nap."
Then he pulled out a pouch of shimmering blue powder from his pocket and blew it over you. You fell asleep instantly.
When you woke up from your fitful sleep full of nightmares and fear in Lox's bed. You had no pants on and a thick sticky fluid leaking from your entrance. You realized those nightmares may not have been dreams at all, and you felt instantly nauseous.
Luckily, he wasn't in the room with you. The sick freak seemed to be in the kitchen, you could hear him humming faintly as he went about cooking. He probably thought he'd bring you a meal in bed and you'd be grateful and everything would be just peachy between the two of you. But you had other plans.
The window was large enough to leave through, you hoped you could do so quietly. You wiped yourself clean as best you could and put the clothing that Lox has removed back on. You raised the window slowly and it didn't make any noise at first, but you came to a point where it was stuck and more force had to be used. It squeaked like it was shrieking out your desire to escape to the four corners of the world.
Since your cover was clearly blown you gave up being quiet and forced it open with all due expediency. You quickly scrambled out the window, falling forward into the dirt. You wasted no time at all in getting up and darting away as fast as you possibly could. But the eyes of the fox were on you from the window, watching you speed further away. He wasn't worried though.
Lox was delusional and arguably even completely insane over you at this point, but he was no idiot. He knew your denial about how you felt over him may still be too strong and you may try to run away. He had taken extra precautions. Precautions you learned of in a  very direct way when you slammed face first and at full force right into some sort of invisible barrier that Lox had erected a good distance around his dwelling.
You fell rather hard on your ass and cupped your face in pain. Then you heard a voice approach behind you.
"Are you okay darling? I didn't intend to hurt your pretty face." He waved a hand and green sparks from his fingertips healed up your injury.
"What the Hell, Lox!? You can't just keep me prisoner like this!"
"You're not a prisoner! You're my partner, and this is just to keep you close by. You're really fragile judging by how you handled all the dangers recently."
You stared at him for a moment, unable to think of a response to this complete lunatic, as he got closer and stared down at you with that freaky smile of his.
"I realize you are used to being really independent, but you really need to admit it already. I am the perfect mate for you. You have to know that deep down."
You started to object, but he sealed your words with a sudden rough kiss. He was deceptively strong, a fact you learned while trying unsuccessfully to push him off of you. He pinned you down on the ground with ease and smirked down at you.
"If showing off how good of a protector I am isn't enough to get rid of your denial, then I will just have to show you how good our union feels~"
Lox ignored your protests. His nails grew sharp and he sliced off your clothing as easily as if he was cutting through paper.
"I'm gonna make you feel soooo good."
He bit possessively at your neck. It hurt slightly but the unpleasantness was overridden by pleasure. For someone who was rarely around humans except to randomly help or hinder an occasional traveler he sure knew how to pleasure you. Then you remembered how he had violated you in your sleep. He had practiced. You redoubled your efforts to get free but the resistance only seemed to excite him more.
Lox's claws returned to being normal nails as he fingered your entrance, despite his increasingly feral state of mind he was still focused on making this as pleasurable as possible for his beloved little human. He used a small bit of magic to create an oil from his fingers to apply a generous amount of lubrication to you.
Shouts, screams, and the tears rolling down your face were all met with calming shushing noises and promises that you'd be moaning soon enough with fear replaced by delight.
His fingers wiggled within you, causing you to buck unwillingly in the throes of carnal stimulation. You gasped and whined at your body's betrayal. Lox pulled out his fingers and held your hips tight while aligning his cock with you and slamming into you with the perfect amount of force.
Your moan was captured by his lips as he kissed you again, biting your lower lip as he pulled away.
"I have wanted my knot in you for so long, you're gonna fit me like a glove~"
All you could manage was to grunt in defiance as you drooled dumbly. Lox began thrusting into you again and again. Each movement of his could only be described as perfection. He rolled his hips and plunged in deeply with slow strokes that steadily increased in pace.
It really didn't take long at all for Lox to feel your body throb around his large prick as you climaxed. If this had been a willing encounter, and if you also had not been fucked silly, you would have been embarrassed by how quickly Lox had made you orgasm.
The fox looked at you in awe, observing every detail of your face as you came. Your flushed face, the rise and fall of your chest as you panted, your eyes glazed and lost in sexual bliss.
"Wow, you finish even faster and more beautifully than you did while sleeping!"
Lox bit at your chest and up to your neck, delivering a harder bite there to mark you as his. You were so out of it that it didn't register in the way that it should have. What little pain there was Lox quickly dispersed with more magical healing and gentle kisses.
He continued pumping into you for well over an hour, eliciting enough moans, whimpers, shakes, and shudders from you until your voice was hoarse and your body limp.
And then, just when you thought you would die from all the overstimulation, Lox painted your walls white with a hot load of cum before his knot swelled and kept the two of you together.
"See? No one else can make you feel like this! And you take me just so well my beloved~"
When his knot finally went down he had to stop himself from diving back into you, the sight of you glistening with sweat and leaking his seed went straight to his cock. But he settled for just slipping it between your thighs and grinding into you while you sat on his lap in the bathtub.
Your comfort was the priority and you clearly needed special care after that mind shattering sex.
When you were all cleaned up, he carried you bridal style to his bed and bundled you up in soft blankets, he pressed a loving kiss to your cheek before going off to get you some food and water. Maybe something easy to get down. Perhaps some soup? Since you were still pretty dazed he wondered if you would let him feed you.
You were such a sweet fragile thing and would need to recover your energy for all the activities he had planned for the two of you.
#yandere terato#yandere x reader#yandere teratophilia#monster boyfriend#gender neutral reader#male yandere x gn reader#yandere boyfriend#yandere#My OCs#My OC Lox#Yandere Hybrid#Yandere fox-man#Yandere fox#yandere male#male yandere x reader#yandere oc x reader#yandere fic
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EX!reader x JEALOUS!nicholas đđ ŕŁŞË Ö´đ
SUMMARY, Nicholas, still grappling with the lingering emotions from his recent breakup, reluctantly agrees to a night out with his friends at a club. As the music pulses and the crowd sways, he spots his ex, across the room with another man. Jealousy ignites in his chest.
WARNINGS, smuttyyyyy
A/N, hey angels! my inbox is now open, feel free to request or ask any questions. have fun reading, muah.
The club was packed. Music thumped through the walls, vibrating through Nicholas as he stepped inside. His friends were already there, waving him over to the bar with grins that were a little too enthusiastic.
"About time!" one of them shouted over the music, clapping him on the back.
Nicholas forced a smile and ordered a drink, hoping the alcohol would loosen him up. After a couple of rounds, he was starting to relax, though his mind kept drifting back to her. It was impossible not to. Everywhere he looked, couples were dancing, bodies pressed close together, and it reminded him of how it used to be with her.
He shook off the thoughts and turned toward the dance floor, determined to distract himself. But just as he did, his heart stopped.
There she was.
She stood near the center of the dance floor, her body swaying effortlessly to the beat. Her hair was down, catching the neon lights as she moved, her hips rolling with the rhythm in a way that had always mesmerized him. But this time, it wasnât for him. She wasnât dancing for him.
Before Nicholas could process the flood of emotions, a guy appeared behind her. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile that Nicholas immediately hated. He stepped in close, his hands hovering near her waist as they moved together, bodies aligning in sync. She didnât pull away. She leaned into it, her smile bright, her body molding to the strangerâs as they danced.
Jealousy hit Nicholas like a wave, sharp and suffocating. His grip tightened on his drink, knuckles white as he watched the scene unfold. That shouldâve been him. It used to be him. How could she be so comfortable with someone else? So quickly?
His chest burned, every rational thought drowning in the flood of possessiveness and anger. Before he could stop himself, he set his drink down and pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on her.
When he reached her, he didnât hesitate. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the guy, who looked at Nicholas with a mix of confusion and annoyance. She stumbled back, surprised, her eyes widening as she realized who it was.
"Nicholas?" she gasped, but he didnât give her time to say anything else. The music blared around them, but all he could hear was the pounding in his chest, the rush of anger that had built up over weeks of silence.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion. "Why are you letting some random guy touch you like that?"
She pulls her arm back, her face hardening. "What are you talking about? Nicholas, you canât justâ"
"Yes, I can," he cut her off, his voice low, but the anger in it was clear. "Because youâre mine. Youâve always been mine.â
Her eyes flashed with a mix of disbelief and anger. "Weâre not together anymore, Nicholas. You donât get to say that."
"I donât care," he snapped, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I donât care if we broke up. You donât let someone else touch you like that. Not when it hasnât even been a month."
She stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment. The guy behind her stepped forward, sensing the tension, but Sarah held up a hand, stopping him.
"You donât get to decide who I dance with," she said, her voice steady now, even though Nicholas could see the hurt in her eyes. "We ended things, remember? You ended it, Nicholas."
Her words hit him like a slap. He did end it, but now, standing there, watching her with someone else, he couldnât understand why he had. All he knew was the pain of seeing her move on, the jealousy twisting inside him like a knife.
"You don't understand," Nicholas said, his voice demanding slightly, but full of raw emotion. "You belong with me. No one else"
He crashed his lips against hers, the kiss instantly consuming. It wasn't soft or tentative-there was nothing gentle about it. His mouth moved against hers with fiery desperation, as though he'd been starving for this, for her, ever since they parted. And she matched his intensity, her lips parting to let him in, her hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer as if the contact wasn't close enough.
Their bodies collided, her chest pressing against his as the kiss deepened. Nicholas's hands roamed over her, sliding from her waist to her back, pulling her flush against him. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently as his mouth moved down her neck, tasting the heat of her skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
She let out a soft, breathless moan, her body arching into his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders as though she needed something to hold onto.
The sound only fueled him further. His mouth returned to hers, this time with a fierce, almost primal need. Their tongues danced together, the kiss growing hotter, deeper, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other.
Nicholas felt like he was drowning in her, the taste of her, the feel of her. Every inch of his skin was on fire, his heartbeat racing as his hands traveled lower, gripping her hips, pressing her harder against him. The heat between them was undeniable, overwhelming, and neither of them seemed able to stop.
Her fingers slid through his hair, tugging him closer, her lips demanding more. She kissed him like she wanted to erase the time they'd spent apart, like she wanted to burn away every doubt, every regret. Her nails raked lightly down his neck, sending a shiver through him, igniting every nerve in his body.
Their kiss was wild, unrestrained, the kind that felt like it could burn the whole world down around them. And neither of them cared. Right then, in that moment, it was just them-wrapped up in each other, their bodies and minds consumed by the heat of their desire.
As Nicholas pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his breath ragged, he saw the same fire burning in her gaze. It was as if everything they'd tried to bury had resurfaced, and the pull between them was undeniable, irresistible.
âGo to the bathroom.â he says.
Her fingers loop his pants, tugging them down when they enter the bathroom. He helps her fold his dick out of his boxers by lifting his hips. He's painfully hard; it's was a sight to see. She realizes that it's been a while since she's gotten down on her knees in front of him.
She grabs his dick and strokes it. She dribbles spit down his tip, lubricating her moving hand as it glides along wonderfully. He struggles with the urge to speak; she hears it almost slip out of his mouth. She wraps her lips around his head and looks up into his, breaking him somewhat with a single swirl of her tongue.
"Just like that," he mutters. He hardly has time to register the sensation before his jaw drops.
She took him up with one hand and held him partly in her mouth. She doesn't want to push it because fixing her makeup afterwards will be difficult. Still, he'll cum if he touches the back of her throat, the way he's already going insane. "Jesus-" He moves his hips and clenches her hair, causing a sensation to run down her scalp.
Her left hand roams up his nude torso, feeling the heated skin covering his gravelly muscles as she bobs her head. He traps his hand over top so it stays there the instant her palm touches his chest. With a whine, he throws his head back as her lips slowly works on him.
"Baby-" He stifles. "I'll cum if you don't stop."
She pulls back to prevent him from finishing. He gazes down at her as though she were a creation of his fantasies. "That's for ending our relationship," she replies, disappearing from the bathroom.
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Summoning the Boy King
Darkseid was rampaging through Metropolis, Superman was injured, and the Justice League was desperate. As the League hid between fallen skyscrapers, John Constantine prepared a last-ditch effort to save the Earth.
The Hellblazer drew an intricate sigil on the ground; its circular design stretching over six feet in diameter. Most of the symbols within were space-related, while the others were themed to royalty. Batman, one of the few heroes in-the-know, grunted.
"Are you sure this king ghost can help?"
Constantine sighed and pinched his nose.
"He's the High King of the Infinite Realms, Bats, an' he's bloody powerful. He'll stop Darkseid, alright, but what he does afterward is anyone's guess. Believe me, I wouldn't be doin' this if we had a choice."
Batman sighed and glanced at the smoke-filled horizon.
"Alright, get on with it, then. We're running out of time."
Constantine nodded and placed a single offering in the center of the sigil: a squishmallow of Disney's iconic blue alien, Stitch.
"I beg your finest pardon," Batman sputtered, "What on Earth is that?"
Constantine sighed again as he took his position at the edge of the sigil.
"Mate, the book was very specific. Unlike his predecessor, the new king requires a single offering of space or alien theme that is suitable for children. It's bloody strange, but beggars can't be choosers."
Batman just shook his head and looked on. Constantine raised his hands and started the summoning chant. An eerie, green glow spread across the sigil, and light fog gathered above it. Little white orbs floated up from the ground and spiraled together, forming the slowly spinning visage of a spiral galaxy.
"Incredible..." Zatanna gasped, "This summoning is on a level all its own. This king of yours is on the level of Gods."
Finally, something began to form over the small galaxy. Batman's expression quickly softened, much to the surprise of his teammates. It was mere seconds before they understood, as a black blob full of white stars formed into the shape of a boy. The blob had spiky 'bangs' if you could call them that and eerie, glowing green eyes.
The squishmallow floated into the boy's arms and he squeezed it excitedly. At the same time, he took on a far more human form, with pale skin and snowy white hair. His eyes had whites now but still glowed green. He was dressed in black and white, royal attire with green accents, a black crown floating in a green aurora, and a black ring with a green stone. A black cape flowed down his back, its underside looking as if it were cut from a clear night sky.
"Awesome offering, dude! What can I do for ya?"
The voice was a reedy tenor in the throes of puberty, and its owner was more than a little geeky. The boy's smile was infectious, or it would have been were it not for the specific circumstance.
"How old are you?" Batman asked, his tone soft, "We weren't expecting a child."
The boy waved him off like it was nothing.
"No one ever does. And, um... technically I'm fifteen. I know, I don't look it."
Constantine cut in, clearly out of patience.
"Look, this monster Darkseid is destroying our world. We need you to stop him."
The boy turned in the air and took in the destruction around him. Somehow, he seemed to understand the situation immediately.
"Okay, but I gotta get permission first. This'll take a lot of power." He paused, taking a breath, and then yelled in a strange language. "Mom!"
Constantine paled and the other heroes shrank back as a green portal tore into existence. A young woman, barely an adult herself, floated out. She had waist-length blue hair and the same glowing, green eyes. She wore a royal outfit in white and maroon, complete with a glittering, silver tiara studded with rubies.
"What's the matter, Danny? Are you okay?"
Danny nodded.
"Mhmm! These guys need me to take out this Darkseid guy, though. Can I use my full power?"
Constantine snuck a drink from his flask. He did not sign up to deal with the fucking Queen Mother of the Infinite Realms, nor had he known she existed. God, he needed a smoke...
The Queen Mother smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her son's forehead. She spoke whilst taking his new plush.
"Yes, Danny, you may. Let me hold onto this for you so it doesn't get dirty."
Danny nodded and turned away.
"Okay, thanks mom!"
The Queen Mother vanished through and with the portal she had created. Moments later, Danny shot off into the city, with the remaining able-bodied heroes hot on his trail. The young king reached Darkseid rather quickly, engaging him while the Leaguers looked on from cover. Darkseid was foolishly amused.
"A child dares oppose me? Flee, whelp."
Batman tensed as Darkseid unleashed his Omega Effect. Two red beams shot from his eyes, and yet the young king floated firm. Two eerie, green beams shot from his own eyes and, to the shock of everyone, overpowered his foe's. Darkseid shattered into many tiny pieces which then vanished into thin air.
"Man, he really wasn't smart!" Danny grinned, "Who fires a death beam at the king of the dead?"
He received no response, as the heroes were too stunned to speak. Smiling, he saluted the group before tearing open another portal.
"Oh well; villain gone, carry on. Later guys!"
Batman glared at Constantine, but the Brit had already absconded. Heaving a sigh, he resigned himself to this new reality. Darkseid was gone, but there was an incredible new power to worry about.
(Note: My only source of information is DP canon, DP fanon, and the Justice League cartoons from the early '00s. I apologize for any inaccuracies with Batman's or Constantine's behavior.)
#danny phantom#jazz fenton#dp x dc#dc x dp#john constantine#ghost king danny phantom#ghost jazz#space geek danny#boy king danny
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SLYTHERINSLUT0âS KINKTOBER
october 15th. mattheo â brat taming / daddy kink.
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.
summary: play bratty games, winâŚuh, your boyfriends cum down your throat?
warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, glove kink, fingering under the table at a family dinner, dom!mattheo, denied orgasm, SLIGHT mutual masturbation, an absurd amount of dirty talk, daddy kink, ROAD HEAD (how tf does this man keep the car steady? idk), blowjob.
Malfoy Manor has always been stunningâthe kind of stunning you've grown used to over the years of being with Mattheo, but that somehow still manages to take your breath away every time you step foot inside. It's perfect in a way that almost feels oppressive, the heavy weight of generational wealth clinging to everything.
The chandelier, the delicate flowers in the center of the table, even the soft scent of roses in the airâit's all so much. Too polished. Too grand.
You pick at your dinner, the taste lost on you.
On any other night, maybe you'd let the beauty sweep you up. But not tonight. Tonight, everything grates. The low hum of formal chatter, the fake, forced laughs that drift through the airâyou hear it, sure, but you don't care. You can't care. You're too pissed off to care. It all sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
And the cause of your irritation? He's sitting right beside you, perfectly at ease. Mattheo's been charming the room for hours now, playing his part, all smooth smiles and well-placed comments. He was crafted for this. Moulded into it. He can waltz through these evenings like it's second nature, like he doesn't even have to try.
And that pisses you off too. Truthfully, everything about him tonight pisses you off.
But you sit there anyway, like the dutiful girlfriend you are, playing your roleâsmiling when you're supposed to, making small talk when you're supposed toâall while on the inside, irritation is bubbling, simmering just beneath your skin.
And maybe it's stupidâtrivialâbut you're mostly just mad that he dragged you here. Ignored your exhaustion. Dismissed it with that look of his, the one that said you'd survive, as if surviving was the same as being fine. And now, you're stuck in this perfectly orchestrated evening, playing a part you never wanted.
And you'd almost hate him for itâif it weren't for those fucking gloves.
Leather, black, soft and sleek. They move with him, something that masks his ruggedness and makes him almost look presentableâgracefulâhiding cut knuckles and the strength within them as he picks up his glass, adjusts the napkin in his lap, brushing his fork like it's nothing.
You almost scowl in frustration of it all. Who the fuck let him wear those? You've been staring at them all night. You don't even want to, but it's like they've trapped your attention, pulled you in without asking.
You're mad at him. The gloves don't change that. But they do something. They make everything harder.
And still, you fight it.
It starts small. The attitude. A quiet, sharp kind of rebellion that only he'd catch onto. Your fingers tap your glass a little too hard when you set it down. Your words come out flat when he leans over to make some passing comment. You give him clipped responses, not looking at him, not giving him what he wants. You can feel the brittle edge of your smile, and you know he can too.
Mattheo notices everything. He always does.
After a while of this, a gloved hand slips under the table, brushing your knee.
A question without words; what are you doing?
You don't react. Not at first. You just shift your foot, barely nudging his ankle, pushing back in the smallest way. He tightens his grip on your kneeâa warning, a silent conversation between the two of you, invisible to everyone else at the table.
"Dinner's been nice," he's prodding, testing, his voice smooth as ever. "Wouldn't you agree?"
You feel him watching, feel the weight of his gaze as he picks you apart, dissecting your mood. He knows you too well for this. You finally meet his eyes, and for a second, the room fades into the background. Just him and that damn hand on your knee, the soft leather brushing your skin in a way that makes your pulse stumble.
You try to shake it off, shrug it away like it's nothing.
"Hmm," you hum, pretending you're not affected. Your fingers tap your plate, and your eyes drift againâdown to his other hand, resting on the table, playing with the edge of his glass. "I suppose."
His brow arches, just enough for you to catch itâanother challenge posed to your audacity. He knows exactly what you're doingâyou can see it in the way his lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement. He's letting you play your game, but you know he's already winning.
"You're mad at me." His voice is low, slipping beneath the hum of dinner conversation.
You blink, keeping your gaze trained on the flicker of candlelight rather than him. It's not a question, not even a statementâhe says it like a fact, just a certainty, a declaration dripping in the smugness that comes so naturally to him. And that pisses you off even more.
Heâs always too goddamn sure about everything.
"Mm, no." You lift your glass, cool rim kissing your lips as you take a slow, languid sip, the taste biting your tongue. You let it hide the smirk threatening your face. "Nothing to be mad about."
His hand shifts higher, fingers tightening just enough to remind you he's thereâdipping into your skin, the silent warning you can feel vibrating up your spine. You should be used to this by now, should be used to the way he takes you apartâbut you aren't. How could you ever get used to this?
"Uh huh." He's not buying it. He never does.
His eyes flicker around the room, yours follow, mirroring his movements in a habit you loathe as you let him have that win. Everyone's busyâforks clinking, soft laughter bubbling up like champagne, far enough away to give him the nerve to push you harder. Your breath catches when you glance at his free hand againâblack leather tapping idly against the tablecloth like it's got all the time in the world.
Gods, what's wrong with you tonight?
When had his gloves become the focus of your desire? They're just fucking gloves. Stupid, soft leather molding perfectly to those big handsâyouâre chewing your lip without realizing it, and his eyes catch yours before you can look awayâ
Fuck.
"You keep staring at my hands," he's leaning in again, and your pulse skips, trips over itself like it's running from something. "Got something you'd like to say?"
The pit of your stomach tightens, twisting with a familiar dread, a sick kind of anticipation. Of course, he's noticed. The bastard catches everything. Nothing slides under his radarânot when it comes to breaking your attitude.
He likes to say he was born to tame bratsâand you, of all people, make him prove it. Sometimes you hate him for it. Most times you don't.
"No, actually." You shift in your seat, trying to shake his hand off your knee, but he's relentlessâdoesn't budge, doesn't even flinch. "I don't."
Christ. His grip is ironclad, like those gloves were made for this kind of hold. For making you feel every fucking inch of them. You exhale as you gather yourselfâyou hate him tonight, hate him for dragging you here, for dismissing you so easilyâand you want to let him know it. Want him to feel it.
"No?" His fingers slip higher. You glance down the length of the table, nausea curling at the edges of your vision when you spot Lucius' blond head gleaming under the chandelier. Mattheo's voice is low, just for you. "Nothing at all?"
"Mattheo." Your voice is a hiss now, strained, your composure hanging by a thread. You want to slap the smug look off his face, but you don't. You can't. "Leave me alone, okay? I'm here. For you. I'm not happy about it, but I'm here. Just let me be. You're beingâ"
He cuts you off with a tilt of his head, jaw clenching at the exact moment his hand slides further up your thigh.
Your words catch in your throat, suffocate on themselves, die there.
"Maybe you're being a brat because you want me to choke you, huh?" The words land heavy, like an accusation, but worse because it isn't a question. He knows. "Maybe that's why you keep staring at my hands?"
Your body goes hotâalive in ways it hasn't been all night. The room erupts into laughter, some joke you missed, but it only heightens the tension wrapping tight around the two of you. His fingertips are teasing dangerously close to where they shouldn't be, and you're suddenly very thankful for the tablecloth draped over your lapâ
"No." The word slips from your lips, barely a breath, lacking conviction. "No, Iâ"
"A brat and a liar," he hums, not letting you finish. He's enjoying this now. "You're really racking up the bad decisions tonight."
Salazar save youâhis fingers slip higher still, and you clamp your thighs shut, a last-ditch effort to keep him from pushing this into dangerous territory. He responds by hooking a foot around yours to spread you back openâyou bite your lip so hard it hurts.
"Maybe I'm just annoyed because I had better plans for my evening," you can't let him win so you spit the words out, voice quiet, hoping he doesn't catch the tremor in it. âNot that you care.â
You don't look at him. You can't. More laughter fills the room. Drowns out the shake in your breath.
He huffs, wine breath brushing your ear. "Keep this up and you may just end up with the evening you deserve."
"And what evening is that?" You spit back, ignoring the way the leather sticks to the heat of your thigh. "The one where I'm stuck here, listening to Draco prattle on about his latest Quidditch practice? Or perhaps another mind-numbing dinner, this time with Dumbledore and friends?"
The flicker of irritation in his eyes is subtle, but you see it. Oh, he's seething now. Dread pools, thick like syrup. You drop your eyes to the table.
"Oh no, not even close," if anger was a voice, it'd be his. Right now, in your ear. "I was thinking more of the one where I keep you cuffed to the bed all night. How does that one sound?"
Your pulse hammers, too fast, too loudâyou can feel everythingâthe candlelight burning your skin, the way the chandelier's glow twinkles overhead, the way his hand is still, still so high on your fucking leg.
No one at the table notices. No one cares. But the feeling is crushing you, pulling you deeper into this private hell of his creation.
"You lost the chance for that when you brought me here," you bite out, hand darting under the table to try and pry his fingers off your thigh.
But his grip only tightens, his foot hooking tighter around yours, keeping you in place. He's relentless. And you hate it. You hate how much you don't want him to stop.
"If you're going to act like a brat, just say so," he growls, his voice a low rumble, "you know I'll deal with you later."
You roll your eyes. "Promises, promises."
You can't help it. You're baiting him now, pushing him just as hard as he's pushing you. The inevitable looms over you, and you know you've already lost. He's not budging. He never does. And you knowâGod, you knowâyou're in for it.
If this is the hell of his creation, you were the muse.
"More than a promise," his patience is gone, you can feel it. You wonder just how close you are to him dragging you from the room by your hair, not caring who sees. "Count your blessings."
âOh, I'm counting."
And with that, you reach for your wine glass again, taking another slow, deliberate sip, letting the bitter liquid slide down your throatâyou're oblivious, don't even notice the line you've crossed until it's too lateâ
His hand moves fast, leather fingers slipping past the last scrap of dignity you were clinging to. You choke on the wine you'd barely had the chance to swallow, the world tipping, spinning, crumbling as his thick, gloved finger glides through your slick folds, sinking into your cunt without a moments hesitation. You hadn't worn panties tonightâa decision that felt normal in the beginning but now screams of poor foresightâbut there's no time for regret.
Not now, not with your boyfriend fingering you under the table at a family fucking dinner.
"Quiet, brat," he mutters, eyes twinkling as you cover your mouth, still half-choking on your drink. "Keep making sounds and someone is going to notice.â
Your heart skips, the pulse between your legs responding to the threat, clenching involuntarily around him. You're soaked, the heat of it spreads shame across your cheeks, burning like wildfire in your veins. Why are you this wet? This shouldn't turn you onâit's humiliating, degradingâ
"Then maybe don't make me make sounds," you hiss, gripping the table so hard you think the wood might crack. "This is on youâ"
He cuts you off, slipping a second finger into your cuntâand the sentence dies in your throat, swallowed by a sharp whimper you disguise as another cough.
"I said quiet." His voice is thin, dangerous. His fingers slide deeper, knuckle deep, and the heat threatens to tear you apart. "Bite your tongue or so help meâ"
You bite down, but on your lip instead, trying to school your expression into something neutral, something that won't betray the war raging inside you. You two haven't fucked in daysâyou're more sensitive than usualâand this forbidden thrill only makes it worse, heightening every nerve, every pulse, as his fingers move in slow, deliberate thrusts inside you.
"You canât," you breathe, the words coming out weak, a poor imitation of protest. "Mattheoâ"
"Shhh," he replies, voice low, a quiet storm gathering in the pit of your stomach. He leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Keep your sounds for later."
You snuff a groan, mind racing a million miles a minuteâeyes darting around the table in a panic, scanning the faces for any sign that someone might notice. But no one does. The conversation moves on, unaware, the oblivious hum of normalcy in stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath your skin.
This is crazy. Itâs crazy in a way that only Mattheo Riddle could manage and youâre so fucking lost in it you donât ever want it to stop.
He's not even looking at you anymore, fingers moving steadily, thumb brushing over your clit with the kind of casual cruelty that makes your body shudder. He's laughing, speaking to Draco as though he's not knuckle-deep inside you. The audacity of it makes your head spin. You're teetering on the edgeâso close, dangerously closeâand if you fall now, if you let go, you'll be too loudâyou won't be able to stop yourselfâ
"Mattheoâplease," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely holding on. His thumb rolls over your clit again, teasing, torturing. "You're gonna make meâ"
"Yeah," he hardly looks at you. "I am." He crooks his fingers, pumping in slow, agonizing drags that send your brain spiraling into static. "Gonna make you lose the attitude. Gonna make you be good.â
Oh, you loathe him right now, deliciously. "Mattâ"
"And youâre going to take it, like itâs not killing you." He continuesâleaning in slightly now, examining the way your breath is coming in shallow, broken gasps. âJust like Iâve had to take seeing you in that dressâŚand pretend it hasnât been killing me.â
Your eyes flicker around the table again, still desperate for any sign that someone might notice, just to give him a reason to stopâbut the conversation continues, oblivious. The leather of his gloves is slick with you now, a wet sound breaking through the steady hum of voices with every movement of his hand.
You part your lips to hiss another pathetic pleaâa warning to stop before you explodeâbut he cuts you offâ
âOne more word and I'll make sure not a single person at this table leaves without hearing you scream.â He pulls his fingers out nice and slow, rubbing some of the wetness down your thigh before he moves back and pushes back in. âDo you want that?"
You shoot him a glare, but shake your head nonetheless.
"Didn't think so," he mutters, his voice dropping even lower, fingers working deeper, faster. "Look at them," he hisses in your ear, and your gaze flicks over the table again. "They don't even care. Too caught up in their own bullshit to notice, aren't they? But I see you. I see how flushed your chest isâ" his thumb presses harder, sending a shockwave through youâ"I know what that means."
"I'm notâ" your thighs tremble, youâre denying it as though you have any power to stop it. Heâs just too goddamn good at this. "I'm not going toâ"
"You are," he whispers, and you almost let your eyes roll. "I can feel you soaking my hand. Little cunt is begging me to finish this, isn't it?" His fingers thrust deep, hitting a spot that makes you work to choke down a sob. "You and that fucking attitude can deny it all you want, but I feel how close you are.â
The room erupts into laughter, a sudden burst of noise that pulls all eyes to the other end of the table. Your breath comes out in a trembling exhale, letting out a whimper you know wonât be heard over the commotionâthe distraction your only saving grace as you fight to keep still, to keep from rocking against his hand and giving him what he wants.
You lean into him, pleading. "Mattheo, pleaseâif you don't stop, I'llâ"
"You poor thing," he hums, his thumb circling slower now, torturously precise. "Sounds like a you problem, princess. Shouldn't have been such a brat tonight."
"I'm sorry," you choke out, words barely coherent but you see the flash in your boyfriendâs eyes. Itâs the two words heâs been looking for all night. "Please, justâ"
And thenâhis fingers slip out of you. As abrupt as a cold bucket of water over your head.
You blink, almost gasping at the loss, just as the table erupts into another fit of laughter and you're left aching, disoriented, while everyone begins to stand. Merlin help youâdinners over and you had no goddamn idea. You feel like a robot moving in slow motion as you watch Mattheo wipe his slick fingers off on his thigh, smirking. The room is a blur of goodbyes and handshakes, and before you can even catch your breath, he's got you by the wrist, pulling you away from the scene, dragging you out to the car.
The passenger door of his blacked-out Audi flies open, and you're urged inside, your legs trembling, the evidence of everything he's done to you still slick between your thighs. The leather seats beneath you remind you all too well of the feel of his gloves, of the fingers that had just been inside you, and your cunt clenches at the thought, still throbbing with unfulfilled need. Mattheo slides into the driver's seat, a silent inferno of fury, not sparing you a glance as he throws the car into drive, tearing out of the Malfoy estate.
His leather-gloved hand rests on the stick shift, and you stare at it, unable to look away.
"You're staring again," he breaks the tension, his voice tight.
"Yes." This time, you don't even bother denying it. Not after what he'd done. Heâd long tamed your attitude. You canât fight it anymore. âI am.â
His chest rises sharply, his grip on the gear shift tightening. You bite your lip, feeling your core throb painfully in response.
"Learned your lesson, I hope," he mutters, eyes focused on the dark road in front of you.
"I suppose," you murmur, still breathless. The wetness between your thighs is impossible to ignore, and so you reach for his handâtracing your fingertips over the smooth leather before curling your fingers around two of his, stroking them. "I suppose I learned something."
His breath catches when you jerk his fingers, and he sucks in a shallow breath of air through his teeth. You clench at the sound of it. Oh, how you goddamn love being a little tease.
"Mm." His voice is gravel, rough and unevenâyou notice the bulge in his pants, his cock straining against the expensive fabric. "You want to cum, don't you?"
You nod, your fingers still stroking his. "Yes."
"Yes?" His voice lowers, a prompt you recognize all too well.
"Yes, Mattheoâdaddyâ" you correct yourself, your breath hitching. God, youâve been here so many times with him. You know what heâs looking for. "I want to cum."
His jaw tightens, and he wets his lips. "You want my cock. You need it."
"Yes, daddy," you repeat, the words spilling out easily, exactly what he wants to hear, and exactly what you want to say. "I want your cock. I need it."
"Then finish yourself off," he growls, his gaze flicking toward you for a brief moment, his eyes blazing. "Make your filthy little cunt cum, and if youâre a good girl, I'll let you suck me off."
The command sends an insatiable fucking thrill through you, and without a second thought, you move to obey himânight air biting your skin as you shift your dress up and your fingers find the slick mess between your thighs. A long, long over-suppressed moan escapes you the moment your fingers graze your clit, and Mattheoâa eyes flash over, jaw working as he watches for a split second before focusing back on the road.
"Fuck," you groan as you push two fingers into your soaked cunt, your head falling back against the seat, back arching. "Oh, fuckâ"
"That's it," he murmurs, free hand moving from the gear shift to palm his erection through his pants. You swear you hear him moan. "You wish it was me, don't you? Wish it was my cock inside you."
"Yes, daddy, I do," you whimper, your hips rocking against your hand, fingers fucking deeper into your pussy, lewd sounds filling the steamed space within the car. "I wish it was your cockâŚinside me."
"Fucking brat with a dirty mouth," he hisses, his fingers working at his belt, eyes darting between the road and you. "Cum for me. Show me how youâre good for me.â
You groan, unable to believe how fucking wet you are, slick coating your hand and thighs, dripping all over your boyfriends expensive leather seatâGods, youâre so close, the edge that he'd left you teetering on earlier now drawing closer with full force. You add another finger, curling them against your throbbing walls, and Mattheo's breath stutters, his focus wavering as he watches you unravel.
"Look at you. So fucking shameless." His hand slips inside his pants, and he starts stroking himself, his cock already leaking. "I bet you wish Iâd pull this car over right now, huh? Fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.â
You moan at how goddamn wrecked he soundsâforcing a smirk through your open mouth, words coming out shaky. "And how do Iâahâhow do I deserve to be fucked, daddy?"
The car jerks, just slightly, Mattheo groans.
"Like the nasty little slut you are," his eyes flash to you again, his grip tightening on his cock, pumping faster. "Until you forget how to talk. Until you can't say anything but my fucking name."
Your world spins, orgasm roaring in. "Mattheoâdaddyâoh fuckâ"
"Earn it," he snarls, his voice raw. "Earn my cock."
One, two more deep pumps into your cunt and you erupt, finallyâbody seizing, orgasm crashing over you with violent force, leaving you gasping, your back arching off the seat as your wanton moans fill the steamy car. Mattheo watches you through hooded eyes, stroking his cock faster as you whimper and moan his name, orgasm intensified due to him edging you all through dinnerâsomehow managing to keep the car steady throughout all of this.
Part of you wonders if heâs charmed it.
"Good fucking girlâthere we go," he purrs, and his hand reaches over, seizes the back of your head, urging you toward his lap. "Now take your reward."
Youâre buzzingâbreaths scattered, but thereâs no hesitation, no argument. You shift to your knees on his seat, your mouth watering as you wrap a hand around the base of him, tongue teasing the tip before his hand in your hair directs you deeperâlips wrapping around his throbbing cock as he slides into your mouth, hot and heavy. He groans, his hips thrusting forward, just barely, and you gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat.
"Fuck, that's it," he grunts, his voice low and strained. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be choked on my cock. To be shut up like this."
You can't answer, your mouth too full of him as he directs your head to bob along him, as he thrusts into you, each movement deeper, harder. Tears prick your eyes, but you don't stop, your hands gripping his thighs as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks and drooling.
"Fuckâyeah, thatâs it. Choke on it," he snarls, other hand keeping the car impossibly steady. "Wanna see those tears, baby. Wanna hear you gagging on it."
You moan around him at those words, the heat of them shooting straight to your still-soaked cunt, tears spilling from your eyes as his hips buck up, slamming the back of your throat. Mattheo is the most impatient man youâve known, and it shows in moments like this, when heâs sick of your attitudeâwhen he drops the seat back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the wheel, his knee keeping it steady as he thrusts deep into your throat. Youâre gagging and moaning, working your tongue along the length of him, until with a final grunt, he spills into your mouth and you swallow every drop, his shaking breaths and gutted groans filling the car as he rides out his release.
"Fuck. Thatâs my girl. My good fuckinâ girl," he pants, his voice rough with satisfaction as he releases you, your lips swollen and wet as you slump back in your seat. "You earned that."
You know you did.
#SLYTHERINSLUT0âS KINKTOBERđť#kinktober 2024#kinktober#harry potter#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheoriddle#mattheo smut#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle smut#mattriddlesmut#matt riddle smut#mattheo#mattheo riddle#matheo riddle#mattheoxreader#mattheo x y/n#mattheo x you#mattheo imagine#theo riddle#riddle smut#riddle brothers#malfoy#draco malfoy#slytherinboys#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin boys#riddle#mattheo angst#mattheoriddle x reader
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Day 17. Monster-kinktober: Full moon + Swallowing/Cock Warming
A/N: Inspired by this post by @davinawritings. Also sorry (not sorry) because I feel like this is the 4th werewolf this month but I just fucking love werewolves. Enjoy!
Werewolf x fem!reader || cock-warming, teasing, oral sex, (lowkey) dirty talk
Your boyfriend usually had an incredible stamina, but full moon fucks were out of this world. You always ended up exhausted and so fucked out you couldnât sit properly for the next couple days. Thanks the goddess it only happened once a month or youâd be fucked⌠in a bad way (and in a good way).
Thatâs why you donât act surprised when he appears in the door of your home office, a huge erection in his gray sweats and the biggest smile on his lips. He looks obscene like that, your wettest of dreams⌠and heâs all yours.
âYou know I need to prep you so you are ready for the full moon tonight,â he offers as an explanation for his sudden appearance.
âI know you do, but I canât do it right now, I have work!â You try to argue, just for him to walk to you and pull you off your chair, sitting there himself and then sitting you back onto his lap.
You are still facing the computer, but the cock under your hot center is so hard and tempting that you canât avoid rolling your hips to create a bit of friction. You groan and curse him for chuckling.
âSee? Now you can do both,â he smiles and kisses your neck as you try to focus your attention back to the screen.
His hands pull your legs apart as he starts rubbing your clit slowly over your pants. You try to focus on your work, but you are completely unable to read a single line on the email because heâs so distracting. Itâs not your fault that dating a werewolf has turned you into a desperate mess every time his dick was involved. He shouldnât be so good at it if he wanted you to be normal about it.
âYou are distracting me!â He chuckles but doesnât stop, his fingers pressing hard against your clit through the fabric, so good, but not nearly enough. âUgh, fine. Let me take the pants off first at least, I donât want them ripped open like last time.â You tell him, your hand stopping his when he tries to open your pants to slip his hand inside.
He laughs at your acceptance, caressing your ass as soon as you uncover it. Your tiny thong doesnât get the best of treatments, being ripped away in one fast movement before you can take it off. Fucking wolves.
He keeps moving his hand in the way that drives you completely insane, his fingers probing and touching, rubbing and fingering⌠You are dripping wet around his hand and trying to respond to the damn email. He doesnât say anything, but he starts breathing harder and harder behind you, his hips pushing up in tiny thrusts that tease you with the promise of a good dicking.
âI need to work,â you remind him, frustrated in every way possible. Especially sexually.
âSorry, sorry, Iâll stop. Let me justâŚâ You hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and then something pressing against your pussy.
âDonât you-â Your phrase is cut short when he pushes his dick inside your wet heat and you groan. âFuck, okay, but donât move, I need to work.â You remind him, again.
Youâve played cock-warming before, he loves to feel you stretched around him, and loves even more when you fall asleep with him inside of you, so he can fuck you as soon as he wakes up. The little somno fantasy was one of yours, but he indulges in it more than enough.
He kisses your neck tenderly. âOkay, honey, Iâll be quiet and still. Do your thing.â
But heâs neither quiet or still. He moves his hips in tiny circles, he âaccidentallyâ rubs your clit with his thumb with the excuse of readjusting your hips for more comfort. He caresses the insides of your thighs until you are panting, his dick buried inside of you.
When you let out a groan, he chuckles, his finger instantly finding your clit and rubbing it until you are coming apart over him. He doesnât come, he doesnât say anything. He just stays inside of you as you try to re-focus on the work.
It takes you twice the amount of time as it should to answer all the emails. You know you wonât be able to focus anymore with him there, especially being a full moon. Without saying anything, you stand up before him, his dick still hard as you turn and look down at him. He looks wild, his eyes unfocused and his dick leaking profusely. Heâs feral in the prettiest way possible.
He looks at you with reverence. âPlease, please, please, honey⌠I need, I needâŚâ He doesnât get to finish his phrase, your brain already knowing exactly what he needs. Your pussy is not ready, but you have other perfectly fine holes, and his dick always tastes better when heâs been inside of you anyway.
You fall to your knees in front of him and smile at his leaking cock, your lips coming around his tip instantly. His hips move imperceptibly under you, trying to remain as still as possible as you suck him slowly, drawing his pleasure until he has tears in his eyes and you feel like a goddess. He doesnât say anything, tries to remain in his best behaviour as you swallow around him, making him moan your name in a filthy way.
âDo you⌠Can I? Are you gonna swallow, honey?â He asks.
You nod around his shaft, your hand squeezing on his knot as he cries out over your head and spills his seed deep in your throat, making you choke slightly and pull out. It always amazes you how much he can come during the full moon. He ends up coming all over your chin and tits, making a mess out of you (like always).
âFuck, you look indecent like that,â he says in the most broken way he can muster. You smile, your tongue darting out to lick some of his come out of your lower lip. He groans and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder and walking you to the bed, his dick hard once again.
Full moon days are awesome.
(You donât get to go out and run under the full moon because by that time, your pussy is already overflowing with his seed and you are so exhausted you pass out⌠with his cock still inside of you.)
#werewolf#werewolf x you#werewolf x reader#werewolf x human#monster#monster fucker#monster imagine#monster x human#teratophillia#monster x reader#monster boyfriend#terato#monster fuqqer#monster kink#monster love#monster lover#monster romance#monster smut#monster x you#monsterfucker#monsterfucking nsft#monstertober#kinktober#monsterkinktober
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Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar
THIS WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.
One of the most consequential series of investigative journalism of this decade was the Propublica series that Jesse Eisinger helmed, in which Eisinger and colleagues analyzed a trove of leaked IRS tax returns for the richest people in America:
https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files
The Secret IRS Files revealed the fact that many of America's oligarchs pay no tax at all. Some of them even get subsidies intended for poor families, like Jeff Bezos, whose tax affairs are so scammy that he was able to claim to be among the working poor and receive a federal Child Tax Credit, a $4,000 gift from the American public to one of the richest men who ever lived:
https://www.propublica.org/article/the-secret-irs-files-trove-of-never-before-seen-records-reveal-how-the-wealthiest-avoid-income-tax
As important as the numbers revealed by the Secret IRS Files were, I found the explanations even more interesting. The 99.9999% of us who never make contact with the secretive elite wealth management and tax cheating industry know, in the abstract, that there's something scammy going on in those esoteric cults of wealth accumulation, but we're pretty vague on the details. When I pondered the "tax loopholes" that the rich were exploiting, I pictured, you know, long lists of equations salted with Greek symbols, completely beyond my ken.
But when Propublica's series laid these secret tactics out, I learned that they were incredibly stupid ruses, tricks so thin that the only way they could possibly fool the IRS is if the IRS just didn't give a shit (and they truly didn't â after decades of cuts and attacks, the IRS was far more likely to audit a family earning less than $30k/year than a billionaire).
This has become a somewhat familiar experience. If you read the Panama Papers, the Paradise Papers, Luxleaks, Swissleaks, or any of the other spectacular leaks from the oligarch-industrial complex, you'll have seen the same thing: the rich employ the most tissue-thin ruses, and the tax authorities gobble them up. It's like the tax collectors don't want to fight with these ultrawealthy monsters whose net worth is larger than most nations, and merely require some excuse to allow them to cheat, anything they can scribble in the box explaining why they are worth billions and paying little, or nothing, or even entitled to free public money from programs intended to lift hungry children out of poverty.
It was this experience that fueled my interest in forensic accounting, which led to my bestselling techno-crime-thriller series starring the two-fisted, scambusting forensic accountant Martin Hench, who made his debut in 2022's Red Team Blues:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues
The double outrage of finding out how badly the powerful are ripping off the rest of us, and how stupid and transparent their accounting tricks are, is at the center of Chokepoint Capitalism, the book about how tech and entertainment companies steal from creative workers (and how to stop them) that Rebecca Giblin and I co-authored, which also came out in 2022:
https://chokepointcapitalism.com/
Now that I've written four novels and a nonfiction book about finance scams, I think I can safely call myself a oligarch ripoff hobbyist. I find this stuff endlessly fascinating, enraging, and, most importantly, energizing. So naturally, when PJ Vogt devoted two episodes of his excellent Search Engine podcast to the subject last week, I gobbled them up:
https://www.searchengine.show/listen/search-engine-1/why-is-it-so-hard-to-tax-billionaires-part-1
I love the way Vogt unpacks complex subjects. Maybe you've had the experience of following a commentator and admiring their knowledge of subjects you're unfamiliar with, only have them cover something you're an expert in and find them making a bunch of errors (this is basically the experience of using an LLM, which can give you authoritative seeming answers when the subject is one you're unfamiliar with, but which reveals itself to be a Bullshit Machine as soon as you ask it about something whose lore you know backwards and forwards).
Well, Vogt has covered many subjects that I am an expert in, and I had the opposite experience, finding that even when he covers my own specialist topics, I still learn something. I don't always agree with him, but always find those disagreements productive in that they make me clarify my own interests. (Full disclosure: I was one of Vogt's experts on his previous podcast, Reply All, talking about the inkjet printerization of everything:)
https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/brho54
Vogt's series on taxing billionaires was no exception. His interview subjects (including Eisinger) were very good, and he got into a lot of great detail on the leaker himself, Charles Littlejohn, who plead guilty and was sentenced to five years:
https://jacobin.com/2023/10/charles-littlejohn-irs-whistleblower-pro-publica-tax-evasion-prosecution
Vogt also delved into the history of the federal income tax, how it was sold to the American public, and a rather hilarious story of Republican Congressional gamesmanship that backfired spectacularly. I'd never encountered this stuff before and boy was it interesting.
But then Vogt got into the nature of taxation, and its relationship to the federal debt, another subject I've written about extensively, and that's where one of those productive disagreements emerged. Yesterday, I set out to write him a brief note unpacking this objection and ended up writing a giant essay (sorry, PJ!), and this morning I found myself still thinking about it. So I thought, why not clean up the email a little and publish it here?
As much as I enjoyed these episodes, I took serious exception to one â fairly important! â aspect of your analysis: the relationship of taxes to the national debt.
There's two ways of approaching this question, which I think of as akin to classical vs quantum physics. In the orthodox, classical telling, the government taxes us to pay for programs. This is crudely true at 10,000 feet and as a rule of thumb, it's fine in many cases. But on the ground â at the quantum level, in this analogy â the opposite is actually going on.
There is only one source of US dollars: the US Treasury (you can try and make your own dollars, but they'll put you in prison for a long-ass time if they catch you.).
If dollars can only originate with the US government, then it follows that:
a) The US government doesn't need our taxes to get US dollars (for the same reason Apple doesn't need us to redeem our iTunes cards to get more iTunes gift codes);
b) All the dollars in circulation start with spending by the US government (taxes can't be paid until dollars are first spent by their issuer, the US government); and
c) That spending must happen before anyone has been taxed, because the way dollars enter circulation is through spending.
You've probably heard people say, "Government spending isn't like household spending." That is obviously true: households are currency users while governments are currency issuers.
But the implications of this are very interesting.
First, the total dollars in circulation are:
a) All the dollars the government has ever spent into existence funding programs, transferring to the states, and paying its own employees, minus
b) All the dollars that the government has taxed away from us, and subsequently annihilated.
(Because governments spend money into existence and tax money out of existence.)
The net of dollars the government spends in a given year minus the dollars the government taxes out of existence that year is called "the national deficit." The total of all those national deficits is called "the national debt." All the dollars in circulation today are the result of this national debt. If the US government didn't have a debt, there would be no dollars in circulation.
The only way to eliminate the national debt is to tax every dollar in circulation out of existence. Because the national debt is "all the dollars the government has ever spent," minus "all the dollars the government has ever taxed." In accounting terms, "The US deficit is the public's credit."
When billionaires like Warren Buffet tell Jesse Eisinger that he doesn't pay tax because "he thinks his money is better spent on charitable works rather than contributing to an insignificant reduction of the deficit," he is, at best, technically wrong about why we tax, and at worst, he's telling a self-serving lie. The US government doesn't need to eliminate its debt. Doing so would be catastrophic. "Retiring the US debt" is the same thing as "retiring the US dollar."
So if the USG isn't taxing to retire its debts, why does it tax? Because when the USG â or any other currency issuer â creates a token, that token is, on its face, useless. If I offered to sell you some "Corycoins," you would quite rightly say that Corycoins have no value and thus you don't need any of them.
For a token to be liquid â for it to be redeemable for valuable things, like labor, goods and services â there needs to be something that someone desires that can be purchased with that token. Remember when Disney issued "Disney dollars" that you could only spend at Disney theme parks? They traded more or less at face value, even outside of Disney parks, because everyone knew someone who was planning a Disney vacation and could make use of those Disney tokens.
But if you go down to a local carny and play skeeball and win a fistful of tickets, you'll find it hard to trade those with anyone outside of the skeeball counter, especially once you leave the carny. There's two reasons for this:
1) The things you can get at the skeeball counter are pretty crappy so most people don't desire them; and ' 2) Most people aren't planning on visiting the carny, so there's no way for them to redeem the skeeball tickets even if they want the stuff behind the counter (this is also why it's hard to sell your Iranian rials if you bring them back to the US â there's not much you can buy in Iran, and even someone you wanted to buy something there, it's really hard for US citizens to get to Iran).
But when a sovereign currency issuer â one with the power of the law behind it â demands a tax denominated in its own currency, they create demand for that token. Everyone desires USD because almost everyone in the USA has to pay taxes in USD to the government every year, or they will go to prison. That fact is why there is such a liquid market for USD. Far more people want USD to pay their taxes than will ever want Disney dollars to spend on Dole Whips, and even if you are hoping to buy a Dole Whip in Fantasyland, that desire is far less important to you than your desire not to go to prison for dodging your taxes.
Even if you're not paying taxes, you know someone who is. The underlying liquidity of the USD is inextricably tied to taxation, and that's the first reason we tax. By issuing a token â the USD â and then laying on a tax that can only be paid in that token (you cannot pay federal income tax in anything except USD â not crypto, not euros, not rials â only USD), the US government creates demand for that token.
And because the US government is the only source of dollars, the US government can purchase anything that is within its sovereign territory. Anything denominated in US dollars is available to the US government: the labor of every US-residing person, the land and resources in US territory, and the goods produced within the US borders. The US doesn't need to tax us to buy these things (remember, it makes new money by typing numbers into a spreadsheet at the Federal Reserve). But it does tax us, and if the taxes it levies don't equal the spending it's making, it also sells us T-bills to make up the shortfall.
So the US government kinda acts like classical physics is true, that is, like it is a household and thus a currency user, and not a currency issuer. If it spends more than it taxes, it "borrows" (issues T-bills) to make up the difference. Why does it do this? To fight inflation.
The US government has no monetary constraints, it can make as many dollars as it cares to (by typing numbers into a spreadsheet). But the US government is fiscally constrained, because it can only buy things that are denominated in US dollars (this is why it's such a big deal that global oil is priced in USD â it means the US government can buy oil from anywhere, not only the USA, just by typing numbers into a spreadsheet).
The supply of dollars is infinite, but the supply of labor and goods denominated in US dollars is finite, and, what's more, the people inside the USA expect to use that labor and goods for their own needs. If the US government issues so many dollars that it can outbid every private construction company for the labor of electricians, bricklayers, crane drivers, etc, and puts them all to work building federal buildings, there will be no private construction.
Indeed, every time the US government bids against the private sector for anything â labor, resources, land, finished goods â the price of that thing goes up. That's one way to get inflation (and it's why inflation hawks are so horny for slashing government spending â to get government bidders out of the auction for goods, services and labor).
But while the supply of goods for sale in US dollars is finite, it's not fixed. If the US government takes away some of the private sector's productive capacity in order to build interstates, train skilled professionals, treat sick people so they can go to work (or at least not burden their working-age relations), etc, then the supply of goods and services denominated in USD goes up, and that makes more fiscal space, meaning the government and the private sector can both consume more of those goods and services and still not bid against one another, thus creating no inflationary pressure.
Thus, taxes create liquidity for US dollars, but they do something else that's really important: they reduce the spending power of the private sector. If the US only ever spent money into existence and never taxed it out of existence, that would create incredible inflation, because the supply of dollars would go up and up and up, while the supply of goods and services you could buy with dollars would grow much more slowly, because the US government wouldn't have the looming threat of taxes with which to coerce us into doing the work to build highways, care for the sick, or teach people how to be doctors, engineers, etc.
Taxes coercively reduce the purchasing power of the private sector (they're a stick). T-bills do the same thing, but voluntarily (they the carrot).
A T-bill is a bargain offered by the US government: "Voluntarily park your money instead of spending it. That will create fiscal space for us to buy things without bidding against you, because it removes your money from circulation temporarily. That means we, the US government, can buy more stuff and use it to increase the amount of goods and services you can buy with your money when the bond matures, while keeping the supply of dollars and the supply of dollar-denominated stuff in rough equilibrium."
So a bond isn't a debt â it's more like a savings account. When you move money from your checking to your savings, you reduce its liquidity, meaning the bank can treat it as a reserve without worrying quite so much about you spending it. In exchange, the bank gives you some interest, as a carrot.
I know, I know, this is a big-ass wall of text. Congrats if you made it this far! But here's the upshot. We should tax billionaires, because it will reduce their economic power and thus their political power.
But we absolutely don't need to tax billionaires to have nice things. For example: the US government could hire every single unemployed person without creating inflationary pressure on wages, because inflation only happens when the US government tries to buy something that the private sector is also trying to buy, bidding up the price. To be "unemployed" is to have labor that the private sector isn't trying to buy. They're synonyms. By definition, the feds could put every unemployed person to work (say, training one another to be teachers, construction workers, etc â and then going out and taking care of the sick, addressing the housing crisis, etc etc) without buying any labor that the private sector is also trying to buy.
What's even more true than this is that our taxes are not going to reduce the national debt. That guest you had who said, "Even if we tax billionaires, we will never pay off the national debt,"" was 100% right, because the national debt equals all the money in circulation.
Which is why that guest was also very, very wrong when she said, "We will have to tax normal people too in order to pay off the debt." We don't have to pay off the debt. We shouldn't pay off the debt. We can't pay off the debt. Paying off the debt is another way of saying "eliminating the dollar."
Taxation isn't a way for the government to pay for things. Taxation is a way to create demand for US dollars, to convince people to sell goods and services to the US government, and to constrain private sector spending, which creates fiscal space for the US government to buy goods and services without bidding up their prices.
And in a "classical physics" sense, all of the preceding is kinda a way of saying, "Taxes pay for government spending." As a rough approximation, you can think of taxes like this and generally not get into trouble.
But when you start to make policy â when you contemplate when, whether, and how much to tax billionaires â you leave behind the crude, high-level approximation and descend into the nitty-gritty world of things as they are, and you need to jettison the convenience of the easy-to-grasp approximation.
If you're interested in learning more about this, you can tune into this TED Talk by Stephanie Kelton, formerly formerly advisor to the Senate Budget Committee chair, now back teaching and researching econ at University of Missouri at Kansas City:
https://www.ted.com/talks/stephanie_kelton_the_big_myth_of_government_deficits?subtitle=en
Stephanie has written a great book about this, The Deficit Myth:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/14/everybody-poops/#deficit-myth
There's a really good feature length doc about it too, called "Finding the Money":
https://findingmoneyfilm.com/
If you'd like to read more of my own work on this, here's a column I wrote about the nature of currency in light of Web3, crypto, etc:
https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/
Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars
#pluralistic#mmt#modern monetary theory#warren buffett#podcasts#pj vogt#billionaires#economics#we can have nice things#taxes#taxing billionaires#the irs files#irs files#jesse eisenger#propublica
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The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (a Valentino production)
⢠part1âĄĚśsidestoryâĄĚśpart2âĄĚśpart3âĄĚśpart4 âŁ
Valentino has acquired a living, breathing human in hell. But at the begging of Angel, Alastor makes a deal in exchange for her soul.
tags: Alastor x reader, smut, dubcon, mentions of assault (Val intended to "fuck you to deathâ), Val's existence, overstimulation, forced (?) orgasms, bondage (shadow tentacles), choking (sexy kind, not murdery kind), cervix wrecked, your aunt is a bitch
(author's note: I've been in Japan for like 7 years and my English has suffered, but your fucking smutty writing on this site has inspired me to write for the first time in years.)
Minors DNI
Angel burst into the hotel lobby, winded. âPlease, you gotta do somethinâ!âÂ
To the surprise of everyone, he ran straight to Alastor, tears forming in his eyes.
âValâs gonna hurt her real bad. I donât know who else to ask, please. I can'tâ-â he cradled his head in his hands, âI can't watch him break any more people.â
Alastor didnât seem to react at first, but Charlie appeared at Angelâs side and pulled him into a hug, âAngel, take a deep breath. Heâs gonna hurt who? Whatâs wrong?â
âHe got a new soul. Some fucking cultist offered her up as sacrifice. But she's not dead yet Charlieâ- he dragged her down here alive.â His voice cracked, âHe wantstaâ he said heâs gonna fuck her to death on camera and wait for her to respawn in hell. Heâs convinced heâll make a fortune off the tapes. Please, for fuckâs sake someone has to do something.â
A human in hell? Well, that was something interesting after all. With a raised brow Alastor spoke, âAnd how exactly can I help this poor, unfortunate soul?â
âMake a deal orâ rip his arms off, I donât fuckinâ know! There has to be something you can offer Val worth her soul. Iâd give you my soul if I could!â
Well thatâd be worthless.
But a human? A living, breathing human? Intriguing.
âAlastor you have do something. This isn't right! Hell isnât for the living.â Charlieâs hair flew upward as her eyes flashed red for a second, âIâll repay it somehow.â
Well there's no harm in taking a look.Â
The demons and sinners who saw Alastor walking into the Veeâs tower oscillated between fleeing for their lives and live tweeting the event. Either a truce or a war would be breaking out and they knew theyâd be fucked regardless.
âAlastooorâ, Val exhaled, letting the name drag out lazily, âCome to ruin something, Iâm sure.â Val hadnât seen Alastor since his fight with Vox 7 years ago, and he hadnât expected to see him in his studioâ ever.Â
âHa! No, not today. Word got around that there's a special little guest hidden in your studio.â Alastorâs eyes darted about the room, uninterested in the various parts and bits of the actors changing.
Val glanced at Angel, whoâd suspiciously returned some 30 minutes before Alastor appeared.Â
âI didnât say nothing, Val.â Angelâs hands went up in defense. âHe came to me askinâ about her.â
âAnd what exactly do you want with my âlittle guestâ?â Val dropped any pretense of politeness.Â
Alastor leaned forward on his microphone, and with a pop of static he practically cooed, âTo see the poor creature, of course.â
Val ashed his cigarette into a cameramanâs hair and walked off, âFuck it, sure. Sheâs back here.â
The back room was dark, perhaps some would call it mood lighting but what mood exactly it conveyed fell somewhere between dungeon and power outage.
You sat on your knees in the center of a round bed. Arms held above your head by a large clip attached to wrist restraints. Your body swayed slightly, a long rope anchored to the ceiling and tied to the clip above you. Your body was slightly suspended, knees barely making contact with the bed beneath you. The white nightgown you wore was bloodied and ripped at the collar, causing it to slip down your left shoulder. Jaw clenched, your eyes were covered with a red satin tie.Â
Alastor took the scene in. Your lip was cut and swollen, bruises peppered your cheek and exposed shoulder. Yet, you were breathing heavily, like a bull about to rush them. You were clearly defenseless, but somehow still defiant. His smile grew to his ears. It had been decades since he had a human in such a prone state.
âHave you âŚ. broken her in yet?â He asked delicately, eyes never leaving your face.
âNah, just roughed her up a little. I want to capture her raw reaction on camera when she takes her first demon cock.â Valentino clenched his fist to emphasize the word âfirstâ.Â
Your head fell forward as you pulled down on your wrist restraints, a growl rising in your throat.
Alastor felt his breath get caught in his own, your nightgown riding slowly up your legs as you struggled.Â
âHey!â Val snapped his fingers in your direction. âDonât embarrass me. Our guest came to see you. Heâs considering making an offer for you, Iâm sure, so say hello like a good girl.â Val rolled his eyes, âSluts always fucking embarrassing me.â
You tried to gather enough saliva to speak, finding the taste of blood still on your tongue. âFuck you and your friend.â barely made it from your chapped lips. When was your last drink of water? Last meal? How long had you been unconscious before this all began?
âNot friends.â Alastor was quick to retort, âThe nameâs Alastor, my dear. Itâs a pleasure.â
You sneered, a pleasure? What a sick joke.Â
âAlastor.â you repeated it, disdain dripping from your lips.
The absolute contempt with which you said his name did something to him. His eyes darted from your mouth back to your inner thighs, exposed from the rising dress. Your mouth was so rude but your body looked so sweet. A little lambâ no, a doe. Â
âSay it again.â It wasnât a request, Alastor himself was surprised to hear himself say it with such demand.
You thrashed. âOh is that what gets you off? You wanna hear your name in my mouth?â You said mockingly. âYouâre just as FUCKED as him.â The nightgown rode up even further. Alastorâs tongue stuck to his teeth as his mouth went dry. Had you been delivered to Val without panties? Offered to him in just this sheer cotton night dress? What was happening to himâŚ
 Static bit your skin as a low hum filled the room.Â
âSay it.â Alastorâs voice dropped an octave, eyes suddenly taking on a slight glow. You couldnât see the danger before you, but you felt it. Something primal in you knew you were in the presence of a predator.
No, you couldnât see him, but his presence was pressing in all around you.Â
âAlastor.â You seethed, âALASTOR.â Pulling down on the restraints yet again you tried to find the strength to stand, âALASTOR! ALASTOR!!â Your legs buckled under you having gone numb hours ago, his name devolving into a gutteral scream. All of your anger and despair ripped from your chest as you shouted his name. The nightgown had now ridden to your hips but you couldnât find an ounce of shame in you to care.Â
You were so full of rage, so defiant still. You were soâŚ. alive.
He felt the blood rushing to his crotch in an all together forgotten sensation, and knew immediately his decision. âLetâs make a deal.â His eyes didnât leave you, but Valentino knew he was talking to him.
Val let out a laugh, âI have some time to waste while they finish the set. Why not.â
Seated in his personal quarters, Val motioned for Alastor to sit opposite him. You had been left in the dark of that room, only knowing you were alone when the static died down and the hair on the nape of your neck relaxed.Â
âListen, Radio Demon. Thereâs nothing you have that could tempt me to hand over the little bitch.â His long arms rested over the back of his sofa, a heart shaped puff of smoke leaving his lips. Alastor swatted at the air as it approached.Â
âWhat do you even need her for? You donât deal in souls, but flesh. Surely you can find another toy to break on camera.â Alastor waved his microphone away.
âHmmâ, Val brought a finger to his chin in thought, seriously considering what Alastor could possibly offer him. âOooh, I know.â His head lolled to the side, âPeople have seen me fuck a thousand times. But no oneâs ever even seen you with a partner. âRadio Demon fucks human sacrificeââ He motioned from left to right as if reading the words off an imaginary marquee, âNow THAT would make money. Real money. Fuck GOD levels of money.â A red liquid leaked from his lips as they were stretched across clenched teeth, his hips involuntarily humped at the air, âoh fuck. Yes. You do the porn, and Iâll give her to you. Soul and body.â
Alastor was looking at Val but his mind was still in front of you, his name tumbling from your lips. The uninterrupted skin where your thighs met your hips. The desperation in your scream. How absolutely soft and fragile you were. He adjusted his hips, trying to calm the twitching of his cock at the thought of you helplessly before him.Â
âWhat exactly are you proposing?â His fingers came to rest entwined on his knee, one leg over the other.
âFirst, I have full rights to the video to do as I please.â Val counted out on his fingers, âThe porno has to show penetration. No dry humping or some bullshit like that. I need you fucking that whore if Iâm gonna sell this shit. Aaandâ, A sickening grin grew on Valentinoâs face, âShe has to cum. And Iâll know if sheâs faking it. If you donât manage all three, the deal is off. I keep the human and all rights to the video for perâ no, *in* pep-â he sputtered, âperpur- forever! Fuck.âÂ
Alastorâs default grin was now so wide his gums could be seen peeking past his lips, his eyes flashing to dials, âItâs a deal.â He extended his hand to Valentino as he stood. A green light was shining from the open palm but Val shook it regardless, confident the deal's conditions wouldnât be met. Heâd seen a lot of fucked up shit on his set, but the Radio Demon, famously uninterested in sex, wasnât going to make a battered human cum. How stupid could Alastor be, he thought. And heâll have the video of Alastor failing to please someone to broadcast all over the pride ring and beyond. âMay I have a moment alone with her before the filming?â
Val rolled his eyes, âyeah but donât fuck her off camera.â
The sudden feeling of a hand on your hip startled you so intensely you let out a yelp.Â
âHello, my little doe.â Hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, then your neck, then your collar bone⌠âUnfortunately your shoot will still continue today. But if you do as I say, I promise youâll leave the studio alive.â
You felt the nightgown being tugged back down your hips, hiding your exposed sex.
âI will be taking that pompous mothâs place. I will be as gentle as I can, but he will want to see you suffer. You must still fight me, must act pained. Can you play along?â
Your eyes darted behind your eyelids. He soundedâ gentle? His voice was soft against your skin. Maybe he was truly the lesser evil of the two. You nodded. Youâd heard all the gory details of what the other demon had planned for you, this sounded infinitely more tolerable. You dare thought youâd suffered worse before.Â
âAnd, one more little caveat, darling. I will bring you to orgasm, so please donât fight so hard as to delay your release.â
You hadnât realized youâd been holding your breath until his words punched you in the gut.Â
âI-â
âYes?â Alastorâs mouth was nearly on your neck, his smile ghosting your skin.
âIâve neverâ- I mean I can only do that by myself. No one else has managed to-â
A large hand patted your head, cutting your train of thought off. How big was he? His hands could palm a basketball. Could he really be gentle? Was he capable of it? Were those hands going to be on you soon? Your mind was running away with the thought of this strange demon fucking you on camera.Â
âOh donât worry about that. Just focus on your performance. We have to put on a good show!â
Angel was practically chewing his fingers off as he watched the crew finish the set.
âAlastor what the fuck, I thought you were gonna help her!â
âI am, my effeminate friend. Have a little faith in me.â He adjusted his bowtie and took his place on set.
âI have none. I have negative faith, Alastor. Fuuuuckâ, Angel slumped against the wall behind him and sank to the floor.Â
The stage was set. A red sigil was painted on the floor of a cabin, candles lit around the room as the only source of light (except the stage lighting hanging above the scene). Of the three walls theyâd made, the far left wall had an altar haphazardly filled with flowers, a golden bowl, and small plaid satchel.
Someone â something? â led you by the restraints to the stage. Blindfolded, you were pushed down to the floor, forced to sit on your still numb legs. The leather cuffs on your wrist were unbuckled, allowing you to flex your hands. When you reached for the blindfold a hand smacked at yours.
âNo no, keep it. I want you to look exactly how I found you.â The familiar voice of Val instructed.Â
Someone handed a script to Alastor, but he pulled his hands away from the demon as if the paper itself was an angelic weapon, âOh, no thank you. That wonât be necessary.â
âIâll tell you what to sayâ Val said, clearly to you.
âItâsâ- itâs fine. Iâll just do it like before. I donât need any help.â
You really didnât. There was no improv needed. You could repeat exactly what you said yesterday evening when you awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar place. Youâd been visiting your aunt one moment, and alone in a weird room what felt like moments later. Groggy, but alert enough to know something bad had happened.Â
You heard âactionâ, and then silence. You could feel eyes on you.
âAunt SaraâŚ.â You whispered. âI donât understand whatâs happened⌠Are you still there?â You rubbed your wrists trying to regain some blood flow, readjusting your legs to do the same.Â
You heard a strange sound, both yesterday and now.Â
âAunt Sara isnât here. Sheâs made an exchange, she gets extraordinary powerâŚ.and I get your soul.â The way Alastor said it, the way his breath seemed to almost hitch, surprised you. Something cold touched your ankle, causing you to flinch, âBut I want more than that. I need more than that.â
You felt that something-unknown snake up your leg toward your center. Crawling backwards on your butt to create some distance you collided with the altar. The golden bowl rolled to the edge and spilled its contents across the table. You could smell the iron tang of blood before you felt the pitter patter on your shoulder. Alastor inhaled quickly before letting the air back out with as much control as he could manage.
âWho are you?!â Youâd asked this already. But this time the disembodied voice of your captor replied, âAlastor, the Radio Demon! Pleasure to meet you.â
The right side of your face smacked against the floor of the makeshift cabin as you were dragged suddenly across the room and into the red sigil. The cold appendage on your leg now tightly coiled up your calf.
âNoâ you have to fuck her with your fucking dick! You canât use shadow tentacles!â Val shouted, nearly falling out of his chair.
âNow now, the deal didnât specify with what, only that penetration must occur. Plus, I wonât show up on your video recording device anyway.â Alastor took several steps back, ensuring he was not in frame, âRest assured, your audience will know it is me.â His words cracked and stuttered like someone had changed the station midway through his sentence.
A small, âfine, whatever.â was grumbled and the scene continued, the tentacle snaking its way up your thigh as Alastor chuckled softly at how you flinched against him.
You rolled onto your stomach and tried to kick off the shadow but it held firm. Letting out a groan you used your hands to drag yourself back towards the altar. Before you could reach the table your other leg felt the pressure of a new tentacle twist around your knee as you were dragged back toward the Radio demon once again.
Your nightgown was forced up, your ass now exposed and in the air as your legs were pulled open. That was as far as you had really gone yesterday, before a flash of light delivered you into the Pentagram City studio.Â
Surprisingly, you felt embarrassed, self conscious knowing there were other people in this room. But as if he could read your mind, or perhaps just noticed the tremble in your legs, Alastor softly said, âItâs only us now, darling. Thereâs nowhere to hide.â
Third and fourth appendages appeared around your waist and neck. Effortlessly your hips were lifted off the floor, your cunt on full display to the man who now owned you. The tentacle on your neck slipped between your shoulder blades and pressed your chest firmly to the floor. You squirmed and struggled against the restraints but only accomplished to draw another chuckle from Alastor.
âRelax. We have forever, after all. We can take our time.â
You felt pressure at your entrance, and your pleas to stop were cut short as a shadow tentacle pushed its way inside you. It was cold, but quickly began to warm as your heat enveloped it. Your body was resisting it, too tight to take it all in one thrust, but you could feel it slick against your lips easily enough to make its way inside.
âOoh, my dear, your wet little cunt betrays you.â He cocked his head to the side, antlers doubling then tripling in size, âHave my words affected you so much?â
You could feel the tentacleâs shape shift slightly inside you as if it were adjusting to you and not the other way around. True to his word, there was no pain except from the burning stretch of your hole against the girth of his shadow self.
Hissing, you thrashed against the sigil, âget OFF OF ME!â Pushing against the floor you barely got your shoulders an inch off the ground when you felt a nth appendage graze sloppily over your clit. You stilled, suddenly remembering your end of the deal. Your promise to the demon now circling your clit with his shadow. If you couldnât do this, then the entire filming was for nothing.
âDonât forget to breath. I canât have you dying on me just yet, sweetheart.â The static was slowly building in the air around you again, a silent threat.
Your hand shot to your mouth, trying to smother the depraved sounds being fucked out of you. The tentacle in your pussy was now ramming against your cervix, curving and bending as it repeatedly forced its way in and out of you. The room was quiet, except for the slick, sticky sound of the tentacle coated in your fluids pulling nearly completely out of you before smashing back in. The pace was slow and cruel, but the pressure on your clit was fast and hard. Your mind was starting come undone, your thoughts splintering. You couldnât focus on anything anymore, all over your body was pressure, pleasure, massaging, pushing, and pulling.Â
âAh ah, that wonât do.â Alastor practically sang the words as an appendage pulled your hands from your mouth and brought them to the small of your back.Â
You whimpered, trying to find a balance between the overstimulation and the need to not let them see how much you were getting off on this. You needed to hate it more. Hate him more. Your cheek stuck to the wood of the floor as drool leaked from your open mouth, unable to keep it closed any longer.Â
âIâllââ Your strength was nearly gone, but you managed to knock your upper body around the sigil, smearing the still wet blood across your chest. You only managed to whisper into the flooring a quiet, âIâll fucking kill you for this.â
The tentacles stopped, for a second you felt tears sting your eyes at the loss of friction. A loud screech made you wince, but you had no time to question it as your body was violently flipped. Your hips were slammed down onto the ground, held tightly by a tentacle around your waist. The back of your head ached as it was jostled in the turn. The shadows on your thighs now seemed determined to bruise you as they constricted around your skin.Â
âWhat was that, dear?â The tentacle in your pussy seemed to swell inside you, the force of the thrusts picking up in intensity. He was ramming into your body with such fervor you felt the skin of your ass chaffing on the wooden grain beneath you. âSpeak up, nowâ, you heard him exhale forcefully, his controlled appearance hanging on by a thread.
âI-â, your mouth opened to continue your resistance when a new sensation stopped you. A second tentacle was trying to squirm its way into your heat, just above the now uncomfortably thick one twisting around inside of you. The pressure on your stomach from the force made you feel sick, but the devoted ministrations on your clit had your legs twitching against the restraints. âAhâ! no, wai-â It managed to slip itself into you, and with no hesitation it was pressing against your g-spot in a matching rhythm to the tentacle swiping over your swollen clit.
Youâd never before made a sound like the one that was pulled from your throat. It was ugly and animalistic and took you by surprise. Still struggling to catch your breath, you threw your head back. You were losing control. As your body was rocked against the ground, the blindfold got caught in the friction and slipped down your nose.Â
Bringing your head back up, you finally locked eyes with your new master.Â
âAlas-â Another chilly tentacle came to your neck and began to lightly squeeze. You could only breathe out the rest of his name as your eyes met with his. He stood some feet from you, just outside of the sigil, barely on the set at all. He seemed nonplussed, antlers looming over you and suit perfectly neat, except one detail. His pupils dilated when you finally set your eyes onto his. The grip on your neck only stopped tightening when you stomped your foot down in fear of passing out. You didnât break eye contact, a fire burning in you that told him no matter what he did you wouldnât be broken. That look in your eyes, the contempt mixed with overwhelming pleasure made Alastor shift one foot in front of the other in an effort to better conceal the erection straining against the zipper of his pants.Â
âMmmhhhââ You finally broke contact as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pressure beneath your belly was building, a tightness threatening to snap. But this wasnât like before, this wasnât like when you were alone in your bed with your own hand. It felt like too much, your heart was pounding so hard you thought youâd really die. There was no way your body could continue this much longer, your heart would surely give out.
âPleaseââ You needed him to stop, the ghostly hand on your throat, the two tentacles pressing against your cervix and g-spot, the unrelenting pressure on your clit. It was too much, it was too sensitive. âIâm sorry, please. Pleeea-â you gritted your teeth, thighs twitching as the muscles in your core tightened.
âGoing to cum, my little doe?â Through gritted teeth of his own Alastor asked you as if you had any choice in the matter. He forced your knees up to your shoulders, allowing the tentacles to reach new depths.Â
âAaaaHHâ You convulsed, âIâm yours, Alastor!â You moaned, willing to say anything to stop the overwhelming feeling as the coil snapped, you were orgasming on this demonâs shadow and for the love of all that was unholy he wouldnât fucking let up. You did what he said, but he wasnât stopping. His thrusts didnât slow, your clit was throbbing and your body shaking uncontrollably. All defiance was dead, your fire snuffed out. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused. Your head hit the floor again as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight, âItâs all yours. My soul is yours! Please- sto-â Another orgasm was being fucked out of you, no recovery from the first. âI canât, I canâtâ Your jaw locked, the way your cunt was spasming and tightening around his shadow appendages nearly pushed them out of your body with the strength of your first forced orgasm. The lights in the room flickered and popped, the candles blew out with a sudden gust, static drowned out your voice from everyone but Alastor as you screamed through the second orgasm. A green light erupted from the smeared sigil beneath you, blinding the crew and onlookers. âMy body is yours! My soul! Itâs all yours. I give you all of me, Alastor! Alastor!!â Your vision went spotty, and your throat seemed to close around your voice. Your face was red with the strain of your orgasm. Youâd never felt unrelenting pleasure like that before and in that moment youâd have given him absolutely anything he wanted from you. Everything. It was his. You were his. He owned you inside and out.
The bullying of your cunt finally calmed after your orgasm began to edge away, your breath no longer stuck in your throat. He didnât stop, but he slowed down to a lazy pace as what few lights managed to survive flickered back to life. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you looked over your wrecked body to Alastor. His eyes were wild, his bangs damp and clinging to his forehead. His smile was manic, sinister almost. He looked truly demonic. A wave of fear carried a chill down your spine.
The tentacles withdrew, the sudden loss making you feel colder somehow now than before. They had taken on your own heat and matched your temperature so perfectly, now your body felt empty. You felt naked. Your cunt was still clenching, but around nothing at all. It feltâŚlike something was missing now. Your body seemed to be upset at the loss of contact. It made your stomach turn.
You flinched when the radio demon approached you, but instead of tearing you to pieces like his grin had promised, he slipped his suit jacket off and laid it over your body. You hadnât realized the dress was torn and lying beneath you in a wet pile of blood and sweat. The confusion must have been evident on your face, because Alastorâs appearance shifted. Antlers now small, if not tiny between his ears. His eyes a red and pink, lids half closed. His smile was just a line across his face, no teeth at all. He looked like a gentleman, had you not known what he had just done to your pussy youâd have thought him incapable of such impropriety.Â
âGood job, my little doe.â He whispered before you were handed a glass of water by a tall stranger.Â
âWow, youâre kind of natural at this babe. I havenât seen a performance like that in ages. Are you okay?â You took the water from him but didnât open your mouth to reply, instead transfixed on his appearance. Youâd only seen Val and Alastor until now. âYou can call me Angel. Weâll get you home soon. I swear.â
Your eyes flitted to Alastorâs, did he know? He must have, he must have felt it. Of course he knew. In those final moments, you hadnât been acting. Not an ounce of your pleasured responses were disingenuous. Not a single word a lie.
Alastor helped you to your feet as Angel placed a robe over your shoulders. Alastor hummed as he put his jacket back on, a satisfied sound coming from his chest that almost sounded like a song.Â
Val sat in his directorâs chair with his legs crossed, mouth open. His cigarette was mostly ash, delicately lingering on the stub.
Alastor placed a hand on the small of your back as you were guided to the door. Looking over his shoulder he grinned to Val, âIt seems our deal is done here, Valentino. Sheâs mine, in perpetuity.â
(Part two)
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Big man, Big mouth
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs
The smile youâd had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once youâre told that you wonât, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, youâre being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.
Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.
The construction site is alive with purposeâ the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.
You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But itâs too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.
Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)
Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.
Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of themâ the leader, you gatherâ stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.
"Ya lost?" he grunts.
There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.
"No! No, I, umâ" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, umâ"
He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."
You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of whatâs to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.
John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.
"Just need to personally check what's leftâ" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.
John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.
Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."
Show âem your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.
"Listen, youâ" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.
"It's Soap, hen."
â...Right.â
What the hell kind of name is Soap?
A third voiceâ crisp English just like John'sâ cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.
"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cockâ" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.
Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.
Unlikely.
John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at yourâ
your shoes?
"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."
Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."
Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.
--
Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go homeâ the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful stepâ the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.
Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.
Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."
The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."
You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together untilâ
The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.
But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.
"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.
"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once youâre gone?
"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.
Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.
"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paintâthe size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.
Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.
"Don't worry about me and miâ" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.
"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.
You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"
Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.
"They're red."
You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "Youâ! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."
The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.
"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?
"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.
Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants tâgo home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one oâ those sex books while playinâ with your pretty cunt?"Â
The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And itâs probably out of battery too. Damn.Â
You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesnât accept that as your answer.
"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"
Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"
Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.
He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.
He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."
No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.
He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.
"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially thisâ" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.
"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.
Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."
You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"
His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."
Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head toâ "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.
The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.
"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."
Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.
"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.
What a way to break this year-long dry spell.
He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."
Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.
It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice andâ
And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.
Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.
"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."
Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.
"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what isâ It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-
"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?
For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomachâ feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on itâ as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.
"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.
The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like youâve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungryâ bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.
The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)
But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.
Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?
And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.
"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.
But then John calls out to you too.
"Simon mustâve missed you, sweetheart. âWow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.â Then, sternly says, âTomorrow at 6, Simon.â
Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the sameâ already tenderâ spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.
Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one cominâ outta you should be mine."
When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.
"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."
Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."
"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.
"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.
"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.
The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.
Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.
Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isnât faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.Â
You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.
"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.
"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." Thereâs no tow car sign on the street, actually, thereâs not even a simple stop sign here.Â
It better not get towed. Youâre not paying a dime if it does.
(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#cod mw2#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x f!reader#cod smut
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Took a bit of time to myself to finally sketch out my vision for Frida based off Andy Surianoâs Farewell. More design thoughts under the cut.
I know some were wary of her appearing too feminine, but honestly I enjoyed the challenge of finding a way to feminize the base turtle model and stay true to Andyâs wonderful design. I donât want her to just look like her brothers in a show that embraces their differences.
The biggest thing I added to her design was an exposed heart. My own little twist inspired by a real life issue some turtles deal with as well as a fitting ode to the artist she is named after, Frida Kahlo, who often drew herself with her heart floating outside of her body. (And yes I made the creative decision to keep her heart at her center as with many turtles.)
This deformity occurred during her mutation where the sudden growth spurt tore open a hole at the seam of her plastron. She has survived as long as she has because of Big Mama who uses mystic wards to keep her heart physically safe and emotionally numb. If you look closely to her plastron in the show itâs not actually a natural body part but rather seems to be an attachment of her trench coat. Likely a false cover to hide her obvious weak spot (or at least that is my head canon!)
I love the idea of her and Donnie having something they can relate to and Iâm sure heâll be happy to design chest armor for her down the line once sheâs free of Big Mama. Maybe someday Iâll figure out her full Mad Dogs outfit, but for now this is just her base and bandana.
As each of the boys embodies a shape, I found it all too fitting to have Fridaâs be a heart. Itâs honestly a cool shape that uses both rounded forms and sharp points, which I think would encapsulate her character well. Prickly on the surface but a softy deep down. I tried to find less typical ways of feminizing her. Sharpening her beak and digits while retaining the style of feminine eyes present in most of the female cast but matching it more closely to the unsettling shape of the eyes on her assistantâs mask.
Her markings are a color flip of Mikeyâs, where as his are yellow spots with orange outlines hers are orange with yellow outlines. Coupled with her yellow eyes to match Donnie and Raph, it gives her this fiery vibe that I think still sets her far apart from Mikey.
The mask was honestly the hardest part. I love that it further accentuates her heart motif and made her more expressive, but just giving her the obvious bow and calling it a day did not sit well with me. I decided to try more of a high ponytail look, but I think it still needs some work. Iâm pretty sure I like her with yellow though, both as a nod to Jennika and the idea of April giving her something of her own to help form the bond between the two.
Would love to flesh her out further but back to my usual stuff first.
#rottmnt#frida rottmnt#tmnt 40th anniversary#TMNT#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the TMNT#unpause rise of the tmnt#save rottmnt#character design#character reference#Frida hamato#Frida#big mamaâs assistant#kathaynesart#cw heart#exposed organs#exposed heart
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guys i need logan so bad, i cant stop thinking about him between my thighsâ someone sedate me before i spend all night writing horny thoughts
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Ë・ââĄâĄâĄâ・Ë
logan howlett is a man that loves eating you out. in fact, he craves it. the taste of you, the moans you try to stifle, the feel of your thighs threatening to enclose around his head as he tongue fucks you.
he already goes feral when fucking you, but once he gets that honey-sweet taste of you on his tongue, dancing around on his tastebuds? oh, heâs fucking animalistic.
if he had it his way, heâd be eating you out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day. obviously, thatâs not possible but he tries his hardest to be between your thighs as much as possible.
each era of logan would be a different type of crazed for you. for example:
⼠early xmen logan getting back from a mission? logan would ignore everyone in his path and beeline to your shared room in the mansion. his nose would twitch at the scent of you. before he barges in, your mutant abilities would have you rushing out of bed (in one of his old t shirts that still smelt like him and white, frilly pantiesâ a sight that always had logan panting) and throwing yourself in his arms. the sheer adoration present in the way you wrap your arms around his neck would have him lifting you up in his strong arms, smashing his lips to yours and cutting off whatever words fell from your pretty mouth. he wouldnât be able to help it, the scent of you had him going dizzy with want. heâd throw you on the bed and immediately get to work, pressing scorching kisses to your clothed pussy. it wouldnât be long before heâd had you bare for him, diving in and messily making out with your puffy clit, tongue dipping into the part of you that leaks messily with desire. when youâd wake up the next morning, youâd find your thighs littered with bruises in the shape of his mouth.
⼠old man logan would be needy in random moments. more often than not heâs working odd jobs or sleeping off the excruciating pain that plagues the entirety of him. so, thereâs not a lot of time he gets to truly be where he wants to be; between your thighs, calves thrown around his shoulders as he licks at your weeping cunt.
thereâs a night he comes into the makeshift home, limping in pain and maroon liquid seeping through his white dress shirt. his handsome face screams tired, but the second you try to comfort him and clean him up, he simply grips your hand and pulls you to the bed. he lays down first, not thinking to tend to his injuries, but instead beckoning you to him with a soft, sensual caress of your name.
when youâd sit beside him, still confused, heâd get frustrated and use all his strength to pull you up and onto his chest.
âwanna eat your pussy, babyâ heâd say and oh, how youâd melt at the pure lust in his eyes, the hunger evident in his actions as he tugs you further until your cunt hovers over his mouth, the thin cloth of your underwear the only separation. heâd be too lazy to get them off properly, so heâd just pull the fabric to the side before absolutely ravishing you. his graying beard would sting your thighs deliciously as he licked your center desperately. heâd always say you tasted sweet, like honey mixed with something entirely you that had him crazed. heâd wrap his lips around your throbbing clit and suck, not letting up until you were humping his face with frantic whimpers, your release slicking him up. and since he rarely got to have you like this, heâd want to get a couple more orgasms out of you. heâd keep you on his face and wreck you entirely until you were both exhausted.
⼠70âs logan would be a little different because instead of having his focus completely on you, heâd be a little selfish. meaning, heâd sit you right on his face but backwards, because not only is he 100% an ass man, he wants you to suck him off whilst he pleasures you. the feel of your pretty, puffy pussy on his mouth would have him hard, throbbing against his thigh and he wouldnât be able to concentrate fully. so, his solution would be to have you on his mouth, where heâd lap up at your slick pooling on his tongue, while also having your spit-slicked lips wrapped around the entirety of him, gagging as heâd thrust deep into your throat. of course, you wouldnât complain, you were just as needy for him as he was for you, so it made sense.
⼠lumberjack logan would be the filthiest for sure. being tucked away in your shared cabin, surrounded by the vast forests and mountains, would have him completely driven by lust more often then not. if he was coming home and found you prancing around mindlessly in one of his flannels and nothing else, heâd pick you up effortlessly and place you on the counter, knocking anything off in favor of spreading your thighs and licking fat stripes along your center, and dipping his tongue inside you.
if he was picking you up from your work, he wouldnât be able to wait until you were home. heâd simply pull off to the side of the road, lead you to the backseat and fuck you senseless with his filthy mouth until you were reduced to a whining, mumbling mess.
and at home? heâd eat you out in every room, on every surface there was just because.
Ë・ââĄâĄâĄâ・Ë
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#deadpool and wolverine#the worst logan x reader#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett fic#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett smut#logan x reader#logan xmen#logan howlett x you#xmen origins#xmen#x men movies#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#the wolverine#wolverine
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