#the answer is to find people already in my life who are good for my mental health and sobriety but like. vulnerability and accountability đ©
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
Hi! Iâve got a rq but itâs kind of elaborate and might be sensitive to u so if u donât wanna do it thatâs fine!
But can I have some hcs of Deuce, Jack, Leona, Vil, Epel, Malleus, Silver, and Lilia with a reader who lived with a single parent all their life (whom they were very close with) who passed away not long before they came to TW, but they never said anything about it. So as a way to grieve they wear their parentâs shirts/jackets, accessories and fragrances because theyâre all they have of said parent.
Vil sees that some of their clothes doesnât quite fit their size or style, Jack and Leona can smell a very faint lingering scent of another on their shirts, Deuce notices them playing with their necklace frequently, etc.
I Still Feel You, I Still See You, I Still Hear You
Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, sad things, dead parents ig, platonic-ish, short
A/N: No need to be considerate nonnie my parents are fine haha. Finished this while trying to review for my accounting quiz tomorrow...uh, later this afternoon...?
Masterlist
Deuce might be a little...denser, regarding the situation.
However, he's not that tactless.
Ahaha he so is
Forgive him, he always means well. That sentence doesn't make it any better when he brings up the necklace you can never seem to stop fiddling with.
"My mom gave it to me before she died."
Mmh baby gets shut up realll quick.
Do you...want to share his mom?
Pardon the wording. He really means well.
So do you want to come home with him for the holidays?
Jack has a good sense of smell, so it's a bit jarring when the usual scent you have on you is replaced by a musky sort of cologne that you were unlikely to ever wear.
He asks an innocent question.
You give an innocent answer.
"It was my dad's cologne. It's his death anniversary today."
He pats your shoulder to express his condolences.
He doesn't usually do this but, do you want ice cream? His treat.
If you insist really hard, he'll let you cuddle his tail as an apology for his "insensitive" question (it wasn't really but ok)
Leona is very emotionally and socially sensitive, so he'll have a few guesses in mind already.
Your leather jacket always smells faintly of smoke.
He doesn't ask about it. Actively wards off people who makes comments about it, too.
You'll be the one to bring it up when you trust him enough.
"It was my dad's. The only thing salvaged from the fire."
Awkward.
Tsk, you're so troublesome.
Pulls you under his blanket for lots of grumpy cuddles.
He's not good with sappy comforting stuff, so you'll have to make do with his presence. He'll sit by you and listen, 'kay?
Vil is a lot of things, but he's not inconsiderate, and he's certainly not stupid.
When he first sees you wearing that ungodly sweater, soft and knitted and in such a drab color that it completely washed you out, he does get a little curious.
You have better fashion sense than that, potato.
But he notices the way you seem to sink into the fabric, eyes dazed and looking out into the distance.
"It was my mom's."
Oh. Alright.
Now he's a bit embarrassed.
Hm, maybe if you pair the sweatshirt with these pants... and do your hair like this...
You can mourn and look gorgeous while doing it, darling.
Still, he won't force anything if you don't want to.
Epel thinks the ring on your finger is really neat. He's not really one for girly things, but to be honest, he does find it a little bit cute.
Not that...he likes cute things...
Anyway, where did you get it from? Gee, you sure do stare at it a lot.
"My mom left it for me when she died."
Grim topic, but alright.
Likely the type to try and steer the conversation away to some other topic after apologizing for bringing it up.
Says your eyes are pretty. Accidentally.
He'll blush and deny it and apologize for saying weird things.
Idia accidentally snagged your watch on some cable wires while you were in the bathroom.
Total whoops. No problem, he got it out ez
Ugh, why are you panicking, dude? The watch is fine, y'know?
"Sorry, it's just, it's the last thing I have of my dad."
Okaaaay he'll go die in a ditch now tnx
He definitely feels like crap. Not to mention, he's also someone who lost someone super important to him, who was his world and best friend.
Buries himself in his bed and dies.
Silver isn't one to pry, so at normal times, he's unlikely to mention anything about your rather gaudy earrings that don't seem to fit your persona.
It's your choice, anyway. He won't judge.
Still, he has to mention something about it when it catches onto a tablecloth you were napping on. (he won't judge your napping choices either don't worry)
"Is it broken?! No, it was my mom's, I can't..."
He pauses a little bit and helps you untangle it from the tablecloth.
Assures you it's not broken.
He won't ask unless you want him to.
Lilia is all too aware of loss and everything it entails. Call it intuition, or maybe something connected to his UM.
He knows that keychain of yours has a story behind it.
Some punks snatch it off your bag as a prank when you're not looking, and Lilia gets some exercise.
"Thank you so much! It's something my dad gave before..."
There's no need, really.
Everyone has a story, and he won't pry into yours.
Taglist:
@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii
#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland#gender neutral reader#x reader#twst x reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia x reader#silver vanrouge#silver x reader#idia shroud x reader#idia shroud#idia x reader#epel felmier x reader#epel felmier#epel x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#vil x reader#vil schoenheit#leona kingscholar x reader#leona kingscholar#leona x reader#jack howl x reader#jack x reader#jack howl#deuce spade x reader#deuce x reader#deuce spade
230 notes
·
View notes
Text
Always Time for You
Requested Here!
Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader
Summary: After you move to Los Angeles to escape an abusive relationship, you meet Deacon Kay and fall in love. When your ex arrives in Los Angeles, you have to tell someone, but don't want to worry Deacon.
Warnings: former abusive relationship, depictions of domestic violence, abuse, angst, fluff and comfort (none of the SWAT men do anything abusive, it's an ex!)
Word Count: 2.5k+ words
Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
The trip across the country is long and slow, each day spent holding your bruised cheek out of view and looking over your shoulder. You promise not to let your guard down when you finally reach Los Angeles. Surrounded by high rises and over 4 million people to blend in with, it would be easy to think youâre safe. But you know better.
Your little apartment in a quiet corner miles from downtown is nice, if not lonely. As you create a new life, youâre unbothered by the solitude, too concerned with being safe than having friends.
And then, in a moment, all of it changes.
1 Year Later
âExcuse me,â someone says behind you.
You flinch when a gloved hand raises beside you, then step out of the way and apologize to the officer. He nods once, then joins his team on the other side of the road. The police presence in your neighborhood today is too familiar. The last time you saw this many cops in one place. It was because you called them, and they barely made it in time.
Another approaching siren pulls you from your memory, and you step back from the curb. Something stops you, a feeling that going home would not be the right choice.
One of the SWAT officers looks at you and points in your direction. You freeze, remembering the officer who asked Well, did you tell him to stop? You provoked him; you shouldnât do that if you already know what heâs like. When you look up again, two officers are walking toward you. Chewing the inside of your bottom lip, you hope theyâll walk past you.
âHi, Iâm Sergeant Deacon Kay, LAPD SWAT,â the officer who walked past you earlier says. âDo you live around here?â
âI do,â you answer softly.
âWould you mind answering a few questions?â the other officer, whose nametag says Street, asks.
âSure,â you agree. âIf I can.â
Deacon pulls a picture from his pocket, a folded piece of paper that he straightens before asking, âHave you seen this car around here?â
You lean closer, fighting against your memories, and answer, âI saw it last night. It sat across the street with its lights on from around 8 until midnight.â
âWhat made you notice it?â Street asks.
âThe lights,â you explain. âWhen it turned, they lit up my living room, then didnât go off.â
âLeft around midnight, you said?â Deacon clarifies. You nod, and he points east to ask, âThat way?â
âYes, sir.â
âThanks for your help.â
They step back, and you ask, âUm, is it safe? Will he be back or is there anything I should be worried about?â
Deacon smiles and assures, âItâs safe. Weâre going to get him.â
As he joins Street to return to Black Betty, Street asks, âWe donât know that; weâve been looking for two days.â
âAnd weâll find him today.â
The next night, someone knocks on your door, and you tiptoe across the room to look through the peephole. When you see Sergeant Deacon Kay, you open the door but hold it as you look at him.
âHi,â he greets. âI just wanted to let you know we caught him.â
You sigh and whisper your gratitude.
âAnd⊠I came to ask you out.â
Smiling, you nod, and for once, you donât think about your last relationship and let yourself hope for something new, something better.
1 Year Later
âGood morning,â you greet as you answer the phone.
âIt is now,â Deacon replies. âHow are you?â
âIâm better now.â
You open the door to leave for work but stop when you see a package on your doormat. Deacon says something, but the words across the top of the box are familiar, too familiar. You squat to see it better; the Weâre back note is split by the box pulling open. You lift the flap with one finger and see a rope curled tightly inside, with two knots to form hand restraints. You jerk backward, falling onto the floor as you scramble from the box. Your phone hits the floor, and Deacon yells as you reach for it.
âHey,â you breathe, staring at the box. âIâm okay, sorry, I got startled and dropped my phone.â
âEverything okay?â Deacon asks.
âYes,â you lie. âEverything is fine.â
âThen Iâll see you tonight. Have a good day.â
âYou, too.â
When you reach your car, a pack of matches is tucked under the windshield wipers, and you throw them into the backseat before slamming the door closed and locking it. Someone is close, and the fear you thought youâd left behind hits you like a train when you realize who it is.
Deacon knocks on your door an hour before your date, but heâs still in his uniform.
âIâm so sorry,â he begins. âI have to work overtime, for- for a while. Iâm not sure when Iâll have time to make it up to you, but I will. I promise I will.â
âItâs okay,â you assure him. âBe safe and call me when you can.â
Deacon leans in, ignorant of how your muscles tense before he touches you. He kisses your cheek, whispers another apology, and leaves. As he drives away, you see a knife tucked behind the plant by your door. Rather than spend the extra time with the door open to look at it, you close and lock it. Your breaths grow heavy as your chest tightens, but you have no proof that heâs nearby. You canât tell the police, and Deacon will get stressed with overtime, so you have to wait for this to pass on its own.
The following week, almost ten days after the first box arrived, you call in sick to work. Sitting in your living room, you watch the front window. You can see your porch and car. By noon, you havenât seen anyone. Slowly, you open the door, and thereâs a boxing glove on the first step, with what looks like dried blood across where the wearerâs knuckles would be. You feel a pressure building in your eyes and know that the terror you experience will kill you from the inside if you donât tell someone or do something.
âWhere are you?â you whisper brokenly, looking across the street but seeing nothing.
Your car catches your attention, a baseball bat propped against the back door, and a spray-painted X marking your door. You know the paint will draw attention, so you find a sponge and car wash in your storage closet before you hesitate at the door. If he was close enough to do this without being seen, heâs close enough to do something to you.
You set the cleaning supplies down and take your phone from your pocket. Scrolling past Deaconâs contact, you text someone else and then sit by the door, staring out the window as you wait for him to arrive.
âWhoa, whatâs going on?â Luca asks when he sees your blotchy cheeks and blood on your palms, crescent-shaped marks created by digging your nails into your palm.
âHeâs here,â you confide in him, struggling to breathe evenly. âLuca, heâs so close.â
âWho?â Luca asks, taking your wrists and looking into your eyes. âWho is he?â
âMy ex, he- he hurt me, Luca, and  now heâs here. Thereâs been knives, matches, rope⊠he keeps leaving stuff he used to use.â
âUse?â Luca repeats, his voice dropping. âTo⊠to hurt you?â
You nod, then press against his forearms to plead, âYou canât tell Deacon. Heâs so stressed with the overtime; I havenât even talked to him in a week.â
âHe needs to know.â
âNo, no, Luca, promise that you wonât tell him. Iâll tell you if anything changes or if I actually see him, but I had to tell somebody.â
Luca hesitates, then nods. âHave you seen anything?â
âNo,â you admit, dropping your head as a tear rolls over your cheek. âJust the stuff. And the notes⊠they sound like him, but they donât look like his handwriting. What am I supposed to do, Luca?â
Luca shakes his head and pulls you into a hug. Itâs not the same comfort you can get from Deacon. The realization that you canât do anything until heâs close enough to see increases your terror to let you finally cry.
Three days after confiding in Luca and thanking him with dinner for cleaning your car, you decide to visit Deacon at the station. You must see him, so you steel your nerves and open the front door. A small pile of weapons and notes is built against your door, and it topples as you step out. You rush to your car and donât take the time to remove anything from the windshield until you stop at a gas station a block from the station. Shoving the notes, matches, and short length of heavy chain into the trashcan without more than a glance, you hope that Deacon has time to talk. You wonât tell him anything, but you will ask for one of his hugs that make everything better.
As you round your trunk, a truck speeds in behind you. Suddenly, your arms are gripped tightly, and someone pulls you back quickly. Someone else pulls black fabric over your head, and you are shoved into the back of a car before you can think to scream.
âNot a word,â a man says, pushing a cold gun barrel against your ribs.
âWeâll do it,â Deacon offers. âLuca and I can drive by the residence in an unmarked car and bring back a report of what we can see.â
âDo it,â Hicks replies. âGo the long way around, check gas stations and restaurants in the area, too. We need to find her.â
Deacon leads Luca to his unmarked Charger, and Deacon takes the driverâs seat. As they drive toward the suspectâs residence, Deacon stops at a red light beside a gas station.
âIsnât that your girlfriendâs car?â Luca asks, pointing to a gas pump.
Deaconâs brow furrows as he puts the car into reverse and backs into the station lot. He parks behind your vehicle, and he and Luca walk alongside it, then look over the top at each other.
âIâll check inside,â Luca offers as Deacon dials your number.
âThanks,â Deacon replies.
Your phone goes to voicemail, and Deacon looks down in time to see the screen light up in the center console. Luca runs out of the convenience store and calls, âDeac, get in here!â
Deacon runs into the store, and Luca asks the employee to play the security footage again. They watch as three men take you, and Luca takes a shaky breath before he says, âDeacon, thereâs something you should know.â
âTime to go home,â one of the men in the car coos.
You stiffen, scared that by home he means theyâll hand you over to your ex. The car lurches to a stop, and you slam into the back of the seat before two sets of hands steady you.
âWell, look who it is.â
Shifting, you try to block out your exâs voice, but knowing he can see you while you canât see him makes your heart race and your chest tighten painfully. When he slips his hand under your fabric hood and runs his fingers along your jaw, you jerk backward. The man beside you shoves you forward so your hood can be ripped off.
âDonât do that again,â your ex demands lowly, holding your jaw tightly.
You look around, hoping to see someone else around who can help you.
âYou know the police couldnât help before.â
âWe did what you asked,â the man driving says.
âAnd? Youâll get paid when I pay you.â
With the distraction, you lean away from your ex. He slides his fingers into your hair when he notices the distance, pulling you forward by the roots. You gasp at the pain, but when youâre shoved out of the car and fall at his feet, suddenly, youâre the same scared girl you were before you ran. There is no escape, and no one knows to look for you.
âGas pedal is on the right, Street!â Deacon yells from the backseat.
âWeâll get there,â Street promises, remaining patient even as he faces Deaconâs anger and fear. âWe need the surprise.â
Deaconâs leg bounces as they approach the tradeoff spot in the note they found from your ex to the men who snatched you at the gas station. Your safety is the priority, but Deacon knows Hondo is worried about what heâll do to your ex.
âIâm getting her out of there,â Deacon says. âYou focus on the criminals stupid enough to email each other with their plans.â
âYou got it,â Hondo responds. âStay liquid.â
As they pull into the parking lot, Street parks by a fence where they can see the black SUV from the gas station and a grey Chevelle beside it. Street exits the driverâs seat in his civilian clothes and waves to the man standing at the back of the SUV.
âHey, man! Iâm trying to get to the road with the stars, uh, Walk of Fame or something? This city is so confusing, can you tell me where to go?â Street calls.
âYeah,â the man replies, turning so Street can see him. âAway from here.â
Someone groans, and Street says, âYeah, sure. You okay?â
âBetter than youâll be if you donât go.â
Street puts his hands up, then smiles. âYouâre not very observant.â
Luca and Hondo approach the car from the other side with their guns raised. As they yell commands, three men surrender and move to the side, but your ex remains beside you.
âStep back,â Street demands, moving directly behind him. âThese guys have a bet going on how quickly Iâll get impatient today. Iâm thinking about letting one of them win. Walk toward my voice.â
âYou always were treated like youâre more important than you are,â your ex tells you. âSame cop,â he muses, looking at Luca. âNo one wants you.â
âYep, Iâm impatient,â Street decides. He holsters his gun, grabs his collar, and hauls him backward.
As your ex hits the concrete, he begins fighting, so Street drags him across the rocky surface while Deacon rushes to your side. You hear Hondo radioing for backup but focus on Deacon as he kneels beside you.
âAre you okay?â he asks.
You nod and sit up carefully. Leaning against Deacon, you hug him tightly.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Deacon asks softly, brushing his thumb over a bruise on your jaw.
âYou were already working overtime, and honestly⊠I thought I was going crazy,â you admit. âHe was leaving stuff and notes, but I never saw him, so I didnât know.â
âBabe, I always have time for you,â Deacon assures you. He kisses your forehead and adds, âEspecially if youâre in danger.â
âHe⊠I moved to LA because of him,â you whisper. âHe hurt me. A lot.â
âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry that you had to deal with all of this alone, but you can tell me. Please tell me.â
âI will,â you promise. âIâll tell you everything.â
âI love you.â
âI love you. I miss you.â
âIâm done with overtime; Iâm coming home with you.â
You donât argue, giving in to your craving for Deaconâs safety and comfort. Heâll always be with you, have time for you, and love you through everything and with all of your scars.
#david deacon kay x reader#david kay x reader#david deacon kay#deacon kay x reader#deacon kay fluff#deacon kay#fem!reader#requests#hanna writesâŻ#swat fic#swat cbs#swat x reader
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
it is unfortunate when i go to prayer and cry my eyes out and the only response i really hear is that i simply have to bear it. like usually i can get my emotions out and once theyâre settled i hear a rational solution but it sucks when i donât get the answer i want. i just have to keep waiting. like normally i hear something that gives me strength but wow apparently iâve hit a new low
#literally all my problems would be so much easier to deal with if i had friends#and normally iâd be told âdo this and youâll probably find friendsâ#my plan has always been just to wait for someone to find me bc iâm horribly shy and antisocial#even though logically i know thatâs a bad way of going about it#my logical rational analytical brain has always been obsessed with finding concrete answers. itâs always been âwhat can *I* doâ#so even when i suffer thereâs a part of me that says âitâs ok once iâm done crying i can work this out and go right back to tryingâ#iâve been emotionally dead for years but iâve always held onto faith like that#tonight i feel like iâve been brought low. i feel like iâve finally been told that i might just have to wait after all#which i might think would be comforting bc it absolves me of responsibility#but itâs actually crushing bc it absolves me of power#i feel like iâm finally facing the realization that iâm powerless and pathetic and iâm never going to be able to fix myself#that i can try as hard as i want but i canât shake off this cross#but i donât know how long i have to wait for someone to find me#and even if they find me how do i not fumble it#my first instinct is to push people away bc i assume theyâre not really interested theyâre just trying to be nice#which is usually true#i donât even know how to sustain casual friendships and im so desperately in need of deep ones#i canât open up to someone without just breaking apart and making it clear how pathetic i am#one would think i ought to find someone better than myself who can fix me#but on the other hand i think the only time that the good parts of me come out is when im facing someone even worse than me#like i have a tendency to morph into the opposite of the other person in any given situation to maintain healthy balance#so like when surrounded by extroverts which is almost always i become an introvert#itâs rare to meet an introvert but then i become stronger and more extroverted around them. like something in me just loves helping others#even though i canât help myself#what do i pray for? a fellow pathetic person? or someone with the patience and kindness and life knowledge of a saint?#will either of them really be found just by chance in my life?#and even if i do meet someone. truly i wish theyâd also be lonely. i want them to need me#i donât want to be a pity charity case. like a side project for someone with real friends already
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
The media demon's smug attempt at a "gotcha" was to be expected - Angel never prodded at Vox without being more than prepared for backlash. But it was just so fun to poke the bear!
"Wow, he let ya borrow his toothbrush?!" Angel gasped with exaggerated elation, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "And they say romance is dead! Be still, my non-beatin' heart."
An elbow swung out to prop itself on Vox's shoulder as he rested his head in his hand, leaning heavily on the shorter sinner with a shit-eating grin. "Come back ta me when he's lettin' ya borrow his fluffy handcuffs. Though I'm sure Mista hot-shot CEO wouldn't be caught dead in somethin' like that, right?" the spider added airily, flouncing after Velvette with a knowing smirk.
Through in the kitchen, Angel was pleasantly surprised by the softening of Velvette's features at Angel's acclaim. The spider's opinion meant very little to any of the Vees, so he hadn't expected that singing the fashion designer's praises would have any impact other than boosting her already swollen ego. Right on cue, Velvette's doll-like features were re-moulded into cold plastic, sharp and self-assured.
Angel's own expression mirrored hers.
"Honey, I could do all that with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back," the porn star scoffed with a saucy glint in his eye. "Though from what I'm hearin', this ain't that kinda show."
No matter - he was born to be on reality TV! He was a drama queen, he was already famous... the people would love him! Besides, the word "slay" was literally in the name of the show, and fashion plus competition equalled one extremely cutthroat porn-star.
He could use this win to prove that he could do more than just porn.
Shifting his thoughts from his career, Angel took in the abundance of food that Velvette was talking him through. He chose to ignore the pointed pineapple comment, making a beeline for the pepperoni pizza before the Overlord could finish her dinner tour and sliding a couple of slices onto a paper plate. Between his exhausting shift at work and his unintentionally long nap, Angel hadn't had a chance to eat, and he was starving. Greedily, he grabbed a fistful of fries to add to the growing pile on his plate, as well as a few chicken tenders for good measure. At the mention of the chocolate cake, he whirled around to find Vox and Valentino tittering and elbowing each other like naughty children. What was so funny about a cake? Before Angel could open his mouth to demand an answer, he was being shown a far more bizarre addition to the spread.
What appeared to be a fish composed entirely of gelatin lay on its deathbed of wilted lettuce, stuffed-olive eyes portraying a depth of emotion than one would think impossible for an inanimate jello abomination. Not only did the creature look as though it loathed to have been brought into existence, but it had been somewhat disembowled - though who would dare attempt to taste something so utterly unappetising, Angel had no idea.
However, as a pair of hands grasped him from behind and a hushed voice warned him to avoid the aquatic nightmare, the culprit - nay, victim - revealed himself.
"Are ya kiddin'?!" Angel shot back at the man leaning over his shoulder. Of course Val had sampled the fish. By the looks of things, Val had "sampled" most of the food available: cartoon-like bites has been taken out of every other snack on the table, leading the spread to look appropriately moth-eaten. "That shit looks like prison food fa kids," the actor whispered shrilly. "Ya couldn't pay me ta eat that. Did Vox make it?!"
Sure enough, Vox was gazing lovingly at his gelatin baby, a veritable Doctor Frankenstein to his monstrous creation. What was next?! Would he use his electrokinesis to actually bring the damn thing to life? Angel snickered under his breath at the thought.
Now, Velvette's proposal of playing Truth or Dare caught his attention! A hand shot up, narrowly avoiding whacking the moth poised behind him in the face as he did so. "Ooh! Me!" Angel enthused, momentarily forgetting about the plate of food he had been picking at. This game could get juicy. "As long as no one dares me ta try the fish. That's a hard limit, ya got it?"
Vox's lame retort about licking things earned nothing more than an eye roll from the already irritated spider. It wasn't a Vees sleepover if Angel wasn't at least mildly peeved within seconds of walking through the door.
However, Val losing what little remained of his composure at Angel's head brushing his back was admittedly a little entertaining. Did he honestly think he was fooling anyone with this sad excuse for a "prank"? For the second time since entering the Penthouse (the remarkably short time span of a few minutes), Angel was questioning exactly how this man with his pre-pubescent sense of humour was his soul's keeper. The influential, formidable Valentino, Overlord of Lust, member of the infamous Vees... now screeching wildly behind the couch, shaking the back of it with his heaving giggles, squealing at Angel's obvious indication that he was entirely undeceived.
No one down here had the privilege of their humanity any longer, people like Valentino least of all, but in these moments there was something undeniably real about the sinner. A glimmer of something human. A glimpse of the man behind the monster.
Even more interesting than Val's childish hilarity was Vox's telling response to Angel's attempt to embarrass him, which prompted a wicked smirk from the spider. Oh, that could not have got a better reaction if he'd tried.
Maybe hanging out with these three assholes wouldn't be quite such a drag after all.
"Hard disagree, there, pal," he snickered. "Yer girl voice was almost believable - a little Minnie Mouse, but hey, maybe Al was inta it!" he continued to antagonise. He did rather enjoy the chance to humiliate Vox - not that Media Demon didn't frequently do it to himself. "Yer accent, however... not ya finest hour, V. But hey, if ya think it was so believable, I'm sure Velvette would love ta hear it... ya record all of Al's shows, right?"
Right on cue, the other two Overlords who supposedly "couldn't make it" reared their heads, Valentino abandoning his hiding place in favour of looming over the seated spider. His grin was gloating and gleeful, pink tears of hilarity still present in his laughter-creased eyes as he gave Angel's hair a playful flick. "Yeah, ya got me, alright," Angel deadpanned, sarcastic and thoroughly unimpressed as he glowered up from his position on the couch. "Look at my face - I'm astounded."
He turned his head to throw Velvette a nod of acknowledge, only managing a brief wave to their custom Fizzbot, Kitty, before she was unceremoniously banished from the party.
The jeering of the moth was expected, of course, and Angel's eyes narrowed to slits in combination with a bored scowl. "Ya done now?" he sighed, wondering if Val intended to continue chain-insulting him much longer. Thankfully, the mockery was brought to a close at the mention of Angel stealing a certain television demon's toothbrush. That was the second eye roll of the night - and it wouldn't be the last.
"He wouldn't let me borrow his," Angel grumbled in explanation to a disgruntled looking Vox. "Somethin' about how he didn't want Angel Dust cooties - like he didn't have his tongue down my throat not half an hour earlier." Was that a dig at Mister "VAL LOVES VOX"? Perhaps.
Next thing he knew, Velvette was beckoning him towards the kitchen with the promise of food. There had better be some pizza that wasn't disgraced by the presence of pineapple.
"Nice goin' with the new show, Vel," he offered as they made their way through the house. Out of the three of them, Velvette was the most consistently tolerable, so he begrudged her company far less than the other two Overlords. In his exhausted state, her snarky demeanour seemed a touch more bearable than Val's childish high jinks or Vox's equally childish jealous boyfriend routine. "Reckon it'll be a hit. Well, 'course it will be, doll - I'm gonna be in it!"
#angel and vox being petty never stops being funny honestly#ic: cameras are rolling#threads#hazbinned#hazbinned vox#hazbinned val#hazbinned velvette#flat faced prince: vox#babydoll: velvette#big v: valentino#tw suggestive#tw 50s gelatin creations :(
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
If youâd want a Swedish dog breed for Iskall, Iâd recommend either a Drever (short legged hunting dog, very cute) or a JĂ€mthund (A huge softy with the fam). Coming from a fellow Swede, theyâre the best breeds we got to offer
Ooo thank u! I'm not looking for a swedish breed in specific! Should made that clearer earlier jdjkskd But if it fits it fits! I just don't wanna back myself into a limited corner if there's another breed from somewhere else who would be a good match!
(Checked swedish vallhound in the previous ask!)
Drever i feel almost the same as the vallhound.. I think i do like this one a bit better looks wise tho! I realized I'm trying to avoid too many dogs with that husky/wolf look (category which Ren and Etho already fit, and Keralis who is gonna be a husky mix) because some variety is fun!
The thing is that I would like to consider a taller dog for Iskall first! Just feel in my gut dkdkj but i am taking notes!!!! It cute like a squished beagle!
JĂ€mthund gets the wolf/husky look alike explanation above too
#im just afraid of drawing a bunch of too similar dogs#its pretty hard to find good refs for rarer breeds like these#and most differences are almos imperceptible or wouldn't be that apparent jn drawing form (like size)#i already got a person tagging my saluki wels as pearl so yea ill try to avoid too many look alikes dkdjjfkd#and who knows whats gonna come up when i get to life series and empires people#does that make sense?? skdjddkdj#bucket of answers#get doggified
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
backseat serenade
<mingi x fem!reader>
Getting stuck in the backseat of your friendâs car after a night out with your drunk friends wasnât how you thought of ending the night, especially not on Mingiâs lap.
Genre/warnings: smut, pwp, forced proximity, technically exhibitionism but not because no one ends up noticing, fingering, light choking and wrist pining, riding, cream pies, orgasms, something is going on in the backseatâŠ, furcoat mingi
word count: 3.3K (what the fucK)
a/n: y'all be eating fucking good fr. Also shout out to my loml @bro-atz for helping out with the plot a little <3 shout out to mingi brain rot!
taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @woojirang @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @jeon-ify @itza-meee @miss-fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @liyahbug05-blog @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn  @voicesinmyhead-rc @woojirang @wlv-asteria @jjoongstar @comicnerd557 or @kpopwrites @vic0921
networks: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet
âWho else is here?â You ask.Â
She shrugs. âMy boyfriend and a couple of his friends. You know them.â Well, youâve definitely met a couple of your friendâs boyfriendâs friends before. Your eyes scan the crowd and sure enough, you spot familiar faces.Â
And then your eyes rest on a particular maleâhis hair dyed platinum and slicked back, already drawing attention because of his height alongside his fur coat that hung over his shoulders. You never thought someone could pull off a fur coat that well actually. A pair of glasses sits on his nose bridge, which seems to somehow accentuate how sharp his eyes are. Heâs been on your radar since he appeared on a mutual friendâs Instagram.Â
âHeâs pretty cute isnât he?â, your friendâs date pushes, lightly bumping his arm against yours.Â
You cast him a glance. âJust surprised that there are people who still wear fur coats in this economy.â
âThatâs-â
âSong Mingiâ, you reply, not taking notice of your friendâs boyfriendâs surprised expression.Â
âYou know him?â
âCame across himâ, you reply a little too quickly. You sure as hell were not about to spill the truth.Â
He definitely looks and is intimidating for sure, especially when he opens his mouth to speak, his voice so low that it tickles your ears. You could hear him talk forever, you think. You could imagine how he moans in your ears.
You blink. The fuck?
And so, for the past hour or so, youâve been stealing glances at the blond male, but unfortunately, there was only so much staring could do, and it was not helping you get the maleâs attention. Sure, the both of you actually followed each other (you were surprised when he followed you back), and the way he liked your stories sometimes made your stomach grow butterflies, but you never actually interacted with him in real life.Â
It wasnât until the party was slowing down, when you came back from being distracted by another friend, was when you realise Mingi was gone. A ping of disappointment fills you up, but itâs not as horrendous as the feeling of regretâfor not just going up to talk to him. You wonder when youâll see him again.
You decide to find your friend and call it a night.
âDo you wanna hitch a ride with us?â, your friend asks, uselessly trying to balance herself, her partner holding onto her waist.Â
âThe driver didnât drink, I promiseâ, your friendâs partner assures.Â
You open the car door and your eyes widen when you spot Mingi.Â
You whip your head to your friend to ask her sincewhen Mingi came with the friend group but you realise you wouldnât be getting any concrete answers from a tipsy person.Â
You glance back at the male donned in the maroon fur coat, who seems rather surprised when he sees that you were the one who opened the car door.Â
But Mingiâs expression remains indifferentâgod knows what heâs thinking about but you swore you saw a tint of something in his eyes when your friends told you to just sit on his lap because âthe car had no spaceâ.Â
âHi, y/nâ, Mingiâs deep voice calling your name is kept in a bottle and stored at the back of your head.Â
âHey Mingiâ, you greet back, cautiously approaching him.Â
âAre you okay with this?â You ask, testing the waters by putting your weight on his left thigh.Â
âItâs fine. Iâm just worried that itâs gonna be uncomfortable for you since itâs gonna take a while to reach your place right?â
Right. You nod in defeat.Â
Your body jolts slightly when you feel Mingiâs touch burn against your skinâespecially your thighs.Â
His friend on the passenger seat has the aux cord and heâs picked out a song to blast in the speakers. You feel goosebumps bloom across the nape of your neck when Mingiâs voice hits your ear from behind.Â
âSorry, you might need to move in a little more, Princess. We have three more squeezing with us at the back.â
You blink, processing the information before internally thanking the universe that the car is dark so the red flushing against your cheeks gets hidden.Â
Soon you find yourself fully on Mingiâs lap, and although you try not to lean too much against him, you realise the position feels awkward, and when Mingi personally shifts you with his hands instead, you decide to stay put.Â
The energy in the car is high, even after all that partying, which you easily deduce to be due to the alcohol. Unfortunately, you couldnât be singing along at the top of your lungs, not when youâre subconsciously aware that Mingi is just behind you.Â
Sitting on someoneâs lap was definitely not as comfortable as sitting on a car seat, and that was a given, so you find yourself shifting constantly, not realising Mingi closing his fists every time your ass shifts against him, particularly his crotch.Â
Suddenly you feel the weight below you shift. Mingiâs arm wraps around your waist, his weight pressing against you. You stay put the moment you feel his lips barely inches away from the shell of your ear.Â
âI strongly suggest you try to stay still, y/n, or itâll become a problem for the both of us.âÂ
You turn your head slightly, barely enough to capture him within your peripherals. At first, you wonder if youâre starting to annoy him, but when you feel his hands slide down to your thighs and something hard pressing against your ass, you get your answer.Â
And you wonder how far you should take this.Â
Your face is heating up, at the idea youâre just sitting on Mingiâs thick erection, separated by the fabric of his pants and the ridiculously thin fabric of your body con dress. You wonder about his size, which only gets more vivid since youâre literally sitting right on his fucking cockâhow thick he would be, how much he would stretch you open, and itâs making you slowly drench your panties.Â
The more his erection is blatantly pressing against you, the more you canât help but fidget on his lap. Youâre wondering why Mingi hasnât said anything, you wonder if he even felt it at all. The moment that thought forms in your brain, you pick out what sounded like low groans from behind you. Then you feel Mingiâs fingers press against your bare thighs, just this fucking close to lifting your dress.Â
Mingi shifts against you, his hard cock now even more prominent against your assâdirectly below your pussy if it wasnât for the fact that there were layers of annoying fabric keeping them apart.Â
His deep voice is like a melody in your ear, âIâm closing an eye if youâre just doing this on accident, but thereâs only so much more grinding I can take princess.â
You glance over to the company seated just right beside youâthey are still singing their hearts out thanks to the self-assigned DJ of the car. The music was still blasting, and you realise you and Mingi are slowly forming another worldâone growing of hot and heavy air.Â
Youâre trying to weigh your options and risks, but the constant friction of Mingiâs cock just poking you through his pants mixed with the light buzz from the alcohol earlier is keeping you less than logical.Â
You lean back, the back of your head resting on his shoulder, feeling the thick coat tickle your cheeks, taking in the scent of his cologne that you swear only he could pull off, the boldness rushing into your veins like adrenaline.
âAnd if I said it wasnât an accident?â
You donât know what he might do next, but itâs making your legs tremble by the second. Your clit is fucking throbbing from the sheer anticipation.Â
Mingiâs eyes dart to glance at you while his head remains positioned straight, before he presses himself onto you with a smirk against your ears, âRight. Glad we cleared that up, princess.âÂ
His hands press on the sides of your throat, two fingers tipping your jaw to turn your head to face him as he clashes his lips against yours, and youâre ready for him to just take whatever the fuck you have left. Youâre doing your best to muffle your moans through the kisses, but as every second passes, youâre ready to give into itâmostly scream his fucking name into the night at this point.Â
Your eyes are so glazed out, your pussy throbbing and drenched, your mind so sexually frustrated the more Mingi keeps you waiting. Mingiâs fingers trail along your bare thighs, his legs forcing yours to stay open, easily letting the gather of your dress push upwards, while his fingers push your panties to the side. You hear him mutter fuck when your wet cunt drenches his fingers. He barely drags his fingers over your clit, yet you already feel like youâre about to burst.Â
âAre you gonna be a good girl and stay quiet for me?â Mingi asks, sinking his gaze into yours. You swallow hard and nod, so fucking entranced by his sharp eyes behind the glasses, and alongside the fact that his fingers are rubbing circles on your clit.Â
âFuck me. Youâre so fucking wet for meâ, he hisses, eating up your moans as he fits his thick fingers into your pussy, filling you up instantly. Oh god. You feel your mind completely blank out at the sensation of Song Mingi stretching you out.Â
You swear that the wet sounds of Mingiâs fingers fucking your sopping cunt were louder than the music, but for some reason, and thank fuck, no one else seemed to notice. Yet.Â
His other hand clasps over your mouth as he watches your eyes roll back, your desperate and satisfied moans muffled every time his thumb presses against your clit while his fingers fill you up again and again.Â
You shouldnât have agreed to stay quiet.Â
Mingiâs legs are strong as fuck because his knees keep your legs from snapping shut as you let the feeling build in your stomach. Your hips are involuntarily bucking against his fingers, craving for him to fuck his fingers deeper. Shit. You canât seem to get enough. He releases his hand off your mouth for a while, letting it wander to your tits, rolling your nipples over your dress with his fingers, listening to you pant and whimper. Â
âCanât wait to fuck your tight cunt once we get offâ, he mutters into your ear, increasing his pressure on your clit.Â
âPlease⊠fuck! MingiâŠâ you trail, not even sure what youâre begging for at this point. But the knot tightens hard and taut. Youâre about to snap anytime soon.Â
âCum on my fingers for me, y/n. Show me how your cunt is gonna feel like when my cock is gonna stuff you full.â
His hand goes back to clamping over your mouth to muffle your cries while your orgasm rips through your body. Your eyes roll back, and your back arched against his abdomen, the pleasure spreading through every nerve while heâs still fucking you with his fingers, enjoying the way youâre completely undone because of him. Your cunt canât seem to stop spasming and itâs only from his fucking fingers.Â
But it slowly wears off, and he releases his hand from your mouth, letting you catch your breath.Â
His fingers slowly leave your spent and creamy cunt, and for a split second, youâre almost disappointed. You turn your head, watching Mingi slide his stained fingers past his lips, licking them clean, and his eyes locked onto you.Â
âYou taste so fucking good, Princessâ, he whispers, before his hands are on your throat again, pulling you in for a wet kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue, your face heating up at his words once more.Â
The split second you pull away from him is when the music stops, and you hear your name being called.
âY/n!â
Your eyes widen, and Mingi lowers his knees, letting you quickly shut your legs, letting his arm rest close to your legs, blocked by his fur coat. Thank fuck youâre in the dark.Â
âThis is your stop right?â Your friend asks before she turns on the interior car lights. You glance at the apartment building and sure enough, it is your apartment building.Â
âRightâ, you manage to answer with a forced smile.Â
And as you are about to leave the car, Mingi suddenly announces, âIâll send her up. Donât wait for me.â He takes off his fur coat, draping it over your shoulders, quickly turning away as he pushes the car door open, ignoring the suggestive looks his group of friends were giving him before curtly saying his goodbyes and shutting the car door.Â
Mingi is pretty much gentle with you as the both of you head up to your apartment, asking if youâre feeling cold, even though heâs only in a black tank top. You canât help but gawk at how he looks even under shitty elevator lightsâstill so fucking hot. His fingers havenât let go of yours yet since the both of you left the car, and he sure isnât letting you go when the both of you reach to the door of your apartment.Â
You feel so ridiculous in this oversized fur coat, but the fact that Mingiâs smell is just all over it makes you turn a blind eye to it.Â
You unlock the door, pushing it open, the post nut clarity hitting, but the realisation of Mingi in a private space with you sending you mind into the gutter.Â
And suddenly you feel your cunt throb again. Fuckin hell.Â
âCute place you have thereâ, he comments, slipping his shoes off.Â
âI try to make the most out of itâ, you return, taking off the fur coat, handing it back to him.Â
Mingi pauses, staying near the door.
âI got no clue why I left the car like that, y/n. If you want me to leave, I can just call a cab and-âÂ
His mouth runs, watching the way youâre walking towards him, and his lips snap shut when you pull him in for an open mouth kiss, his thoughts completely disappearing like they never existed.Â
âFinish what you started, Minkiâ, you whisper when you pull away.Â
For once, you like the way red looks on his pretty face, the red that disappears when he catches on, eye fucking you while thinking how fucking hot you look under normal apartment lights than the dim lights.Â
His hands cup the back of your neck before his fingers are on your scalp, tugging your hair to face him, letting his lips collide with yours. You taste him so much more intensely now, and fuck does he taste like heaven.Â
You feel his hands leave your head, going for your wrists instead, and he backs you up against the wall, deciding to pin your fucking wrists against the wall while stealing all of the oxygen you have left in between pants.Â
His fingers trail down so lightly across your skin, you feel like youâre about to combust.Â
âIs the couch fine for you?â He asks. You nod, just internally begging him to do anything to you.Â
His hands slip down to your thighs, carrying you up in his arms, kissing and sucking against the skin of your neck while he navigates through your apartment. When he does find the couch (rather quickly), he lets you fall onto it, watching the way your dress rides up higher to your hips, your soaked panties coming into view, and his cock growing hard once more.Â
âYou know, youâre honestly killing me with that dressâ, Mingi comments, his fingers tugging off your drenched panties, almost salivating over your glistening cunt. âHad to hold back from just pulling you out and fucking you.â
Oh, fucking gods.Â
âThatâs why weâre here now, arenât we?â You tease, watching his satisfied grin grow bigger.Â
You canât wait for him to fuck your brains out.Â
Mingi squats, letting his face press against your bare cunt, giving licks up, his tongue pressing against your clit while holding your legs apart. He thinks your whimpers and begs are like a fucking symphonyâand he could listen to them over and over again while he breaks you, over and over again.Â
It doesnât last long, unfortunately, because he feels like heâs about to burst the longer he waits, his cock bulging against the fabric of his pants.Â
So Mingi unbuckles his pants, pushing them down along with his underwear, his thick and long cock springs from his apparel, wet and decorated in thick precum. He gives himself quick strokes, amused by the way your face is turning a soft shade of pink.Â
His thick fingers once again hold your wrists above you, lining his cock up to your pretty hole and pushing himself in, his girth taking up all space instantly. You see stars splatter beneath your eyelids as his cock stretches you outâthick and heavy.Â
âFuck. Song Mingi-â you cry out, struggling against his grasp.Â
âSo fuckin tight, princess. Fuck, you feel so fucking goodâ, he sighs, letting himself bottom out in you, relishing in the way your face completely contorts into pleasure when heâs fully seated in you.Â
And when he starts fucking you, your eyes roll backâthe feeling of his cock pumping in and out of you switching off most of your senses.Â
You sense his arms pining your wrists are growing tired, so you do your best to tap his arm, and Mingi lets go, watching you slide his wrist down to your throat.Â
You sure know how to push his buttons.Â
He applies pressure and it hits all the perfect spots. A choked moan escapes you while he fucks you dumb.Â
âIâd love to choke you more, princess, but I really need you to ride me right nowâ, Mingi whispers, his fingers leaving your throat, and he pulls his cock out.Â
You climb onto his lap, lining his cock before you push yourself down, his fullness knocking the wind out of you once more.Â
âAre you gonna take all of my cum like a good girl?â He hums, wiping away the tears from your eyes. You nod weakly, biting your lip.Â
âThatâs my good girlâ, he compliments, and it makes your heart fucking soar. Mingi bounces you on his cock, groaning at the way youâre squeezing around him. âFuck, squeeze me just like that. God, your pussy feels so fucking amazing, princess.â
âMingi, Iâm so close. Oh fuck Iâm gonna-â
Mingi only holds your thighs down, watching you shake, feeling your cunt just clenching down and flutter on his cock, cream seeping down his shaft, and he groans in your ear, keeping himself deep in your pussy, his thick cum flooding into your tight cunt, listening to you curse while he forces you to ride out your high.Â
âSo fucking good. MingiâŠâ you mutter through tears and hiccup, letting Mingi kiss your tears before he slowly pulls his wet cock out of you, satisfied at the way his cum slowly trickles out of you while you catch your breath.Â
Mingi waits for your mind to slowly clear, and you climb off him, but your fingers stay interlocked with his.Â
âWe can wash up and order food if you wantâ, you say, trying to avoid the fact that youâre still flushing slightly considering Song Mingi made a wreck out of you.Â
But he pulls you along with him.Â
âAn invitation to shower together? Iâll gladly fuckin take it, princess.â
#ateez#ateez scenarios#ateez fanfic#ateez imagines#ateez x reader#ateez smut#smut#ateez fic#kpop smut#mingi#song mingi#song mingi ateez#song mingi smut#mingi ateez#mingi x y/n#mingi scenarios#mingi x reader#mingi smut#ateez mingi#atz#cultofdionysusnet#atzhouse#cromernet
6K notes
·
View notes
Note
a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again
speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life
a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.
summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.
word count: 3k+
pairing: old man!logan x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.
He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.
He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.
Whatever horrors that plagued his mindâendless nightmares that promised nothing but anguishâsuddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldnât fathom that luck struck him this hard.
Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.
He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent aloneâa man lost to the ravages of timeâhad turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?
Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.
It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.
Until you said his name.
Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.
You brought him back from the edgeâtook his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didnât earn; one that almost tasted too sweetâtoo sour.
After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.
His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.
He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.
"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.
The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.
Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged beforeâtoo afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.
Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.
His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.
He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.
So slick. So perfect.
Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"
Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."
His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.
If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.
When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.
"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.
His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.
He couldn't live without it.
"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.
The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.
He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.
Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.
"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."
You nodded franticallyâtears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."
The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.
"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"
"Uh-huh."
"Take care of what belongs to me."
There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.
The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.
Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.
"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."
He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.
"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.
Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.
You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.
"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."
His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.
"Fuck I'm gonna cum."
His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.
He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.
Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.
That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirtâhis grave open and waitingâhe stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.
Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasmâthe stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.
So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.
"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.
You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.
"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.
He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.
"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."
"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.
You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.
"It hurts-"
A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"
You shook your head. "B-But-"
"Thought you said it was good."
"It is."
"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.
He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yoursâthe only thing keeping him aliveâand thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.
But when you let him touch you like thisâcaress your skin and lick between your foldsâhe felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.
The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clitâcareful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.
He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.
You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.
How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?
"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."
The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.
Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.
"Oh-"
Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your wallsâdriving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.
He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much badâafter so much painâhe could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.
He could finally be the man you believed he was.
Not the animal they created.
"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.
A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeksâlips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.
Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.
"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."
Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."
His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.
You could see itâthe glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.
So you spread your legs and sat up slowlyâarms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.
"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."
The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.
"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."
You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."
Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty barâalcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.
The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.
#logan howlett x f!reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x y/n#logan howlett smut#old man logan#my writing
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Last night I had a dream that me and my best friend were living together and it was super not going well lol
#in the dream she had an extra kid which was a 5 year old boy named sam. i feel fine saying his name because this is not a real child#this was in addition to her actual; real life child which is a toddler girl#i did not find the addition of sam to be in any way weird in the dream. it was like sam had been there the whole time#anyway so we were living together in this absolute dive of a house. i slept on the couch; she and both kids shared a twin bed together#and we had a roommate which was an elderly man who wasnât related to either of us. he didnât seem malicious exactly but he also didnât care#about any of us. i specifically remember he never spoke to me but he would speak with her and seemingly entertain requests/favours from her#anyway so in the dream i was working for a failing takeaway business. i was specifically just answering the phones#and i bragged that i only ever got about 4 calls a night but they still had to pay me minimum wage for the whole night so it was basically#the easiest job iâd ever had. and my friend was like âi want to come work there too!â so we somehow arranged this and they agreed to pay her#for a nightâs work. doing what i donât know. but as we were setting off i was like âso if youâre going to work⊠and iâm going to workâŠ..#and our roommate is in there passed out drunkâŠâŠ whoâs in charge of the kids??â and she was like âsam :)â#i was like âyour five year old son sam?â and she was like âyep :) theyâll just sleep anyway. theyâll be fineâ#i was like uhhhh. i donât think thatâs right. but i couldnât convince her to stay and i felt like i couldnât cancel my shift for some reason#also worth mentioning: there was torrential rain happening. there was a strong possibility that our house would flood. i think the area#i slept in had actually already flooded? so that shouldâve meant we couldnât get to work anyway#but we were still planning on going for some reason. before we left she did go knock on our roommateâs door and was like âhey btw if the#kids do anything; you donât have to sort them out but can you please call our landlord so he can come over and sit with them? thanksâ#the roommate agreed. and it seemed like she had an agreement with the landlord. this is obviously ridiculous but my friend is soooo good#with people. i guarantee sheâd manage to set up some absurd arrangement like this where her landlord would somehow be doing childcare#for her and still not adding to the rent#anyway the dream ended with us driving to work in a CONVERTIBLE (neither of us own one) that was slowly but surely filling up with rainwater#from the torrential storm. it was starting to resemble a capsizing boat#whole time my friendâs looking at me like that meme of pedro pascal grinning and driving#somehow simultaneously the most ridiculous dream ever and the most accurate depiction of what would happen if me and her ever lived together#i mean not the child endangerment. she would never. she ended an abusive relationship i never thought sheâd end in order to protect that kid#and not the convertible. she exclusively drives vans. the rest though??? yeah#personal
0 notes
Text
I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)
Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3
âJust one more game, babe, donât be a buzzkill. I donât want to end at a loss.â You didnât want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasnât much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didnât want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.Â
You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched â really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.Â
You also watched him play â and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.Â
So, like a good girlfriend would â you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college â you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.Â
â Iâll find something to eat, alright?Â
He didnât respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal â not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.Â
â Nah, stay here. I donât want my father to see you.Â
â AhâŠyour father is at home?Â
You never heard anyone else being at the house â big house, you must admit, and itâs embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didnât know what his fatherâs name was.Â
â Returned from his fucking deployment. Heâd ask too many questions about you.Â
â You didnât tell him about me?Â
Ah, now youâre hurt a little bit. You knew it wasnât anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.Â
â He never asked. Not like he cares too much, butâŠ
An apathetic dad, huh.Â
You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriendâs horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.Â
â If you donât want me to come and meet him, I can go home.Â
He doesnât answer because his queue is finally coming to another match â you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.Â
You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.Â
*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away â and now he canât even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.Â
König closes the door of the refrigerator â of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house â a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.Â
With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge â and then he almost stumbles across an angel.Â
Scheisse
Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young â his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, butâŠ
The thing is â he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.Â
You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, Youâre dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isnât dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.Â
â Oh! Sorry. Itâs yours, isnât it?Â
You give him his cookies back â but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue â god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants arenât enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasnât seen a woman in three months and hasnât had sex in the past few years.Â
You lick the crumbs from your fingers â itâs such a deliberate action that he canât believe he actually sees it, and itâs not even something from porn he used to like.Â
â Ja. You can have it.Â
He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.Â
â Thank you, sir. IâmâŠwell, I assume if Paul didnât introduce me to youâŠIâm his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.Â
You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest â but he canât be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.Â
Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.Â
â Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.Â
You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile â too real. He canât handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so youâd stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.Â
He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.Â
â Ah. Um. WeâreâŠI guess weâre not at this stage yet.Â
â Knowing him, youâll never be, Schatz.Â
You look at him immediately â youâre offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar â and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.Â
â What do you mean by this, sir?Â
You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes â and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.Â
Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys â and in the romantic field, itâs even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being â and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.Â
He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing â a good girl wonât be with his son if she isnât stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.Â
The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone â he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until youâre crying under him. He canât do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, butâŠwell, quite frankly, his son doesnât deserve you.Â
König is.Â
â I wonât sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a ScheiĂ ArschlochâŠfucking asshole, that is. Iâm surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.Â
You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paulâs dad is aâŠinteresting man.Â
Tall, broad, very muscular â even his baggy house clothes arenât really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because youâre a good girl, you donât look at your boyfriendâs dad like this.Â
König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman â your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your âdateâ while youâre lusting over his father.Â
Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.Â
â Paul isnât all that bad, sir.Â
âHe at least has a nice dick,â you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong â if he werenât sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from pornâŠnot really your thing.Â
You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.Â
König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.Â
God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably wonât take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.Â
He can afford to retire and never worry about money again â but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?Â
You look like a good candidate.Â
â Iâm sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesnât deserve you, Schatz.Â
He is shitty at flirting, itâs not his forte â he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he canât flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isnât something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.Â
â IâŠnot sure we should be having this conversation here.Â
Youâre a good girl, and itâs infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldnât be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you arenât opposed to the idea. König doesnât understand if he likes that youâre so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty â but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.Â
â You want to see the bedroom then?
Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs â it might look involuntary like he didnât exactly want for it to be placed here, but you arenât dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, youâre too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.Â
â Sir, this is veryâŠ
He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace â you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isnât a strong man in regard of morals, he doesnât see anything wrong with fucking his sonâs girlfriend â if the girl is up to it. And if she isnâtâŠwell, he better make sure she is.Â
â What is it, Schatz? Paul wonât hear us in his headphones.
You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape â his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and youâre horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you donât want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.Â
Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them â itâs probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.Â
â I donât want to break his heart.Â
â He doesnât have one.Â
Youâre lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again â a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much â you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, youâŠ
God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.Â
Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.Â
You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back â but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, youâre adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.Â
â Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.Â
âLaterâ sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you canât help but compare him to his son â and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didnât cum.Â
You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions â you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like âdaddy, pleaseâÂ
König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.Â
â Daddy, ja? God, youâre dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.Â
He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked â he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and youâre so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.Â
He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge â make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.Â
He can be good for you â but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesnât know how to treat a lady right.Â
â So wet for meâŠsuch a filthy thing, I didnât know my son dated a whore.Â
â NâŠnot a whore, pleaseâŠ
He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him â you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.Â
â Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking youngâŠ
â WâŠwe really shouldnât⊠â Tshhh, donât think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. â Iâm notâŠ
â Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.
He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy â meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though youâre used to taking Paulâs size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.Â
It feels so wrong, you still arenât sure if you want him to touch you like this.Â
It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick â maybe because you havenât gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off â but nowâŠ
You arenât ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now â you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriendâs absent father, and you love every second of it.Â
Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, youâre adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm â itâs good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.Â
König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.Â
So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole â taking the worst traits of his father.Â
â Donât cry, Schatzen. Youâre okay, it felt good, didnât it?Â
â WâŠwe shouldnât have. Shit. Iâm sorry, it was a mâŠgod, I need to tell Paul.Â
â Iâll tell him.Â
â No! â I will tell my asshole of a son that youâre my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.Â
â I need to return to my dorm.Â
â And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of thisâŠbut we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?Â
He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once â you donât have the heart to say no. Never did. Youâre a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.Â
He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin â youâre so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you donât even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.Â
Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.Â
â WâŠwhat the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again â deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. Youâre stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.Â
â Sheâll make a good step mom, ja?Â
You donât even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.Â
#cod#konig x reader#yandere konig#konig#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#yandere cod#konig mw2#reader insert#yandere x reader
14K notes
·
View notes
Text
I fully believe that Simon "Ghost" Riley wouldn't want an expensive, lavish honeymoon after your wedding. Of course, if that's what you dream of, he'll do it for you. He'd do anything for the person who loved him enough to marry him, scars and all. You want a beach-front, warm getaway in Costa Rica, filled with sunsets and quiet time by the waves? Say no more, he's looking for first class tickets already. You like the sound of a ski resort, surrounded by snowy alpines and hot chocolates, holding hands on the ski lifts and racing down the hills (you'd beat him every time, he's not one for winter sports)? He's asking if you'd prefer Smuggler's Notch in Vermont, or Vail Ski in Colorado. He'll do it if it's with you. He'll do anything for you.
But ask Simon what he wants, and he'll give you such a domestic answer: two or three weeks, somewhere in the United Kingdom, in a cottage backed up against the woods - preferably in autumn, when the leaves will be orange, the air will be misty, and the soft rain will be just enough to drown out his anxieties. Sure, he'd love to go hiking with you in Lake District, finding a good spot under the cover of the dense trees, listening to the sound of the babbling river and showing off his camping skills - harmlessly bickering with you about how it's not considered camping if you're in a cabin with electricity and running water. He rents an SUV and folds the seats down, throwing a mattress, blankets, and pillows in the back so the both of you can cuddle together while watching the stars.
But really, he just wants to exist with you for a while - as a married couple. He wants to wake up next to you without having anywhere to be at the ass crack of dawn, taking his time to watch the way you breathe so softly, the way you're always holding onto some part of him while you sleep, whether that's your arm wrapped around his bicep, your hand fisting his shirt, or your being wrapped tightly around his soul. He wants to cook meals with you, watch as you sway to whatever music you put on the telly, butt-bumping him as you chop vegetables and he stirs the pot on the stove. He wants to be next to you as you drag him around the rainy streets of Manchester, stepping into every bookstore or plant nursery you pass, eventually landing in a coffee shop and sitting close to each other, talking over a vanilla latte and a black coffee about how wainscoting is a gorgeous addition to homes, and how it's a crime that people tend to tear it down in modern decor. He promises to install some himself just for you, wherever you want it.
He wants to spend quiet nights at home, curled under the blanket on the couch, some random movie playing on the telly and the space heater blowing warm air on the both of you - he's too mesmerized at the way you're twirling the golden wedding band around your ring finger, biting back a smile every time you glance down at it (he has a wedding band too - but he'd never take it on missions. Instead, he has a simple line tattooed around his ring finger for when he has to leave the ring behind). He wants to make love to you, leaving soft kisses and nips along your skin, rolling his hips into you slowly and sensually, losing himself in the quiet moans, whispered I love you's, and the feeling of your nails carving the memory into the skin of his back. He wants to rest with himself inside of you, cradling you to his chest as he mumbles sleepily, "I love you, want to marry you every day of my life..." his rough hand tracing your skin, committing every bump, every curve, every vein to his memory. He wants to fall asleep there, letting go of his anxieties, any thoughts of doubt rolling off of his shoulders when he presses kisses to the back of your neck, his fingers slowly fiddling with the ring on your finger.
You're his quiet. His peace. You're soft sweaters, the sugar cube he drops into a warm mug of tea in his hands, the raindrops gently landing on his face, the smell of earth and pine at the edge of the woods, the sound of wood crackling in a warm fire. You're gentle, even when you're excited and bouncy, smothering him in kisses or forcing him to dance with you on the back patio. He knows you'll both have to leave this solace soon, returning to work like the wedding had never happened, forced to be cogs in the machine of society. But to Simon, each day after this will be a day he's married to you - each day will be a blessing, a reason to thank the universe, a reason to smile as he crosses the threshold of your shared home, a reason to crack his dad jokes outside of missions, a reason to join you on your weekly grocery runs, a reason to buy flowers once a week to replace the previous ones.
You're his peace.
#is there such a man as this?#ghost#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#cod blurbs#ghost cod#ghost headcanons#cod x reader#call of duty
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
LET THEM SEE - LN4
summary : The paparazzi canât seem to stay away from Lando. Heâs had enough after being caught with you on a balcony in paris.
listen up : no warnings!! pretty sweet and short <3 tiny amount of smau!
word count : 435
âïœĄâ§Ëâ
âFuck- Lan.â I sigh, turning on the balcony and looking into our hotel room. âForget youâre famous sometimes.â I wipe my mouth, Lando just kissed me and I know for sure the paparazzi got it.
I watch him confidently lean against the railing, in only a towel. Iâm much more covered in a fluffy robe and a lush towel on my head. He just turns his head towards me, I roll my eyes at his look, âI thought you didnât want to be seen with me. This is sort of ruining that.â
He mimics my eye roll, lazily moving closer to me and placing his hands on each side of me, leaning down, âLet them see us.â
âLando.â I give a stern look, pretending my cheeks arenât getting hot.
âWe can go inside and itâll be posted that I'm with some random girl. OrâŠâ He leans in closer, a smirk playing at his lips.
âLet them see us.â I whisper and he scrunches his face again, I laugh but heâs already kissing me.
I hear the snaps of the cameras, hear Landoâs muffled chuckle against me.
He pushes his lips against me harder, his hand moving to my clothed waist.
I barely realize that heâs spinning me around and lifting me up, his arms around my waist as I scream at the sudden movement.
His face is buried in my neck, kissing it as I giggle and flip off the cameras. He backs up into our room, shutting the sliding door with more force than he intends and setting me now.
âYou love stirring up shit.â I lay back on the back, unraveling the towel on my head.
He bites his lip, looking down at me like iâm a treat. âMaybe. But itâs my shit to stir.â He climbs over me, the towel on his waist loose so my eyes stray down.
âYours?â I giggle as he continues to kiss my neck, he mumbles a yes into my skin, his hands slipping under my robe and getting lost on my body.
âïœĄâ§Ëâ
F1GOSSIPTODAY
liked by lanfan44 and 2,027 others⊠f1gossiptoday BREAKING!! Lando Norris has been seen around Paris with a mysterious second on his trip. Photos have confirmed his friend is up and coming model Y/n L/n after the two were seen kissing on their hotel balcony! The two were shown laughing and making a certain crude gesture to the cameras before going back to their hideaway. This has many people in an uproar but their shippers are definitely having a good day!
@Lanfan44 : HOLY SHIT
@ y/nforever : WHAT THE HELL ITS ACTUALLY REAL MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED
âł @cheezeylan : BEST DAY OF MY LIFE ACTUALLY
@ maxfewtrell : @ landonorris THIS is how I find out?? jeez youâd think weâre not friendsđ
âł @ formulag!rl : HAHHAHA
âł @norstappenloser : LMAO CLOCK HIS TEA
@nickipia81 : okay why is this the first thing i see #imsosinglewtf
@f1maxanddanny : snooze who cares
âł @ charlesleclerc : me
âł @ maxverstappn : me
âł @ alexalbon : me
âł @ oscarpiastri : me
#fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 imagine#lando norris#lando norris fanfic#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#lando x reader#f1 fic#lando imagine#smau
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Why I Love Hanamusa
I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:
First, as a PokĂ©mon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, theyâre much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most PokĂ©mon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately donât interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.
Iâll also start by saying that canon doesnât always influence whether or not Iâll ship something. Iâm much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because theyâre rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And thatâs the fun part to me!
Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction theyâve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they donât have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. Itâs not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. âBut Jessie chased Deliaâs son around trying to steal his PokĂ©mon!â Thatâs where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. Iâll go more into Deliaâs whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. Itâs not that she doesnât care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessieâs a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!
Itâs not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think itâs important to know these charactersâ respective backstories.
Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. Itâs implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and PokĂ©mon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.
Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didnât let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (sheâs an only child). Deliaâs father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ashâs father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a PokĂ©mon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Deliaâs attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. Sheâs very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, itâs easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. Sheâs afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.
All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs.Â
Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessieâs biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Deliaâs lived in Pallet her whole life, sheâs worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Deliaâs not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Deliaâs also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Deliaâs a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessieâs able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.
Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isnât a bad thing but itâs a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking itâs too late for her (sheâs only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone whoâs whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Deliaâs past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that lifeâs too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessieâs also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so thereâs no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.
Thereâs so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.
Iâm not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I donât want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ashâs stepmom. THE END.
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
i know this isn't universal and these support systems do very important things for a lot of people, but suicide hotlines and addiction support groups can feel so hollow and end up being worse than if you'd never sought help at all
#maybe i'm just cynical and i need to work on it#but every time i've called a suicide hotline i've hung up feeling more expendable and meaningless than before#and AA makes me question my sobriety regularly#the answer is to find people already in my life who are good for my mental health and sobriety but like. vulnerability and accountability đ©#i'm fine btw i just keep seeing suicide hotlines posted everywhere and i hope people don't call them as a last resort and come away with the#same experience i do#mianderings
1 note
·
View note
Note
On your blog you've talked about dealing with chronic as a result from the stress of masking your autism.
It's a bit of a different situation, but my little sister (who we've begun to suspect has adhd) has been experiencing chronic pain in her arms and legs. I may be totally off base, but I was wondering if a similar stess might potentially be a factor in her pain.
If you're willing, would you mind talking about how your pain affected before you found a way to manage it (I tried searching your tumblr, but not much came up, so sorry if I'm asking a question that's already been answered)?
Thanks either way, I love your books. Love is real!
sure buckaroo GOOD QUESTION. i have had chronic pain in some form or another for LONG TIME in a number of STRESS RELATED WAYS. in past it has been cracking teeth from clenching dang jaws while i sleep and things like that, but a few years ago it was FULL ON BODY PAIN AND TIGHTNESS like every muscle was clenching up. went to the doctor over and over all kinds of dang specialists and it was very difficult to figure out what was going on. eventually landed on a sort of nebulous trot of STRESS but i can get more specific.
there are several things about me that you would never know just from looking or even talking to me for long times. i am a bi buckaroo, i am a non-dysphoric trans buckaroo, i am an autistic buckaroo. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE THINGS IS EITHER HIDDEN AUTOMATICALLY OR I AM SUCH AN EXPERT AT HIDING THAT IT IS SECOND NATURE
autism presents its trot in many ways, so my words do not apply to all, but my version is EXTREME ORGANIZATION AND ENDLESS WORK ETHIC. in way of freud (which is a silly way but sometimes good for symbolism talk) i have what you would call an OVERDEVELOPED SUPER EGO which is a double edged sword. i can write 100s of books at an incredible pace, but also feel like my body is constantly collapsing in on itself
this is not really something i consciously think about much, but eventually these health problems started creeping up. it was all from carrying this mystery tension in my body, because while it feels EASY for me to mask i believe all that tension goes somewhere and it stores up and stores up and stores up.
so i think the HEALTHY way that i have found to deal with this (i think of it as releasing the steam valve a bit so the boiler does not break down) is ART. this space where i am allowed to be CHUCK TINGLE and write without obsessing over the spelling or punctuation, or to loudly express my queerness, or explore gender, and to let my neurotypical mask down DIRECTLY RELIEVES my chronic pain because it literally makes my muscles relax.
when i started out this ARTISTIC TROT as chuck i used a LOT of metaphor to keep my privacy, with different words or different versions of people for different things, and buckaroos found this very funny. as a way to express myself artistically i also liked this metaphor trot a lot, but i have also found that the LESS metaphor i paint over my life as chuck, the better it is for my health. if you have noticed, i talk less about some of the parts of my life that were metaphors, or maybe you have seen that my voice has relaxed a bit in interviews, or that i carry myself a little differently over time, this is partially why. (there is another artistic reason that was a planned trot from the beginning and it has to do with my feelings as a young autistic buckaroo of not fitting in on this timeline, but we can dive into that later).
anyway, as PRACTICAL ADVICE i would say that FINDING A SPACE TO EXPRESS YOURSELF WITHOUT FEAR OR MASKING has been the number one trot for me. that can be a pink bag over your head writing hundreds of erotic shorts, or that can be just laying on the ground howling your heart out, or doing whatever stim you need to do.
i will also say that ONCE I REALIZED IT WAS MUSCLE TENSION getting a physical therapist helped a lot. because there are two sides, you have to start releasing steam from the steam valve, but at the same time youve also gotta start HEALING THE DAMAGE. so i think stretching and techniques like that can be very helpful.
hope that helps buckaroo LOVE IS REAL
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
secret baby trope with tf141? đđ
Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.
I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst
Word Count: 2.3k
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.
He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and thatâs exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.
Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.
Itâs bloody fucking brilliant.
Kyle isnât attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why heâs splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. Itâs mostly for background noise. Kyle isnât really paying attention to it.
With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people heâs had it off with but never took anything further.
He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.
They just happen upon him. Kyle doesnât drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.
You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex heâs ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw youâover a year nowâthat Kyle has thought about what could have been.
You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didnât follow through. He would regret it, but things canât be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.
Kyleâs thumb hovers above the screen.
He shouldnât. He really fucking shouldnât.
But he does. Because why not?
Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesnât usually give a shit about whatâs happening in peopleâs lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If youâre not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.
You donât have him blocked on anythingâthank fuckâand Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.
Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.
Just threeânoâfour months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.
YourâŠson.
Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.
âFuck,â he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.
He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyleâs heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.
âFucking hell,â groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.
Why didnât you say anything? Why didnât you contact him?
The very thought of you not reaching out doesnât sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.
âFuck,â says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.
He finds Simonâs number and taps the call button.
It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesnât think that heâll answer. But he does.
âKyle,â comes Simonâs gruff voice.
Kyle sighs. âI need you to track someone down for me.â
John Price
John doesnât like cutting off contact with people.
He likes to keep in touch, even if itâs just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people heâs able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.
Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.
Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. Heâs prone to it since heâs never in one place. Always moving around.
John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesnât seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when heâs constantly called away.
He chews it over while sitting in his office. Itâs late, and there isnât anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to himâa time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isnât certain, and itâs hardly enough to go on.
Sighing, deciding heâd rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.
John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.
If this doesnât work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.
He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,
âThere you are,â he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.
Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isnât an issue. He has enough.
John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. Heâll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.
âYou have the wrong number, bud.â
The manâs southern drawl irks John. âYou sure?â
âYeah Iâm fucking sure. Quit calling.â
John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isnât recent.
âFuck,â mutters John, running his hand through his hair.
This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he canât do that unless heâs on scheduled leave. Thatâs months away.
And each month is fucking agony.
When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someoneâs door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.
But fuck it. Heâs here.
Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesnât need to worry about it anymore.
John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears itâthe turn of a deadbolt.
The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.
âJohn,â you breathe.
He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. Youâreâoh shit.
âIs thatââ
âYours?â
Fuck.
John glances up into your eyes and swallows.
You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.
âIt is,â you confirm.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon shouldnât. Reallyâitâs fucked up. Wrong.
But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way heâs letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.
Heâs done a lot of things he isnât proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.
Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldnât make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.
But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.
Sure, youâre not truly his now, but youâll come back to him. Heâll make sure of it.
In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.
Itâs where he first learned you were pregnant.
You know, and havenât told him. Havenât reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.
You are fucking pregnant. With his child.
Itâs growing in your belly.
Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.
Itâs fucking painful watching you like this.
Heâs stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.
But youâve broken it off before, and came back eventually.
Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.
Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.
He has to play this right.
He has to.
John "Soap" MacTavish
âDo you think youâll ever find your woman again?â
Johnny grins behind his pint glass. âIf sheâs here,â he replies.
The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. Itâs refreshing since itâs so bloody hot outside.
Johnny didnât think heâd ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missionsâa way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didnât expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.
He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnnyâs eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charmâmelting like butter over fresh toast.
That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnnyâs hotel room. But the two of you didnât have sex. It wasnât until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.
Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasnât a moment after that Johnny didnât have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.
But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.
Eventually, you didnât talk to Johnny at all.
He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didnât hear a thingâand he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesnât exactly like it.
It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you leftâand if heâs being entirely honest with himselfâhe still fucking likes you.
Maybe youâll be here. Maybe you wonât.
Kyle is with him this time. A guyâs trip. Price isnât one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.
âWe could try that pub again,â suggests Kyle. âSee if sheâs there.â
Johnny shrugs. âMaybe.â
âDid she live here?â asks Kyle.
Johnny nods. âAye. Sure did.â
Kyle bobs his head. âWeâll find her.â
The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. Itâs hot, but itâs a beautiful fucking day.
Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.
Is that?
No. Canât be.
His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. Itâs you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You havenât changed all that much. Not really.
There is another woman with youâa friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.
But that isnât what has Johnnyâs attention.
Youâve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.
âWhat is it?â asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.
âThatâs her,â murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.
You donât see him. Youâre chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.
âOh fuck,â says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.
âIs that?â
âIt fucking is.â
âSheâs fucking pregnant.â
Johnny swallows. âAye.â
He doesnât want to admit it, but itâs likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.
But that doesnât sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you soonerânot finding out like this.
You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friendâs arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.
Youâre staring right at Johnny.
And heâs staring back.
taglist:
@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath
@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett
@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82
@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim
@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000
@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @greeniegreengreen @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla
@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky
@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos
@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez
@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23
#task force 141#task force 141 x reader#task force 141 x female reader#task force 141 x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#john price x you#soap x reader#soap x you#gaz x reader#kyle gaz x reader#gaz x you#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#john mactavish x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#price mw2#captain price mw2#price cod#price x you#price x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
To kill a king, to fuck a dragon (Day 8/8 of 10k followers event)
A/N: Hi there people! Iâm so, so glad that all of you took time to read all the stories I post, especially these past 8 stories that had been super exploratory for me. I think I did good enough, at least yâall seemed to like it. For this last one I added a bit more plot than usual, this is a tiny bit longer and I think the story is really good. I hope yâall love it as much as I do. Also, and once again, I want to thank ALL OF YOU for following this little corner of the internet and being so supportive and great, special thanks to all my patrons to make my life a little bit easier <3, this has been a blast so far and I hop yâall keep reading, hopefully this account is just the beginning of a much longer exploration of monsterfuckery for us all. (PS: If someone catches the very subtle Greyâs anatomy reference please let me know so we can be friends)
Dragon x fem!reader || size kink, slow-burn (kinda), sex with feelings, magic saliva, spit on pussy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation || tw: mentions of murder
You enter the cave and are surprised to find a door, a normal human door caved into the rock. It looks like a house, a house on the rock, but still normal. What the fuck? Your hopes and dreams of finding the dragon slowly disappear, your eyes teary.
Someone chooses that moment to speak behind you: âWho are you?â You turn around so fast you fall to the ground with a scream. The stranger looks at you like you are a bug he needs to squeeze, and you feel a tear running down your cheek. Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldnât cry even if there wasnât a dragon. âAgain: who are you?â His tone is harsh and you want to cry even more, but you bit your tongue.
âI- I came to find the dragon,â you confess, swallowing around the knot in your throat.
He looks at you like you are a joke, not even trying to help you to your feet. âWhat dragon?â He asks, his tone amused.
You get up and look at him, trying to look as serious as you can when you say: âThey- They told me there was a dragon here.â You fail.
He chuckles, inspecting you up and down, his eyes zeroing on the few tears that escaped your eyes. âNo dragons, just me,â he finally answers, his tone a lot softer than before.
âUh-oh⊠Sorry. Iâll be on my way, then.â You try to get pass him, sniffling as you do so, trying really hard to get out before you start sobbing.
He sighs, and adds: âdo you want some tea?â He offers you his hand, and weirdly enough, you donât feel threatened or scared, you feel calm around him.
âReally?â You donât want to sound too hopeful but you are thirsty and tired and you want to cry because there is no dragon and you basically lost hope of everything.
âYeah, come on.â He motions you to follow him inside the rock house, and you are surprised about how cozy and homey it feels inside, like out of a fairy-tale kind of thing.
He makes some tea as you lean against the door frame of the kitchen, trying to look around as much as possible without looking too snoopy about it. Not that he seems to care that you are curious about everything, he just looks at you every once in a while like making sure you are still there.
âWhy were you looking for a dragon?â He asks when he sets the tea cup on the table in front of you. A similar one in front of him. You sit and start sipping on the best tea youâve ever had.
You sip the tea for a couple seconds, trying to decide if you can trust him, at the end you decide why not, your life is already ruined. âTo kill the king,â you say. He chokes on the tea heâs drinking, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from giggling.
âWhat?â He asks again when he recovers, his face red from the coughing.
âTo kill the king,â you repeat. He still looks stunned so you give him more context: âI- I was bought when I was in the womb. My parents promised me to him in exchange for gold, and the day we marry is approaching. I donât want to do it, heâs a foul man, and I didnïżœïżœïżœt choose this. I overheard some servants talking about the dragon in the mountains, and I though⊠I thought they would help me.â You try not to sound too bitter about it, but you canât keep the despair out of your voice.
He looks at you like you are suddenly the most interesting specimen of a bug. âYou escaped the castle and came here?â
âYes,â you answer truthfully. There was a lot more implied in that simple question. You escaped, but not only that, they are probably looking for you and the king would probably kill those guards you ran away from. You try not to be too sad about them, they were cruel with you, laughing at you every time you passed, talking about how the king got a new hot wife.
âAre they still looking for you?â He asks, a lot smarter than you give him credit for.
âProbably.â Itâs the truth but it still carries a lot of pressure as you say it. You understand though, you know itâs not his problem and you shouldnât even be there. Youâd find another way to escape the king. âIâll be out of your hair, I promise. You didnât sing up for any of this.â You realize the sun is setting in the horizon and you donât know if you could find your way back to the village. Fuck. âI need to go. The village is a long journey from here,â you try not to sound scared, but an edge of fear permeates your voice.
He surprises you by saying: âStay. I have a guest bedroom and thereâs no way you could get back to the village if itâs this dark.â
You want to say no, to refuse, thatâs improper, but the idea of going back to that golden prison is enough to make you say: âIâll leave first thing in the morning.â Itâs a promise you do to him, but also to yourself. That man showed you more caress that anyone in your life, and you didnât want to cause him unnecessary trouble. Youâll leave in the morning.
Problem is⊠You never do.
The next day he prepares breakfast, and insists on showing you around his house. Itâs so beautiful you are mesmerized. His garden especially. Itâs so colorful and big and calmâŠ. You feel an instant connection to the earth, and to him. Heâs so easy to be around, he treats you so differently like what you are used to. And you like it. You like it so much that you get distracted until the sun is setting once again. And he never tells you to leave.
And days pass. One day turns into another, and you⊠never leave. You know someday they will come back for you. You know you canât run away from your problems. But right there, in the side of the mountain with that nice man that took you in⊠It feels possible to run away. It feels possible to avoid the awful destiny that was set for you before you were even born.
He teaches you to cook, to take care of plants, to polish wood⊠Heâs like a handyman that can do all, and you are his new apprentice, even though he insists on doing all the heavy lifting. But on top of that, he just⊠amazing. He takes care of you, but also you two argue about stupid stuff until you are red faced and you want to hit him, just to end up laughing when he tells you a stupid joke. You have the most fun you had in ages with him.
Until one day all shifts (pun intended).
You are laying around under the tree as he does some gardening. He wouldnât let you near the roses in case you got hurt. âI have something to tell you,â he breaks the silence.
âWhat?â You ask, looking directly at him, a spark of something unknown raising inside of you, like bugs in your stomach, crawling around every time you set your eyes on him, on his beautiful smile.
He looks at you intently and says the most ominous thing: âI- I think itâs better if I show you, actually.â
âShow me what? Why do you sound so serious?â You try to joke, but it doesnât land because he still looks at you with a poker face.
He looks worried, apprehension settling on his features. âJust⊠Wait until Iâm done to say anything, please?â His tone is more than pleading, is more like heâs begging you to understand, and you donât know what could possibly be so bad.
âOkayâŠâ You tell him, anxiety spiking.
And then he turns. Literally. His body contorts and cracks, and thereâs a bunch of things happening at once, and before you realize, thereâs a dragon in front of you. A full on real dragon. What? Heâs majestic, as big as a house and skin covered in the most precious scales. He looks like a work of art⊠you are mesmerized.
âYou said there was no dragon!â Itâs the first thing out of your mouth, an edge of hysterics creeping in your tone.
You laugh then. You laugh so hard and so much you have tears rolling down your eyes. He changes back, and tries really hard to cover his manhood with his hands, failing and making you laugh even harder.
âYou are a dragon,â you say when your laughter dies down.
âI am,â he says simply, approaching you slowly until heâs right in front of you. âAnd I will kill the king for you,â he adds.
Thereâs no point in asking why he didnât tell you sooner, you understand why. Why would he? Why would he trust his deepest secret to you? But him showing you now? It meant more than the world, it made you forget about everything and anything chasing you down. It makes you happy. He makes you happy.
âNo. I donât care about the king. I just⊠I love you. I think what I feel is love, I never felt like this before.â You tell him, heat creeping up your cheeks. He looks at you like heâs surprised, like he wasnât expecting that at all. âDo you feel it, too?â You ask shyly, your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat faster and faster.
âYe- yes. I love you, too.â His confession is followed by his hands cupping your face, so soft and tender, you feel a tear running down your cheek as he kisses you for the first time.
You should have known better than to think your life could be so perfect.
You donât hear them before you are captured. At least four soldiers appear at the edge of the garden and catch you before you can scream. You think about him, about your dragon, and lament how confused he will be when he returns and you arenât there. You worry he would think you abandoned him⊠But you canât do anything as they take you away from the only place you felt like home.
They donât even wait a whole day before they are dressing you and pampering you in the best silks and makeups. Nobody says anything as you silently cry during all the process. The servants looking worried but not arguing with anyone, three guards at the door of every chamber you enter.
You are caged once again.
You walk to the aisle in between a crowded place full of people who donât like you, nor the king for the matter. They just want to appraise his old self to gain some benefits, the same as your parents did even before you were born. He looks like a nightmare standing in front of the altar, and you want to run, to run far away, back into your dragonâs arms. But you canât, guards all around the open garden the ceremony is taking place in. You stand before your soon to be husband and have to swallow back the tears and bile, his rancid smell hitting you like a brick.
The minister starts speaking about love and marriage, and you cry during all his speech. You dream of being far away from there, as far away as possible. Or at least as close to your dragon as you could.
When you hear the people mumbling around you, you turn around, a shadow obscuring the sun. You look at the sky and sigh, so happy to see him you could cry. Maybe you would cry if you werenât so shocked that he actually showed up.
He roars as he lands, people running in all directions, hiding in every possible place. âYOU STOLE FROM ME!â He growls, breathing fire to the sky and making people cry out in fear. You look at him in all his glory, fascinated by every inch of his skin.
âWe- we saved the queen to be,â the guardâs words are short lived as your dragon looks at him and breathes fire right over his body, instantly burning him to the ground. Thereâs a chorus of screams and cries again, and you have to bite your tongue to stop from smiling.
âSheâs not yours! SHEâS MINE!â You shiver at his words, feeling them so deep inside you think you might combust, butterflies dancing inside your stomach once again.
âYou canât take her! I bought her,â the kingâs words donât help his case at all, your dragon roaring and launching for him.
It all happens so fast, one second heâs there, and the next one the kingâs head is rolling onto the ground as everyone screams and runs away. You are shocked to the core, but he doesnât let you wallow in that. He picks you up and takes flight. You realize heâs being very careful not to pickle you with his claws. You donât know where heâs taking you, but soon enough you are in a place you know, a place that brings you memories of joy and love⊠The garden.
As soon as he sets you down, he orders you to: âGo inside.â His tone is harsh, almost a growl.
âNo,â you answer, not recoiling, not moving. You approach him more, your hand softly caressing the scales of his chest.
He roars over your head, trying to scare you away: âGo inside, Iâm not in my right mind right now, I canât answer for my actions.â You arenât scared of him, though. He saved you from your most fearsome nightmare, heâs just the big monster you are in love with.
âNo,â you repeat, a big smile playing on your lips when you look up at him.
âCome on, princess⊠Please.â Him begging in that form does something to you, such a big and scary creature asking you to go inside so he can protect you from himself⊠You are more sure than anything that you are safe. Safer than youâd be with anyone else. Human or monster.
âNo. I want you. I love you.â Your words finally go through him, making his big body shiver, you feel it under your hands, a big shake that leaves you breathless. âTake me, my dragon.â You know adding that isnât necessary, but you are more than ready to be a bride, to be his bride.
âDonât joke around,â he growls, grabbing your body with his big clawed hand and positioning you to look straight into his yes, his big dragon head so beautiful you have to reach out and touch him. He scrunches his nose, making you giggle.
âMake me fully yours,â you say again.
His responding growl is so loud it makes the earth vibrate under your feet. You shiver in anticipation. He tears your wedding dress of your body, wrapping his wings around you to create a bubble, so you wonât feel a single spark of cold in your human skin.
Your wedding dress is torn off your body as he launches for your body, your naked form shivering at the cold temperature around you, but he solves that easily. He wraps his wings around your body getting you close to his much warmer scaled body. You sigh happily.
He lets you down onto the ground and you look up at him, completely vulnerable. âFuck me. Claim me. Love me.â You lower yourself to the ground, your upper body to the ground, your ass up. You know what you must look like: an offering, a sacrifice. And you are okay with that. You are okay being his.
âYou sure?â He asks again, always the gentleman, always worried about you. You are more sure of this that you were about anything else ever.
âYes. Yes. Yes,â you chant as his claw proves your entrance. You look around in time to see him biting on his fingers, two seconds later heâs claw-less and his now not-dangerous fingers enter you. You cry out and bury your face on the mossy ground, his chuckle making you flush all over.
He plays with your pussy for what feels like an eternity, making you come twice before he starts stretching you fully. He gets to three fingers, way bigger than anything you tried before, and you canât stop moaning.
You come again as he spits on your pussy, the sensation so filthy and so good you scream and fall over the edge again. You feel tingly all over after that, your pussy relenting under his ministrations and somehow widening further, accommodating one more of his fingers. âMy saliva has magic in it,â he explains, his tone amused as he keeps finger fucking you. You donât know if you can come again, you didnât even know that much pleasure was possible.
âCome on, come on, please,â doesnât matter how much you beg, he doesnât relent.
He starts scissoring his big fingers inside of you, stretching you impossibly wide, and you squirm under him, a pleasure so big you donât know how to deal with it, your body pliant under his actions, your brain completely void of thoughts. And then he stops and you curse him so loud he starts to laugh, moving your body and making you squirm under him. He grabs your hips to stop you from moving and you feel the tip of his cock against your entrance.
He enters you slowly, so slowly. You want to scream, but your brain is frozen with the over-sensitivity of his dick inside of you. He canât fit inside, thereâs no way, heâs probably just aiming for a third of his length, but right now, with just the tip inside, you feel like you are about to burst. You reach down and rub your clit, unlocking something inside of you and crying out so loudly he roars as your orgasm makes your pussy constrict around him. He pushes in a bit more, and you keep coming.
From that point on, itâs all a blur of sensations and emotions, so much pleasure you are blind to the world around you. His dick is barely inside, but it seems to be enough for him, and more than enough for you. You feel like heâs going to split you in two in the most amazing way. He feels so big inside of you that you think you might die if he keeps rubbing against all your special spots at once. And if you do⊠Youâd die happy.
âTake me. Take all of me,â thatâs all the heads up you get before heâs filling you, one last thrust inside before his hot seed floods your insides. It propels you over the edge one last time, the world fading into blackness.
You pass out.
When you come back to your senses, you are laying on a bed and thereâs a warm body behind you. You sigh happily as he kisses your forehead and makes sure you are comfortable and warm. You feel such intense love for him in that moment, that you have to turn around and try how well it would feel to fit his human dick inside of you (this time all of him).
He feels perfect.
#dragon#dragon x human#dragon x you#dragon x reader#monster#monster fucker#monster imagine#monster x human#teratophillia#monster x reader#monster boyfriend#terato#monster love#monster fuqqer#monster kink#monster lover#monster romance#monster smut#monster x you#monsterfucker#monsterfucking nsft
1K notes
·
View notes