#to eat or not to eat that is the question
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Literally obsessed with poly 141 x reader. Part 2
141 are called to the hospital after you’re picked up by paramedics after a drunken work party.
Heed the warnings.
CW: dead dove don't eat, alleged assault, alleged sexual assault, alleged non-con drugging, hurt/comfort, medial stuff, description of injuries.
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John is your emergency contact. He’s the captain, the leader, he can take charge and make sure everyone does their job. You were still confused, heaving into a bag as the paramedic was asking about who to call.
It was a work party, you only had a few drinks. You’re not sure what happened, you were talking with a coworker. The next thing you know there are strangers around, you’re outside down an alley, the cold London air making you shiver.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” The female paramedic asks. Your head is swimming, your body is sore. You have no idea where you are or what happened. Panic rises in your chest, you look up at her. She has kind eyes.
“I don’t know.” You slur. Your body feels heavy. The adrenaline that was pumping through your system is wearing off.
You don’t remember what happens next, all you hear is the screeching noise of sirens.
—-----------------
John’s heart is racing in his chest. Johnny and Kyle are sitting in silence in the back seats of the car they all rushed into after the call. John looks over at Simon, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel.
“Park up, we’ll meet you inside.” John says as Simon pulls into the parking garage. He stops the car and everyone but Simon gets out heading into the hospital’s A&E entrance. Price makes a b-line for the front desk. Johnny and Kyle follow as he asks for you and what room you’re in.
The nurse has barely finished telling him when he’s nodding and making his way through the doors to the main ward. It doesn’t take him long to find your bay. He pulls the curtain back looking at you curled up in the bed.
Your face is raw, your left eye is red and swollen, your neck bruised. The stunning red dress you left the house in torn, exposing your skin littered with marks. His stomach turns, he can see in your eyes you’re out of it. Reaching out for Johnny as he comes over to you.
You hardly register them coming in, your head still swimming as you turn to look at them. Familiar hands touch your skin. Johnny’s fingers coming to your face, brushing hair behind your ears.
“Hi.” You say smiling up at him.
“Hey lass, what’ve you been up to then?” He asks as Kyle comes over to the other side of the bed lacing his fingers with yours.
Silent glances are shared around the room. John’s presence is unavoidable, he stands at the end of the bed, his arms crossed as Johnny and Kyle fuss over you.
A nurse comes into the room. John turns to talk to her, she explains what they’ve done so far. Your injuries are consistent with sexual assault, date rape. The police will be here soon.
The words from the nurse's mouth seem to change the energy in the room. It’s like a rehearsed dance they’ve been practicing for. Maybe it’s the fact they're military and used to working under pressure, or maybe it’s just the fact it’s you, laid in a hospital bed.
John immediately takes up the role of leader-captain-in an instant. Johnny stays by your side holding your hand caressing your face, telling you not to worry. His kind eyes and warm smile distracts you from the commotion going on in your room.
John’s voice is low as he gives out orders. Kyle is incharge of intel gathering coming over to talk to you, rubbing your arm letting Johnny comfort you as he asks you simple questions. You don’t remember much but you enjoy his touch.
When Simon comes in the mood shifts.
You watch as he comes over to you. Johnny steps back letting him cup your cheek, his eyes scan your face, pulling your chin up to look at him. His eyes are hard, his lips pressed together. He kisses your forehead before moving back to the end of the bed.
Johnny is back with his smile and soft touches as he brushes your face careful to avoid the sensitive areas. You’re sleepy, your eyes drooping as you relax into bed.
“Tired?” Johnny asks, pulling the sheets over you. You nod before turning your head to look over the end of the bed. Simon's eyes are still on you as John talks. You’re not listening to what they’re saying. Kyle moves over, his attention turns to John.
“What are they doing?” You ask, your words still slurred.
“Don’t worry ‘bout them love. They’ve got work to do.” You watch as Simon pulls a mask up over his nose before he and Kyle leave the room.
You look over at Johnny smiling. John walks over resting his hand on your leg.
“You’re okay lass, we’re here now.” He says his thumb brushing your cheek as your eyes fall closed.
----
Someone stop me...
Part 2
#call of duty#fanfic#cod#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#john price#kyle gaz garrick#ghost cod#taskforce 141#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#tf 141 x reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mactavish#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon x reader#simon ghost x reader#captain john price#john price x reader#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz x you
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Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.
However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.
#hear yourself. for the love of whatever you cherish.#'but they only kill bigots so ACTUALLY they're the GOOD GUYS -' your metaphor of monstrosity is entirely premised on the question of#'what if what you went around righteously killing; believing your actions to be justified;#were actually people and it was not in fact righteous or justified to just kill them'#'what if the world isn't neatly split into 'good guys' and 'bad guys'#who gets to decide who or what is 'bad'? because that's the original problem of monstrosity-as-metaphor-for-marginalisation#(if as a creator you say 'oh my intention with this was X' cool!#if instead you go with something like. well.#'well in this setting monsters are so rare it doesn't matter that they kill people and you'd have to be a homicidal sadistic psychopath >#< to hunt them; but sure I guess if you want to play a Bad Person' well I might have#but if you're going to explicitly judge me for wanting to engage with the moral question of 'how justified is this and who would do it#versus how justified are these monsters if they do have to harm or kill people to continue to exist'#then maybe I just don't want to play your game at all)#anyway I'm sick to death of poor uwu cozy vampires who are SO marginalised so I'm not Allowed to care about all the people they murder#it being fucked up is what's fun about it! do all the other shit but let me take the murders seriously!#and inb4 someone accuses me of being a bigot for saying 'actually I don't think you get a free pass to kill and eat people if you're gay'#remember when the CW's famously reactionary and conservative Supernatural tried to just gloss over the part where every time its heroes >#< killed a demon with a magic knife it also killed the person the demon was possessing#and say 'oh no it's fine we don't care about those killings; they don't matter; don't bother caring about them either'#but they were doing it to glorify exactly the kind of people that these 'monster as metaphor' stories are trying to cast as expendable?#I have other examples that are like. real dramas. but That Paranormal Show is the one that's in the same niche that I'm talking about here#it feels more insidious when it comes through a fantasy show where there are monsters involved#so you can say 'no it's not real so it doesn't matter'#but then ALL of it is equally not real. and vampires are not actually an oppressed group. because they don't exist.#you can say 'these vampires are a metaphor for an oppressed group so this fiction matters in real life'#or you can say 'don't care about the murders because they weren't actually real'#but you can't say both and then get mad at ME for treating the murders as seriously as the vampires#let me engage with your premise and don't waste my fucking time#or just set your fluff in the Sesame Street universe where vampires drink cherry Kool-Aid and help kids learn to count
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3e830e986b70d0c90ef1c4d95f2df2f2/89c44291460fd994-17/s1280x1920/37c4a911a4e2216d54798d92bbc34c56b427e21e.jpg)
I didn't want to reblog this actual thread because my sidetracking doesn't need to be on a good and helpful mental health post. BUT. I wanted to ask anyone who has noticed the same thing I have about this topic: why do you think this kind of therapy does not work on the very large percentage of autistic people that it does not work on, including myself. many professionals and laymen have tried this tried-and-true method of subverting depression on me and I will just argue back, and I will have more reasoned arguments than they will. and I will engage with their question ("why do you feel that way") and the proceeding argument in good faith, but the therapist will not be prepared to advance past the professional Jedi mind trick of just telling me my extremely studied reasons for thinking a certain way aren't rational and should simply be abandoned. they don't have any more rabbits in the hat after that. so what the fuck
#i mean i know why#its because my thinking isnt dysfunctional or irrational its actually extremely realistic#but realism gets you depression in this cultural context#the only functional mood mindset is unsupported optimism and naivete#i ask therapists about this too and none of them have ever been able to answer me#i mean i have thirty answers to the rhetorical question in the OP ready to go#i will “win” the argument because the therapist's side is like “existence is its own reward :)” or some shit#and also i need to pay rent and eat so...
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Frat Boy!Gojo
Madri Lager: drunk words
Contents: cursing, just a little conversation between them to set the mood and provide a backdrop for the next fic, not proofread
No fucking way.
There’s just no fucking way.
“Why the hell are you here?” You hiss.
Gojo fucking Satoru strolled into your lecture hall, smug grin on his fuck ugly face, arms folded behind his head and swinging his legs like a maniac. From the doors at the front, he immediately spotted you all the way at the back, sat by your lonesome and you could see his shit-eating grin widen. The whites of his teeth blind you almost as much as his impossibly white hair.
Then, the freak had the audacity to climb the stairs, ignoring the whispering and the pointing, and sat next to you. Well, a seat down because you refused to move your bag, even fought with him a little when he tried to lift it.
He shrugs, slinging an arm around the back of the chair between you, fingertips way too close to your shoulder, and black sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge. “Was feeling bored so here I am.”
Counting to ten, you tried to put on a patient voice, like you’re berating a child, which you pretty much are, and you grit out, “Bored people take up hobbies. Bored people do things like puzzles and cooking and knitting. Bored people don’t crash lectures and bother other people.”
“I love when you lecture me on common knowledge, wifey. It really warms my heart.” To emphasise his stupid point, he presses a hand to his chest and fans his face with the other. “You’re just so smart.”
You slap his hand away when he tries to boop your nose. People are staring, turning their heads like owls as they strained to listen to your conversations. Some people are taking pictures, no doubt sending it to The Bulletin or whatever, because people have nothing better to do than gossip. You hate this attention; the pointing and whispering because of your appearance you’ve learnt to tolerate, but this?
This is just irritating on a different level.
At least once a day, a cheerful stranger comes up to you and asks in bewilderment if you’re Gojo’s fiancee. In fact, they ask if you’re really, actually the future wife of Gojo Satoru like he’s some mythical being and you’re a frumpy little worm. Fuck them. And fuck him.
“Go away, Gojo,” you roll your eyes, typing as much of the lecturer’s notes as you can, a little distracted by the peering eyes around you and the ones running over your clothes .
He sighs and lifts the lace from your dress, rounding the neckline. You feel it tickle your neck, and you fight the urge to shudder. In disgust. With a forced melodramatic tone, he complains, “I’m bored. Entertain me.”
“Are you fucking twelve? Go watch a movie like a normal person.”
“Movies are boring,” he retorts as if it’s fact.
You roll your eyes. “And what? I’m so much more interesting?”
What a stupid question. You really shouldn’t have asked that because the serious expression on his face as he lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug makes you blush. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Did you meet Suguru on the course or was he your piercer first?”
Still typing, you throw him a side glance, feeling suspicious of the sudden change in conversation. But it’s welcomed. “We met on the course. First year. We were in the same class. He’s a good guy.”
Gojo huffs as if he didn’t like your answer.
The piercer’s actually a decent person; he was friendly, smart, and kind. He made long, boring classes feel shorter with his interesting insights and opinions, and he had such a great way of expressing them — he was the most eloquent male you’ve ever met. However, there was always something off about him, like an inner turmoil that neither you nor he could ever quite understand.
It was when he absentmindedly said he was thinking of dropping out that you felt you knew him a little better. You both shared a long talk at the back of the Life Sciences building where your little stroll took you, him smoking and you listening to his mutterings. He spoke of this feeling of being out of place, which you understood better than anyone else, and how the traditional path didn’t suit him. He disappeared for a while, a couple months, and you thought your response might have spooked him. After all, no one ever really comes to you for advice. But when he reached out to offer you a free piercing as his first ever client at his newly opened studio, you realised maybe you are capable of dropping an odd pearl here and there.
“Well, Suguru’s my bestie, so back off,” Gojo pouts.
From your peripheral, you see him eye the big lecture hall and you don’t really know what he’s thinking. It’s an odd realisation to think that Geto, the guy you’ve always kind of admired, is actually friends with this loser – the suggestion that there’s a redeeming quality to the frat guy is one that doesn’t suit you.
Most times he’s easy to read; he wants fun and excitement and thrill. He does whatever’s convenient or interesting, a totally impulsive guy. But there are rare moments, emphasis on rare, where you think there might be something more going on in that huge head of his. Maybe there’s something deeper to him. A maturity and wisdom he’s yet to show.
“Fuck, marry or kill,” he lifts three fingers, “Marx, Satre or Aristotle.”
Yeah, unlikely.
“Gojo, seriously, go away,” you sigh, exasperated. Just five minutes with the guy and you’re already drained. And somehow, you’re expected to live a lifetime with the weirdo?
Satan strike you down.
“Me personally, Satre’s cute but something about big, bushy beards really gets me going. So, it’ll have to be: kill Aristotle, no offence dude, fuck Satre, and marry Marx.”
Two girls in the row in front of you giggle. Your lips turn down in repulsion.
“I’m not sure Marx would like either of us, Gojo,” you give him a pointed look.
He laughs. It’s loud and sudden and he has to say sorry to the entire lecture when it echoes around the hall. Some people laugh at him, or with him, and the lecturer can only shake his head and carry on. This lecturer is strict and merciless when it comes to interruptions, but of course he doesn’t say a thing against the interloper. How could he when there’s a huge placard over the double doors of this building titled ‘From the Loving Hearts of The Gojo Charitable Foundation’?
A couple minutes pass in relative silence, just the tapping of fingers against keyboards and the droning of the professor filling the space, and you think maybe he’s fallen asleep or maybe he’s so bored that he’s actually thinking of leaving.
Of course, neither of those things happen because the universe hates you.
Gojo pokes your side with a pen. You writhe with a blush.
“Oh, ticklish, are we? Very interesting.” He wiggles his brows like an idiot, and you fight the urge to land a punch there. “Our wedding night’s gonna be fun.”
“We’re not going to have one if you had it your way, remember?”
Leaning back in his seat, he taps the pen —where the hell did even get that? He wasn’t carrying a bag— against his chin, considering his words carefully. He shrugs again. “Well, seeing as everyone’s so set on it, I’ve decided to, you could say, open myself to the idea.”
You try to quell the spark of hope there, that maybe your family could be saved, that you’ll be saved. It’s not wise to let that spark fester into something more.
Gojo’s impulsive. Fact.
Gojo’s a thrill-seeker. Fact.
Gojo is an unserious guy set in his bachelor ways. He cannot be relied upon. He cannot be trusted to keep his word.
All facts.
It’s easy for him to be able to have the option to be ‘open’ to an idea, whereas it’s thrusted upon you without much say. He can wake up and make decisions solely based on his urges, but you have to be mindful of the family’s reputation, your father’s bad habits, your mother’s social conservative ways, and the fact that this is all your fault.
“Gojo,” you turn, fixing him with a solemn expression, “don’t do that. Don’t lead me on. I may not want to marry you, but I do want to marry. I must. It’s important to me, so please don’t wave it around like it’s some pretty flag.”
There must be something in your eyes, a graveness or a sombre quality that makes his smile disappear. His brows furrow like he’s trying to understand, trying to piece things together but you’re turning away before he could see.
Clearing his throat, he pokes you again. “Alright. How about this?”
You throw him a doubtful look, worried about what dumbassery is going to leave his mouth.
“Go on a date with me.”
“No.”
“Hey! You said that way too quickly.”
Resuming your typing, you’re already trying to drown him out, focused on the history of pragmatic ethics instead of his humoured tone. He’s suggesting something ridiculous again. As if you’d go on a date with him. Him. The guy who’s been getting in the way, the one who’s been making your life difficult and family dinners awkward, and the one you certainly cannot trust to not set up some trap to humiliate you like in the movies.
“I’m being serious. Let’s go on a date.” Seeing you open your mouth to argue back, he hurriedly adds, “This isn’t fair on me either, y’know? I’m supposed to marry a stranger, one who wears all black and looks like she’d haunt me — not a bad thing, I’m actually kinda into it, question mark? — but my point is, we don’t really know each other. So why don’t we go on a date? It’s a pretty brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you mull it over. Sure, it makes sense, it would be good to get to know the freak you’re marrying or supposed to marry. This is how it should have been in the first place. Plus, your mother would certainly approve; she’d think this is a golden opportunity to secure him, to make him fall for you or whatever Mrs. Bennet thing she’s thinking of.
However, as good as that idea is, you can’t just eagerly agree; there’s no guarantee this isn’t a trap.
“You’re thinking this is a trap, aren’t you?” Your eyes meet his. He’s grinning ear to ear like he’s proud he guessed correctly. “Why don’t you plan the date, then? Set the time and place, that way there’s no way I could have rigged the environment with explosives or something.”
“No pig blood?”
Gojo smiles even brighter, and you have to squint to prevent losing your vision permanently.
“No pig blood.”
#jjk fluff#Gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jjk crack#jjk x you#gojo satoru#modern au
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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader
Summary: Toji loves the cookie dough a little too much.
Warnings: Fluff
*This is for my secret santa in my server🫶 they specifically put down toji for the character they'd like so i was in luck🙂↕️
Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky
“Stop eating the cookie dough!” You scold Toji as he sneaks some of the dough. It wouldn’t matter if it was only a little bit, but you’re not sure that you’ll end up with cookies at this rate.
“You can’t blame me– Itssogood.” He responds with a mouthful of cookie dough, and you roll your eyes. You should’ve known Toji had something up his sleeve when he offered to do something– Toji never offers to help out.
“They’re for Santa! Megumi is going to be upset if he only sees one cookie for Santa.” You slap his hand away when Toji reaches for more. Toji whines, rubbing the spot that your hand just hit as if it actually hurt.
“I’m Santa anyway. If I want to eat them now then–” He begins but you shush him before he can say another word. You know that Megumi has very big ears whenever it’s convenient. The last thing you need is to explain to him that Santa is not in fact some random guy that leaves presents, but his father.
You’re looking around the place, looking for traces of the little guy, and Toji takes the opportunity to sneak some of the dough. You look back at Toji, seeing a devilish smirk on his face as he slowly chews.
“I hope you get salmonella.” You tell him, and a frown comes to his face. He sticks his tongue out at you before walking away.
“Guess my help is not needed then.” He says, as if you were in dire need of him. He joined you in the kitchen unprompted, and started eating your hard work as if it were nothing.
“It never was.” You respond, and he scoffs. You decide to not tell him anything else, opting out of some more bickering. Instead, you’ll just make some more cookie dough.
You turn your back to the bowl, going to the pantry to grab the sugars and flours again. You should’ve known better than to do that when Toji’s nearby. When you turn around, the bowl is gone, and so is Toji.
“Toji, this isn’t funny!” You yell before sighing. You dust off your hands on your apron before walking away from the kitchen and beginning the search for your husband. How can a man his size be so sneaky?
You begin in the living room, then go to your bedroom, until you end up in Megumi’s bedroom. The child is guarding the closet, immediately giving away his father’s hiding spot.
“Come here, Toji, Toji, Toji.” You call out as you walk to the closet. You take slow steps that make Megumi tremble in fear. You smile at the child when you’re in front of him, telling him, “Move out of the way.”
“Santa’s not coming if you open the closet.” Megumi repeats the threat that his father used, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Oh, Megumi, Santa’s not coming if your daddy eats all the cookie dough.” You respond, which makes the child’s eyes well up with tears. He isn’t sure what to do, he’s only five… This is a hard decision to make. Should he listen to you or his father? He just wants new toys, he shouldn’t be put through this.
In the end, Megumi steps aside, letting you open the closet. You slowly open the door that makes you see Toji in a completely different light.
“It’s not that good.” You say as you snatch the bowl out of the man’s strong hands. Toji glares at the little snitch that’s next to you before looking at you.
“Leavemealone!” He has a mouthful of it in his mouth. Toji is not the type to care for sweets, so this is weird for you.
“Get out of there, Toji. How the hell did you even fit in there?” You question, and Toji rolls his eyes.
“Life finds a way.” Toji responds as he attempts to get out of the tiny closet. He won’t lie, getting in was much easier than pulling out– It’s not the first time in his life it happens, it’s how he ended up with Megumi and how you had a pregnancy scare last week. But he’ll find a way.
“Do you want a batch, baby?” You question, and Toji nods as he struggles to get out. “See, all you had to do was ask.”
“Why didn’t you offer since the beginning?”
“Why would I?” You respond, and he clicks his tongue. He falls on his ass in the closet, and he can almost cry. He’s hit rock bottom, and all because of some cookie dough. You’re trying not to laugh as you watch him. Instead, you choose to be helpful by asking, “You need me to call the fire department?”
“Life finds a way.” He repeats.
“Yeah, let me call the fire department.”
#dividers by cafekitsune#toji x y/n#toji zenin#toji fushiguro x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#toji fushiguro#daddy toji#fushiguro toji#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu toji#jjk toji#toji x reader#toji x you#dilf toji#toji fushiguro x you#toji fluff#toji imagine#toji jjk#toji jujutsu kaisen
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day six: not so home for christmas | oscar piastri social media au
pairing: oscar piastri x fem reader
oscar and y/n are having their first christmas in monaco because of a snow storm, unfortunately this also means they're now hosting most of the grid as well.
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
yourusername
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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 137,094 others
tagged: oscarpiastri
yourusername: thanks a lot snow storm :( i guess it's our first ever christmas here in monaco
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user1: yall global warming might just be real
user2: you're only just realising it now ?
charles_leclerc: you kids and your complaining - a white christmas in monaco, what more could you want?
yourusername: a christmas at home with our families?
charles_leclerc: families? when you're in your adopted father-in-law's home city, i'd watch your tone if i were you
oscarpiastri: if you think of your kids as often as you say then you should be worried that your aussie son is going to FREEZE to death :(
charles_leclerc: if it's the bbq you crave, you can still do that?
yourusername: it's snowing? and he is NOT bringing our bbq inside
charles_leclerc: okay jeez, not much christmas spirit here i see
oscarpiastri: we miss our families, sue us
user3: wait... if they couldn't get out of nice... who else couldn't
user4: the storm kicked in like a day ago right?
user5: based on instagram activity, my guess is that max, lando, ollie (idk why he was in monaco anyway), kimi (i think he's attached to ollie), alex (and lily) and george
user6: i know it would never happen but wouldn't it be so cute if we got a grid christmas dinner
yourusername: please don't give them any ideas
oscarpiastri: i only just got rid of them 😩
landonorris: so, just out of interest, is y/n still free to maybe wrap my presents for me?
yourusername: do i look like the christmas fairy to you?
landonorris: well i know for a fact that oscar's ass was not wrapping those presents
oscarpiastri: well y/n actually likes doing things for me soooooo
landonorris: PLEASE Y/N I'LL HAVE TO RESORT TO USING TIN FOIL
yourusername: tin foil... please you are a 25 year old man
landonorris: does it look like i'm a man who has sellotape in his house?
yourusername: no.
user7: y/n is like a full time mum to a load of men all older than her
user8: she better get ready to cook for them at christmas because none of these men can cook for themselves
oscarpiastri
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liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 692,108 others
tagged: yourusername & landonorris
oscarpiastri: i'm not sure how this went from our lonely christmas away from both of our families to babysitting half of the grid but what the hell, sure
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user10: i personally blame all of you for this
user11: and what??? i'm so excited
user12: i hope they post nothing more just to spite your ass
charles_leclerc: i’m kinda offended no one thought of coming to mine :/
maxverstappen1: you’re shit at cooking
charles_leclerc: how would you know?
maxverstappen1: i saw it in your vlog
charles_leclerc: you watch my vlogs???
maxverstappen1: NO?
yourusername: okay queens stop flirting and get back to your stations in the kitchen
charles_leclerc: can we flirt there?
yourusername: if you're still peeling - knock yourselves out
user13: y/n basically confirming lestappen? wow christmas DID come early this year
user14: the real question is why she would let those menaces in the kitchen?
yourusername: i have seen how much these people eat, i need help even from the useless
yourusername: also if they want certain dishes from home they have to help
maxverstappen1: i am CORING AS MANY APPLES AS I CAN I PROMISE THE APPLE BEIGNETS WILL BE WORTH IT
oscarpiastri: i know they will be, y/n is making them
maxverstappen1: okay buddy, i don't see you helping
oscarpiastri: i am keeping everyone else in line, that's a full time job as well
user15: who made the youngest couple in charge of these fools?
user16: a comedic genius
yourusername: they're annoying but i'll deal with them for you
oscarpiastri: you make such sacrifices for me, i love you
yourusername: i love you more
alexalbon: we're really not that bad you guys are being dramatic
yourusername: george walked up to our mantle piece, pointed at my baby picture and said "ugly. my condolences" ?
alexalbon: that's george ? he's mean to everyone
yourusername: HE'S IN THAT BABY'S HOUSE
olliebearman
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liked by charles_leclerc, estebanocon and 418,934 others
tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri & kimiantonelli
olliebearman: first christmas with my big brother :))))
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user17: yall be on oscar about him holding onto the leclerc family joke but the real enemy is ollie
olliebearman: i think it's cute
olliebearman: and it's NOT a joke
user18: you know what? yeah i'd also keep going with the joke i need to get in that leclerc family
olliebearman: the real catch here is y/n she's going to teach me to crochet :)
yourusername: we can make little bear mans !!!
user19: the grid dad stuff was cringey... but grid brother well that's hitting like crack i fear
charles_leclerc: grid dads are cringey ??? count your days
user19: sorry?
charles_leclerc: i (and my family) will NOT tolerate sebastian vettel slander. not now not EVER
fernandoalo_oficial: and me?
charles_leclerc: i couldn't give a fuck about you old man
fernandoalo_oficial: excuse me
fernandoalo_oficial: i'll have you know i am just as much oscar's father as you are
charles_leclerc: and how have you come to that OBVIOUSLY WRONG conclusion
fernandoalo_oficial: WELL i don't know maybe his REAL grid dad is actually mark webber who i have a well documented homoerotic relationship with and therefore oscar and most importantly Y/N are my children
charles_leclerc: what a load of bullshit
charles_leclerc: if grid children were based on homoerotic tension then i'd be father to all of the red bull juniors and max would have custody of the FDA
maxverstappen1: well....
pepemarti: hi !!!
dinobeganovic: hey.....
yourusername: what happened to the original plot of the movie
user20: i think the cabin fever is getting to them
lilymunhe: no they're like this all of the time it's exhausting
yourusername: tell me about it
olliebearman: but not me :(
yourusername: no we love you
oscarpiastri: you are the least annoying one
olliebearman: omg thank you :3
yourusername
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tagged: oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc & landonorris
yourusername: not so home for christmas but with family nonetheless
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user22: what was the dress code here?
landonorris: what we had left? all the dry cleaners are closed because of the storm
yourusername: you take ALL of your clothes to the dry cleaners?
landonorris: why wouldn't i do that...
yourusername: yk what, whatever !
user23: omg of course leo was there as well
yourusername: we only invited charles for him
charles_leclerc: excuse me?
landonorris: he was invited ????
oscarpiastri: well he was staying in monaco anyway and you guys all invoked your squatters rights in my house so what was one more
landonorris: i am not squatting? my ass is already big enough as it is
yourusername: i know your ass is big because YOU'RE ALWAYS SAT ON IT
oscarpiastri: god i love you
yourusername: i love you even more
oscarpiastri: nuh uh not possible
yourusername: i love you so much i'm not even that angry about half of the grid crashing our christmas
oscarpiastri: i love you so much that i personally barged a child out of the way to get you your eras tour merch
yourusername: i do love my merch.... but not as much as i love you
oscarpiastri: you're so romantic
georgerussell63: right that's it, i am SICK of you people pretending you are not enjoying our presence
yourusername: did i or did i not say family ???
oscarpiastri: george i'd appreciate if you didn't talk to y/n this way
maxverstappen1: yeah back the fuck off
georgerussell63: why is max here?
maxverstappen1: ummmm y/n busted her ass to make apple beignets for me so i had some netherlands with me at christmas so i would die for her. i am somwhat fond of oscar as well
maxverstappen1: so fuck with them, you fuck with me
maxverstappen1: and you seem to like doing that recently
yourusername: awwww thanks max!
oscarpiastri: we are fond of you too buddy
georgerussell63: how did i lose this?
user24: max out here getting wags on his side
maxverstappen1: that's my ma
maxverstappen1: wait that makes my homoerotic tension with charles incest
maxverstappen1: that's my home girl
oscarpiastri
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d98813e4edba07665199558e0c6b2e00/053fff6025dd889a-f7/s540x810/f21fd23c65c914cf61c228a026978d0864807a7f.jpg)
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liked by landonorris, jackdoohan and 1,094,577 others
tagged: yourusername
oscarpiastri: y/n absolutely smashed our makeshift grid christmas and she said she'll accept thanks in qualifying tows or easy passes on track 👍
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user25: oh they want me dead
user26: i would do questionable things to get a slice of that cake
user27: drop the recipe please xxx
yourusername: oh babe i be following the tiktoks like the rest of yall - i'll repost it
user28: woman of the people
yourusername: babe i don't really remember saying those exact words...
oscarpiastri: PLEASE ! they don't say no to you now you've filled their stomachs
landonorris: he's not wrong
maxverstappen1: you're in my will now
charles_leclerc: you're now my favourite daughter in law
yourusername: i'm your only daughter in law?
charles_leclerc: idk kimi and ollie are pretty attached with their weird tension
landonorris: like father like son
charles_leclerc: huh?
landonorris: huh?
oscarpiastri: ^^ see !!!! y/n please !!!
yourusername: fine.
yourusername: thank you all for coming, i hope you enjoyed dinner and your time with us. i loved spending time with you all but if you wish, i will be accepting thanks in the form of qualifying tows and easy passes for oscar or pornstar martinis from any hospitality
yourusername: happy?
oscarpiastri: yes
oscarpiastri: YOU HEARD THE WOMAN GUYS
maxverstappen1: oh i love y/n but i'd rather put you in the wall than let that ugly orange car past without a fight
georgerussell63: @fia i told yall
yourusername: are you ever gonna give that up ?
georgerussell63: no? and i KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO SAT ME NEXT TO HIM AT DINNER
yourusername: you'll never prove it :P
user29: oscar is such a sassy man
yourusername: he gets it from his momma
oscarpiastri: and you :)
yourusername: i will say your ability to watch my reality tv with you is a big factor in how much i love you
landonorris: is that why oscar once woke me up the night before a race by shouting "get her ass lisa" ???
oscarpiastri: we watch real housewives together on facetime :)
charles_leclerc
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liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and 1,130,672 others
tagged: yourusername & oscarpiastri
charles_leclerc: i made the right choice in son and most importantly daughter in law
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user31: okay the cinnamon buns have thrown me over the edge now
user32: i NEED to know who asked for them
alexalbon: guilty 💅 and they slapped thanks y/m
oscarpiastri: we've been dating for years? like when i was still in f3?
charles_leclerc: semantics
oscarpiastri: no i met and charmed y/n all on my own thank you very much
charles_leclerc: because she saw the future and the potential of our prosperous family !!!
oscarpiastri: at this point, whatever you wanna hear old man
charles_leclerc: relegated below ollie
olliebearman: score !!!
user33: oh these people are never letting this joke die are they
user34: i think we're stuck with it
charles_leclerc: are you people sick of whimsy ???
charles_leclerc: i am ALLOWED to flex my son's amazing choice in women, especially a woman who will make me a swiss roll on demand
yourusername: he does have amazing taste
oscarpiastri: thank you :3
yourusername: as much as you guys were somewhat annoying, we had an amazing christmas xx
oscarpiastri: please do not bother us until march
charles_leclerc: fine. but we're still on for the double date in melbourne?
charles_leclerc: (maybe triple? idk ollie can just bring kimi)
kimiantonelli: score !!!
yourusername: we would love to !
oscarpiastri: i guess you could meet my actual family ?
charles_leclerc: not now oscar, let me enjoy chritmas with you all before you remind me of that
oscarpiastri: okay?
user35: y/n and oscar actually have the patience of saints because if these clowns crashed my christmas i'd be on the news
yourusername: any christmas is perfect with him
oscarpiastri: with y/n, i can get through even the most annoying people
user35: okay yall didn't have to flex on me that hard damn
fin.
note: here's day six! i'm not sure if you guys saw my update post but this series won't be done by christmas day but will stretch to NYE because unfortunately my cat has to be put down :( i've had him for nearly 19 years and it's really hard to think about him being gone so i'm just spending as much time as possible with him atm. anyway, i hope you enjoyed !! xx
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#oscar piastri instagram au#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri social media au#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri smau
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Dinner, Dinner!
—jason misses your anniversary dinner, but makes it up to you…MDNI
"Would you like to browse our dessert menu, madam?" The waiter asks in a thick French accent as he stretches his arm out to pour your second glass of wine.
Your brain is fogged as your fingers fiddle with the stem of the glass as you swirl the crimson liquid around, splashing all sides of the glass.
"Madam?" The waiter repeats. You hadn't even realized you hadn't answered his previous question. You flick your eyes to his.
"I…um—sorry, can you repeat the question?" Your mind is clouded with a storm of fury and hurt. Jason, your boyfriend, had forgotten your anniversary dinner, leaving you to endure the sympathetic glances of strangers as they noticed the empty seat across from you.
"Of course, madam. I asked if you would like to see the dessert menu," the waiter repeats, his voice a distant echo. You turn your head to the empty seat in front of you, the thought of enduring the restaurant's atmosphere a daunting prospect.��
"Could I just have the cremé brûlée?" You finally ask, your eyes still fixed on the empty seat, your voice trembling slightly. "In a to-go box, please."
It was the first dessert you and Jason shared at this very restaurant, three years ago today.
"Of course," the waiter said curtly, turning slightly before you raised your voice.
"And, um, could you take the other wine glass?" You awkwardly ask. He simply nods again, carefully placing the stem between his index and middle fingers upside down before turning away to tend to another table.
You should just leave.
It was clear he wasn't coming.
A light smile etched into your face as the waiter set the to-go box with the fancy dessert. You carefully reached into your purse, steadily gripping your wallet to pay. The waiters brought his hands up, shaking his head side-to-side.
"Please. No payment is necessary, madam. Enjoy the dessert," he says kindly. You sniffle, a stray tear falling down your face. You nod gently, issuing a strained, 'Thank you.'
He curtly nods, turning to go back into the kitchen. You gather your things, including the dessert, and move to walk out of the front door.
Upon stepping outside, you are met with the cold Gotham air. Your dress even sways in the wind as you walk, and your heels clank against the pavement.
The walk home wasn't too long, maybe six minutes or so, but God, did it feel like an eternity. All you could think about was how hurt and disappointed you were and what you would say to Jason when you inevitably saw him.
Your brain tried to conjure all the reasons he didn't show.
Did he forget, or did he purposefully not come?
Now, you knew it couldn't be the latter, Jason wasn't a dick.
He was just an idiot.
Your thoughts continued as you stuck your key in the lock and carefully twisted it to unlock your front door, pushing it open quickly.
You set your purse down on a table next to the door, glancing at a framed photo of you and Jason happily eating ice cream on Jason's birthday last year.
You felt sick.
You quickly flick your attention away as your eyes begin to well with hot tears, easing your way into the kitchen. You stand on the cold tile for a minute before getting a sudden inspiration rush.
You didn't want to think about him any longer tonight. You'd prepare a hot tea, watch a movie, or perhaps even read a good book.
Yes. That sounded like a fine plan.
As you were steeping the leaves in hot water, a knock on the front door pulled your attention away. You left the bag to steep and returned to the door. Pulling the door open, you were met with Red Hood—aka your boyfriend, Jason—gripping a bouquet of fresh flowers.
You're tempted to slam the door in his pretty face, but you don't—not yet, anyway.
"I'm an asshole," he says, his voice distorted from his modulator.
The sight was ridiculous; if you weren't so pissed, you'd laugh.
He realizes the absurdity of the situation. "God damn, fuckin' helmet," he irritably gruffs, ripping off his helmet. Your eyes widen, your mouth hanging open.
Anyone could simply walk by and figure out who the highly sought-after vigilante was.
"Jason, you can't just—get inside!" You grip his arm, dragging him inside the confines of your home—an action you immediately regret.
"Fuck, baby," he begins. "I'm—I'm so sorry," his tone is sincere as he anxiously drags his hands through his hair.
"I looked like an idiot, Jason," you breathe out, reaching for the bouquet of flowers he brought.
Hell, it wasn't their fault Jason was stupid.
"I know—" he says, following you into your kitchen as you fill a vase with water for the flowers.
"A fucking idiot," you snap, setting the flowers gently into the water. You reach for a pair of scissors. "I requested an extra wine glass when I sat down, and I had to be the one to tell him to take it away," you angrily say, snipping some of the leaves off.
"Baby, I'm really, really sorry. I got caught up with—"
"Where were you?" You set the scissors down, turning to look at him.
"Dick needed some help scouting a potential crime circuit in Blüdhaven," he sighs. "He told me it wouldn't take long. Should've known better," he wipes his hand over his face, hissing at the contact.
Your eyes sweep over his face, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruises that now taint his face. Fresh blood prickled from some; others were caked in layers of it.
"Are you hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your words.
He raises a brow. "Don't worry about me, Sweetheart. I'll be alright. I'm more concerned about you," he admits honestly.
"You're bleeding," you observe, wincing at the sight.
"Just a hair," he lightly smiles. "I'm okay."
Sure, you were pissed at your boyfriend, but you wouldn't let him be in agony like he was.
He was bleeding, for God's sake.
"Let me clean them up," you simply say.
"No, no. I'm fine—" he began, shaking his head lightly.
"Please," you insist.
He huffs, then accepts defeat. He takes your hand stretched out and follows you to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet as you fumble through your medicine cabinet to gather band-aids and Neosporin.
"I hope it's okay. I, um, only have these band-aids," you awkwardly say, holding up a box with a familiar blue hero on the cover.
"Baby, why do you have Nightwing band-aides?" He questions skeptically.
"Dick brought them to white elephant last year, and I got stuck with them," you lightly laugh. "He's a horrible gift-giver."
Jason laughs. "Promise to remind me to take them off before I leave. He cannot see me with these on. He'd have a damn field day," he grumbles as you laugh.
"I promise I'll remind you," you affirm, pulling a small step ladder in front of him so you could sit before carefully squirting a bit of the ointment out onto your pointer finger and pressing it to each of Jason's cuts.
He barely winces or whines as you continue the action, delicately tending to each cut. His eyes wander to yours, focusing heavily with determination on what you are doing, even sticking your tongue out to concentrate.
"I don't deserve this," he heaves as you open some band-aids.
"What? To have ten Nightwing band-aides on you all at once?" You laugh, carefully laying each of the band-aids over the cuts.
He snickers. "That and you taking care of me."
You pull back slightly. "What?"
"I ruined our anniversary tonight. I left you alone in that restaurant and, look at you, still taking care of me," he exasperates. "I don't deserve you."
You frown. "Don't say that. I mean, ya, it was shitty, but just because you did something shitty one time or even twice doesn't make you undeserving of my love, Jason," you gently say, fingers moving to caress his jaw on their own volition.
He leans into your hand. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you."
Jason and you have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands, of "I love yous" throughout your relationship, but this one felt different.
It felt more like a sacred prayer spilling from his lips—a tender plea from the depths of his soul. It felt all that much more divine.
You found yourself leaning to kiss his lips, your hands moving to thread through his hair. His lips instantly moved with yours, and his hand gripped your cheek.
It was a tender kiss—an 'I'm sorry,' wrapped in an 'It's okay.'
As the seconds passed, the kiss became more fervent—urgent. You even slipped off the step ladder and moved onto Jason's lap. He welcomed you with open arms, encasing you tightly with each of his hands on your hips as you straddled him.
Your hands glided through his hair messily and eagerly as his hands massaged the fat of your hips. You let out a whine that Jason catches as he slips his tongue in your mouth.
You find yourself rocking against him, desperate for friction. He groans, gripping your thighs tightly as he stands with you, guiding you towards your bedroom.
Never once did your lips disconnect.
He gently lays you on the bed as he hastily sheds his boots, armored jacket, gloves, and pants. Your breathing is labored as you follow suit, gingerly slipping off your simple black dress and kicking off your heels, revealing your matching red bra and pantie set you had worn.
Jason stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers, eyes soaking you in.
"What?" You question nervously, feeling self-conscious with his eyes so focused on you.
"Did you—did you wear that for me?" He asks lazily.
Your lips quip. "Duh. Who else?" You giggle. "You like it?"
He lets out a dry laugh, moving to hover over your body, sticking his arm out to stabilize himself so as not to crush you. "I think I need to take a closer look," he cheekily says, moving his mouth closer to the strap of the bra, taking it between his teeth, pulling a little, then flicking it back. You let out a small whine, feeling the fabric snap back on your skin.
"Sure is sturdy," he observes, fingers coming to slip it down your shoulder. "And a nice color," he murmurs into your shoulder, sending goosebumps down your arm.
"Ya?" You idly question as his lips skim your collarbone.
"Mhm. It's very nice, Baby," he mumbles into your skin, fingers moving to skim the band of your panties. "And these," he begins. "Don't even get me started." He lightly nips your skin with his teeth, eliciting another whine.
His fingers slip under the band, pulling them down so they sit around your lower thighs. "Ah, there she is," he coos, cupping your dripping cunt with his hand.
"Jason," you moan, pushing yourself into his hand more.
"What, Baby?" His words were low and dragged out, almost breathy.
"I—I need more," you groan, hand moving to rest on his hand on you, encouraging more movement from him.
"I'll do you one better," he takes his hand away, making you frown, though he moves to slip his boxers down, showcasing his erect cock.
He strokes himself once before guiding himself into your entrance, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly as he pushes himself inside your cunt. You hiss at the contact, gripping his shoulders tightly.
He groans as one of his hands comes to grip behind your neck, and the other moves to lift your leg up slightly so he can grip your thigh, giving a better angle as he moves at a consistent pace.
A desperate mewl escapes your mouth as his pace fastens. Jason's hand has moved to rest on your breast in your bra as he throws his head back, groaning and spewing curses.
You sit up slightly, gripping his neck, pulling him down to your lips. He kisses you roughly, even sucking your bottom lip in the process. You bring your leg up to wrap around his torso, pushing him even more deeply; he groans as his hand slides to grip the hinge of your leg.
"Jay, I'm gonna—" You begin breathlessly.
"I know, Baby. I know," he purrs into your mouth. "Feel so good."
You grip his neck tighter, lips pressing into his shakily, as you feel yourself tighten around him. All you have had to do was moan his name into his mouth to have him following suit, even moving one hand to grip the sheets beneath as he comes.
You're both gasping for air. Jason eases himself out of you and plops beside you, pulling you close so your face rests on his chest.
"As far as orgasms go, that one was great," you pant, fingers moving to trace the lines between Jason's abs.
"Ya? Do I get a golden star?" He tuts, fingers playing with your hair.
"Sorry, Babe. I only give golden stars for extra credit," you jest, looking up at him.
"Extra credit, you say?" He asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "I think I can do that." He lifts up abruptly, getting off the bed.
"What're you—" You begin to question before he's tugging you towards him by your ankles, planting his face in between your legs.
"Jay!" You shriek, though make no effort to move as his tongue lapses at your sensitive clit.
"I really want that golden star," he mumbles into you.
a/n: finally finished this fic that has been haunting my drafts for months upon months ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ)
reblogs & comments are encouraged!
#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: rylea writes#jason todd smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd#fanfic#dc#dc fanfic#dc comics#dc fanfiction#dc red hood#dc x reader#dc universe#dc jason todd#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd fic#jason todd fanfic#red hood x reader#red hood#red hood fanfiction#red hood dc#red hood x you#red hood x fem!reader#jason todd x you#jason todd imagine#red hood imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x fem!reader#dc x female reader#red hood smut#nightwing
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bush enthusiast vi… mhm mhm 🫡 cw: nsfw utc. wlw. swéaríng. cúnņılınġus. pet names (cupcake, babe, etc.). unshaven reader if u couldn’t tell. this woman’s a múnch and i’m dying on that hill. not proofread.
to say vi was surprised was an understatement.
inside, she was almost distraught. first you were making out on your couch, then her hand slipped under your shirt and that’s when it started to get heated. she was kissing down the valley of your breasts, feeling you up, all the way down to your stomach and right before she could reach her heaven between your legs—
“vi, wait,” you stopped her. your hand, previously cradling the back of her head, grasped slightly at her hair, tugging ever so slightly at the strands.
she looks up at you with the most confused gaze. you’ve never stopped her from going down on you before. had she gone too quick? had she made you uncomfortable, hurt you? there were a million questions running through her head. but, only one came out.
“what’s wrong, cupcake?” she asked, palms pressing into your thighs. she was in between your legs, calves thrown over her broad shoulders. she never tried to deny it was her favorite position. she could die with a smile if it meant being buried between your legs.
“you… don’t want me to…?” her breath was right on your pelvis as she looked up at you, almost like a confused puppy. “i mean, not gonna make you, you just— never say no, yknow?”
“i know, i—“ you blush a bit at being called out like that. she wasn’t lying, you never said no to her eating you out. not her fault her tongue game was diabolical, to say the least.
“it’s just…” you paused, caressing the back of her head slightly as you wonder how to phrase it, unsure of how she would react. until you said to hell with it… you’ve been dating for long enough. surely she would understand, right?
“i haven’t shaved,” you whispered, almost so quiet she couldn’t hear it.
she blinks up at you a few times, the silence stretching out between you. you can’t look at her, embarrassment growing.
“so-“
“so what?”
she cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, squeezing your thighs a little tighter.
“you think i care about that, babe?” she chuckled. it wasn’t a mocking sound, but it was genuinely amused. like the mere idea of her not pleasuring you because you haven’t shaved was ridiculous. because, to be fair, it was.
“come on. i spent years in prison. you think i shaved back then?” she hooked a thumb under the hem of your underwear, not letting you protest as she shuffles your thighs a bit so she can pull them off and be met with your already wet cunt—just waiting for her. she kisses your clit, open-mouthed and messy and needy. her nose is pressed against the hair you tried to hide, shamelessly, as she licks a long stripe from your swollen nub and down your slit, briefly licking your slick entrance. she pulls away only for a second, just to speak, breath hot against your exposed cunt:
“you’re fuckin’ crazy if you think a little hair’s gonna stop me from eating this pretty fucking pussy.”
𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ
#╰┈➤BOOTYCALLIN⨾#𝟷𝟷:𝟷𝟷 ⋮ blurbs .#lesbian#wlw#arcane x female reader#arcane smut#arcane#vi arcane#vi x you#vi x reader#vi x female reader#x reader
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ROOT ROT
possessed!scholar husband x reader|3.7k| 18+
following your cold and reticent husband's return from settling affairs with his deceased uncle's estate, he has changed and done things unheard of. once a great lover of botany and entomology, he has razed his garden to the ground as proof of his love to you. this man—this thing—os not your husband.
warnings;; pseudo-victorian setting, dubcon, mentioned dp, mentioned temperature play, cumshot on body, cum eating, other explicit sexual details, mentions of drug use (opium), unrequited love, hypnosis/trance, some horrific imagery, detail & prose heavy, roughly proofread.
this is a companion piece to imposter. you don't have to read it, but if you want a better idea of what is going on, I suggest you do!
a/n; I reappear after a month hiatus with this piece. I have questions and notes at the end of the fic that I'd love to have feedback to!
please reblog this if you've read it, guys! help keep your favorite writing and authors on this website by reblogging their work!!
“He is simply not himself!”
Bartolomé Medina knew his best friend better than you knew your husband, so you believed him when he said that your husband’s newly acquired, increasing eccentricities were not some fictitious imagining of yours.
Although, Medina himself could not explain the unexplainable and all of the oddness without growing visibly flustered.
A bit flushed in the face, singeing the roundness of his ears. He'd stamp out your justifications for strangeness in the same way he did the fine cigars he'd been accustomed to sharing with his friend, yet had not for quite sometime now.
“And you say his garden is dead?” Medina looked stricken with dread, suddenly ill by repeating something so blasphemous. “Now, my dear, please don't mistake my shock as disbelief. I very much believe in what you're saying. I've seen Solomon and his weirdness! Why, just this morning over breakfast, at a time where you were still tucked away in deep sleep, he wouldn't drink his coffee. So bizarre! That man knows the thousands of tastes and varieties of coffee beans, and he spat the very stuff out on the floor like it'd never once touched his tongue!
“But his garden? A botanist without his garden is like a bird without wings. A dog without a tail to wag. A newborn without his mother’s teat! Vulgar, I understand, but you see my point.” He drank from a heavy glass in his hand. The inside had nearly spilled over at one point with light brown which glittered gold under the overhead light, smelling slightly sour and earthy. “To think that Solomon would let it all die. Something is wrong. Something has happened to my only true friend and to your husband.”
You did not drink with any enthusiasm or anguish from your own cup, rather you used those seconds of delicate sipping to gap the conversation, separate yourself from it all for just a moment. You'd had your time to grieve and contend with knowing the man you had married and come to love was not the same one who kept you awake at night.
Solomon had once been a reclusive and reticent man, the only son of David Agrippa and sole heir of the Agrippa Diamond Mines and Jewelry Galleria. He'd never been able to replicate his father's ardor for business and entrepreneurship, choosing towards academic ventures of entomology and botany and most of everything belonging to the natural world instead.
Among his most prized things was a sprawling, domed greenhouse made of large sheets of pale blue-green glass soldered with metal which shifted rose-gold in bright daylight.
“I loved his garden, but I didn't much like to be in there with him,” you confessed, forgetting your manners as you kept your cup still against your lips, mumbling your words. “He liked to tell me about the plants and flowers he grew. Most of it I could never hope to understand, but… I loved seeing him come alive. He seemed to glow when he could tell me things, so I got into the habit of listening to him when he wanted to speak.”
Medina, not yet drunk or driven to any untoward behavior, set aside his empty vessel with jittering ice cubes and looked at you admiringly. “You said that you didn't like being in there with him? Why?”
“The bees. The bugs. The humidity. The fertilizer he liked to use because of the nitrogen content. He told me that it mattered what he used and couldn't just break up soil from the yard.” You said, tilting your cup.
After taking another sip, you determined you hated the taste of the liquor and how it slid down along your throat like fire trailing an oil spill, yet clung there with residual, syrupy stickiness that nearly made you gag.
“Why did you keep going inside?” Medina asked tranquilly, much of his previous frustration softened, body and soul warmed by the alcohol and how fondly he regarded your sweetness towards his friend.
You thought very little before answering, “I wanted to be where he was. It didn't matter to me if that meant his greenhouse or the coldest part of the arctic.”
That was the truth of it. Once you'd received the first crumbs of understanding who Solomon truly was beneath his stolid exterior built brick-by-brick from tragedy and grief and a lifetime of emotional ineptitude, you would've gone to any length to see more of him. To see his pale eyes gain a wild, flickering candlelight of passion, and the faintest of trembling smiles disguising how deeply your questions had aroused his soul.
In those moments, he revealed to you the things he loved the most and what you envied the most: the natural world.
The flittering, fat-bodied pollinators whose entire world were yellow and red flowers with succulent centers and lush, girthy leaves where they'd rest their weary, iridescent wings and could never understand your husband's appreciation of them.
The thousands of specimens he'd collected from every corner of the world and articulated thoughtfully against wood and felt. Their dead little limbs were pinned in place; perfect mimicry of how they would've been if still alive and crawling. He’d had them all meticulously framed and arranged across the walls in his office; trophies of his success, of his studies and hard work.
The innumerable plants and flowers he trimmed and watered in his greenhouse and the ones not contained within it. Some species he had planted in the yard, others in the cool shade of the nearby woods where they smothered native varieties with tendrils-like vines and climbed upside trees. More aquatic species were placed by the edge of the lake, growing into the water; buoyant; a woman's deep dark hair reaching forever for the surface.
He had turned the lonely, sprawling estate into a monument of life, of love that did not belong to you. And for that, sometimes you hated living there. Hated the things that he loved.
Choking the plants, poisoning their roots with any number of things from your father’s pharmacy crossed your mind more than once.
Feeding the bees something enticingly sweet and deadly; filling the greenhouse with noxious gas at night while they slept on their big leaves and your husband in his bed. It would've been such an easy thing for you to do—own your husband's grief as you held his face in your hands and comforted him in the morning when all had atrophied and rotted.
But, those feelings had become a reality you truly never wished to have seen after Solomon returned from his deceased uncle's estate months ago.
He was not the same man.
“Tell me what happened.” Medina’s voice buzzed in your ear from nearby, closer than it had been before. Your hand was caressed by tight warmth—his holding yours, his handsome face looking up at you from where he had crouched in front of your chair. “Tell me everything you've seen. It's of grave importance that you remember it all, as curing Solomon from his affliction relies solely upon you.”
You could not deny his earnestness, the squeeze of his fingers. A promise that he would not be easily shattered by what you had to say, and would think no less of his friend for it. Within his sincere stare, you saw the gleam of another, secret promise. The likes of which you pretended not to see, that he'd never speak of out loud.
“I…” you distracted yourself with the embroidery on your clothes, pinching loose threads and beads. “It was subtle, at first. I noticed some of the bees were dead on the ground. And then some plants had started developing spots. Leaves turned brown and yellow and fell off. A lot of them withered, even though their soil was still damp when I checked…”
And then, the morning came where you witnessed Solomon among a carnage of broken stalks weeping foul-smelling sap, leaves he'd ripped apart with his own hands, and some of his larger flowering plants with fiery manes completely severed. Their bountiful heads lay at his feet, flattened by the heel of his boot as he walked aimlessly, snipping and tearing indiscriminately.
“My god, Solomon! Stop!” you stepped around the countless tiny, contracted bodies of bees and other pollinators to reach him. He let go of the gardening shears as you grabbed them. “What are you doing?! What have you done?! Decades of work! Gone! Are you mad?!”
“Well, you've gone and ruined my surprise for you. I've been working on it for hours. I didn't expect you would be awake so soon.” Solomon said, sounding much like himself despite the savagery he stood surrounded by. He smiled at you in an unfamiliar way, as if trying to navigate his facial muscles around a mask. “Isn't it simply wonderful?”
The sweltering humidity trapped within this greenhouse of death had turned the air stagnant and foul, heavily pungent of detritus and mildew. Across all zones of the greenhouse, once painstakingly organized and labeled for the purpose of easier cataloging, no slithers of greenery or color remained. Each step you took in any direction seemed to sink you deeper into the decay, wet gurgling underfoot as you crossed stumpy mounds of plants and flowers he'd destroyed and thrown into piles.
“How could you? My husband spent almost twenty years building this garden and studying it. This was his life’s work!” You wished you could force life back into the severed plants; pray that the ground of yellow-brown waste would suddenly freckle with tiny, green sprouts and grow with thick stalks and thorns to keep his hands away.
“I am your husband.” Solomon took the gardening shears from your hand and tossed them aside. He leaned into your body, nose and lips pressed into the fabric covering your neck. “I've only done what you wanted. What you wished you could've done yourself, but never did.”
You flinched against the movement of his hands smoothing down your waist to the notches in your hips. Sliding inward, he unfastened the hook-and-loops and buttons holding your trousers up to push them down your thighs along with your undergarments.
“I know your thoughts and what you really think. I've been listening the entire time. I've always been listening.” Solomon let his hips roll along the back of his hand while he used his fingers to lay long, languid strokes on you. “It was tiring, wasn't it? Always competing for love and affection in a place like this. You were never going to have what you wanted. Not with this place still standing. Not with his ineptitudes and selfishness.”
His touch weakened you indescribably; like the caress of heat from the fireplace against your bare skin once the opium had taken effect. Swapping tiny pills on wet tongues with your maid until they'd dissolved into saliva and into your cheeks. You explored one another's bodies thoroughly on those cold nights, silky with sweat from the fire and exertion.
Yet, this was not the same as back then when the sexual appetite of two teenagers transcended societal morals.
Solomon encompassed you in a feeling; consumed you without ever digging into you with his teeth or nails. He could whisper hideous secrets and depravities to you to tip you over into searing euphoria. He had once penetrated you with a hot metal phallus resting on top of his own, thrusting with both until the metal cooled, and you still came anyway.
He'd put worse inside your body and done far worse than that in only a few short months since returning home, yet he never tired of the torture and you remained malleable and enthralled by it all.
“God, you are beautiful. And you are mine.” Solomon had maneuvered both your bodies to the ground, atop of the soggy detritus. Your back was exposed to the mush, leaves, and crushed flower petals, weight pushing an indentation in the loose soil. “This is the fruition of your desires, darling. Don't you love it? Destroying what he loved so you could have it all?”
The one who came back to you was not Solomon; the one fucking you into waste and dirt was not Solomon, either. You told yourself you needed to love imposter as well, because he looked like your husband; wore his signet ring, too.
At night, you imagined only his softest expressions behind clenched eyelids when he wanted to have his way with you, as something else entirely took his place. A creature so diabolical and unsightly that the servants now awaited your screams to rouse them awake in the murky midnight hours.
Every time they arrived with their candlesticks and oil lanterns, the thrusting spectre receded into the dark as a black mass hardly distinguishable from shadow.
Only Solomon would remain, and he was swift to send the servants away before they could see your improper, disheveled state sprawled across the bed sheets.
In the daytime light, his face stayed familiar and comforting to you and you could bear to see him, form some coherent words.
“Someone might—might see us out here, Solomon. Mr. Medina is supposed to—oh, oh, mmm—he’s due to arrive at any time.” You were given several long kisses, which turned into severe caresses of hot breath when his thrusts turned savage, cock reaching so deep you were starting to feel numb below the waist. A feverous response. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
He adjusted himself to lay on your chest, the sweat on your bodies offering an effortless glide and new angle for his cock that made your moans deeper and dire. Such sounds, whether in agony or pleasure, were melodious to him. Addicting drags from a pipe in an opium den; an alcoholic's first sip at breakfast; a cheating man's night with a new lover.
“Wouldn't you like for them to see that? For someone to witness you being fucked into the ground? Surrounded by everything their master loved?” Solomon tucked his face into the curve of your neck and groaned, hips slow and stuttering. “Bartolomé would be the one to find it most tantalizing. His only friend in the world ruining the only person he's ever loved. Wouldn't that be a sight? We could invite him to watch.”
At the time, it had been quite jarring to learn Bartolomé harbored those silent, ardent feelings for you. It had sufficiently pulled you from whatever trance Solomon had lulled you into, reacquainting you with all the sounds of sex and the filth clinging to your skin. It was as though your mind had been locked into a mostly airless, noiseless void that he controlled and released at will.
You held tight to his shoulders as he molded you deeper into the muck and plant litter. The squat, friable walls of soil holding your shape like the cushions in a tomb, whereas Solomon was the man lowering you into the dark earth; the last to see your face before covering it in clay and dirt.
He was in your ear with loud moans that resonated through you, simultaneously as carnal as a beast amidst its seasonal rut, and velvety as the feathery smooth glide of fingers down your spine. His throat rumbled against you, resembling the intensity of a purring housecat nestled near your head in contentment.
At his tipping point, he removed his cock from your body and used the slippery stuff glistening off it to stroke himself; weepy, deep red tip to the base. You received the aftermath of his release in thick ropes across your abdomen and chest, the warmth of it already cooling on your skin while he continuously kneaded the head to force out what remained as if they were dewdrops made from pearls.
“How do you think Bartolomé would fare seeing you like this?” Solomon swept two fingers through the cum in an elegant curl to smear it around his cock. The viscous white thinned into pale gloss on his girth and a sticky residue inside his hand.
Your lips parted to give an answer, but his fingers and taste were faster than your words.
“And… that is all? Truly?” Bartolomé asked, shattering your visions of the recent past as he revealed a compact silver case from inside his vest, pulling a cigarette from within it. “You simply walked into the garden one morning and saw that he had destroyed everything? He gave you no explanation whatsoever?”
The imposter had stolen much of your dignity over the months, but enough of it remained for you to omit every significant detail from your story. You'd only told him that Solomon had cut the heads off of rare flowers, mumbled in a disorienting way, and gave you no difficulty with the gardening shears.
Bartolomé went away from your side for an open window across the spacious sitting room, matching his cigarette and blowing gray plumes out into the dense summer air.
“This is concerning.” He spoke loud enough for you to hear, even with his thumbnail tracing the underside of his lower lip, muffling him somewhat. “Solomon is considerably worse off than I first thought. We need to investigate this, retrace his every step since the moment he left you that night for his uncle's estate.”
“Oh, Bartolomé, that will be very unnecessary.” Solomon announced himself as he walked in through the open doors, offering you a tepid smile, which came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. Your chair jostled slightly as he stood behind it, a weighty hand landing on the tall back above your head. “Why trouble yourself with employing some ludicrous scheme when you could, ah, inquire as to what haunts you instead?”
Bartolomé tamped out his cigarette on the windowsill and pocketed it. “You are ill, Solomon. You may be suffering from some form of hysteria. It's time you visited a doctor, my old friend.”
“Well, that just isn't true.” Solomon kept the neutrality in his tone, but you tracked a rumble of agitation; a warning not far off. His hand followed the curvature of the chair down to the arm that you leaned against, fingers touching your shoulder, lightly kneading you through your clothes.
He was sure to be in Bartolomé’s eyesight as he did this, further aggravating the heavy disquiet. You didn't dare to move out of reach of his touch.
“But, it is true, Solomon!” Bartolomé insisted, gesturing toward the window. “What of your garden? All of your life's work now means nothing, you damned fool! You've snapped, old boy. See a doctor before you do something you regret.”
“That garden was more a source of misery than it was a boon. At any rate, I'm quite finished listening to you harp at me for one night, my dear friend.” Solomon lightly stroked down your cheek with bent fingers, coaxing you to look up at him. “It's time for bed, darling. Us impropertious brutes have kept you up for too long.”
You hesitated, and then stood when Solomon took your arm. “Alright.”
“As usual, your accommodations should exceed expectations. I'll have a servant wake you for breakfast again tomorrow.” It was too soon to call those Solomon's departing words to Bartolomé, as he stopped with you in the doorway, your hand caressing the meat of his forearm. “You know, Bartolomé, I would recommend marrying soon. There is no greater feeling than having the one you love so close to you, don't you think?”
Bartolomé became unreadable as he fished a hand into his vest pocket for the cigarette case again. You were led away for the bedroom before anything else could be said, but you knew that Solomon had struck a nerve.
“That was cruel.” you said.
Once in the bedroom, your back was pressed flush to the door while he unfastened the buttons to your outerwear and the blouse underneath it. Solomon kissed your lips slowly, first, before moving underside your jaw after shucking you down to your undergarments.
“And you are mine. You made your vows to me. Remember that, my sweet.”
You watched him strip out of his clothes and then stroke the length of his cock until it was hard.
“I married someone else. Not you.”
As he dimmed the lights within the space, sweeping the bedroom under a shroud of near pitch black, your annoyance shifted into a swell of anxiety both freezing cold and burning hot. Your body pulsed in rhythm with your wild heartbeat, throat clenched as tightly as infantile flower buds.
You waited for Solomon to touch you, startling once he finally did. His fingers had elongated and sharpened, his touch now far more delicate and methodical.
“Don't worry, he’s still in here with me.”
a/n; so, some notes real quick
do not count this scene as canon bc idk how much I'm going to take from it to incorporate into the actual story. like, certain things will be there fs, but a good chunk won't.
tbh, this didn't go as hard as I thought it was going to. by comparison to the actual story, this is pretty tame. but I've already relented that the full story is just hopelessly slutty and pornographic lmaooo
bartolomé medina was actually included late into my current version of the story outline. I wanted a somewhat paralleling foil character for solomon, and he's who I came up with. in a lot of ways, bartolomé and solomon are very similar, which is why they get along so well as friends. but, they're also starkly different in other aspects (e.g. wealth differences, careers, bartolomé forces his sociability and personality, whereas solomon can't be fucking bothered). tbh, I love bartolomé as a character and this oneshot does not do him justice—at all.
sadiya, mc's maid, is actually the most important supporting character in the entire story and is completely different from her first appearance in imposter. like, completely. I'd like to do one more concept piece where I can actually introduce her.
men moaning is one of the hottest things imo. get out of here with that silent ejaculating bs.
NOW, ONTO QUESTIONS!!!
what are your thoughts on me incorporating the idea that bartolomé is in love with mc into the actual story? there is a possibility of an ending with him if enough folks show interest before the final chapters. or, would you prefer it strictly focused on solomon, the demon, and mc? this subplot would not come to fruition as a side romance or "cheating" plotline. like I said, bartolomé exists mainly as a parallel and foil for solomon.
are you guys interested in smut scenes with actual, explicit details of the demon in his true form (he ain't pretty y'all. this story is majorly psychological for a reason). but, if you kinky fucks want it, I'm happy to oblige.
would having a bolder mc who experimented with things (mainly opium) and has a bit more of a sexually promiscuous background take you out of immersion and be a deterrent, or would you be interested in me continuing that route? be honest.
I dropped several hints in this piece on the inspired identity of the demon in the story. have you guessed who? 👀
how depraved y'all want me to get with the smut scenes fr???
#yandere x darling#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere#oc x reader#oc x you#original character x reader#original character x you#original fiction#writing#monster x human#reader insert#reader interactive#monster romance#monster smut#monster fucker#monsterfucking nsft#demon x you#demon x reader#demon x human#demon oc#monster x you#monster x reader#original writing#horror romance
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I’m going to say something I’ve been thinking for a long time. Travis/Chetney always bringing up Molaesmyr gets laughs but I think it is the largest factor which is making Matt’s attempt to have the Predathos question be a real debate, and the cast treating it as one not only fall flat for me, but have me ready to be incredibly disappointed in the storytelling of C3 depending on what happens.
Molaesmyr is the most pure example we have of Ludinus’s sins and what happens if he gets what he wants. He contacted Predathos and destroyed a civilization. Not only destroyed it, but twisted the animals, plant life, and people of the city and for hundreds of miles around into horrible, tortured and suffering mockeries of themselves, still haunting a perpetually dying space. That is what Matt presented when we visited Molaesmyr in episode 57 and, because Matt is good at horror and especially body horror, it really landed.
We’ve heard the cast say several times now that the characters definitely want to stop Ludinus from getting any power but after that “we’ll see.” We’ll see what? How is doing any version of what Ludinus wants a victory, even if he’s not involved? How are we considering that it might be fine to let Predathos out to chase/eat the gods or to control after seeing what it did to Molaesmyr? Do the people we saw as twisted and suffering mockeries of their former selves in that dead city not matter to the story at all? Are they just set dressing we’re supposed to forget?
Trying to present any version of what Ludinus ultimately wants, releasing Predathos, as a possible and even potentially correct or admirable endgame was, imo, a huge mistake after seeing Molaesmyr. As an audience of this story, it turns who we’ve been told are protagonists into villains. And while some stories can do that well, I don’t have confidence this one could, in large part because D&D is designed to be heroic fantasy. And seeing the heroes turn to villains at the last second will be even harder to swallow if the story tries to tell us they had a point.
#critical role#cr discourse#sorry this might have been a little intense but I’m in my end of the year depression feels#suffice to say I’m not going to have a lot of respect for this story depending on how it ends
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Part 2 as promised.
Part 1
CW: Dead dove don’t eat, assault, mentions of SA, torture, suicidal thoughts, hurt/comfort.
_____________________
Ghost flicks the ash off his cigarette.
“Do we know who we’re looking for?" Gaz asks. It's a pointless question. They know who they’re looking for. You’ve been mentioning a guy at work who has been getting a little too handsy.
You were going to confront him in the new year with your boss. You didn’t want to ruin anyone's Christmas, now yours is ruined.
People are starting to leave the office building now, it’s just past midnight. They watch in silence concealed in the darkness down an alleyway a few buildings from your workplace. Maybe this was the alley you were found down. It’s dark and cold, the businesses are all closed, it would have been easy to coerce you down, it makes his stomach drop. Someone hurt you, he hurt you.
“Should have taken care of this sooner.” Gaz says. Ghost just hums watching as the lights in the buildings go off. The last few people are filtering out the building. Ghost straightens up flicking his cigarette but to the floor.
“That’s him.” Ghost says, blowing out the smoke before reaching up to pull the familiar balaclava down over his face.
_____________________
When the police arrive you feel somewhat sober. Your body is sore, your head throbbing. Seeing them walk in with all their gear makes you nervous. All of a sudden you feel like you’ve done something wrong.
Johnny never leaves your side, he holds your hand stroking it with his thumb while the female officer asks you questions you don’t know how to answer. You still can’t remember what happened. You can piece it together though, you can tell by the hushed voices and the somber looks from people.
The worst is the pain, the ache in your body every time you move, the bruises hurt the most. Sometimes Johnny runs his fingers over them, his eyes going dark and he lets out a sigh. John stands at the end of the bed still, his gaze never leaves you unless someone enters the room. You just want to go home.
The most embarrassing part is when they have to take pictures of your injuries. Your swollen eye is now turning black and blue. There’s bruises around your neck, talking hurts, swallowing’s worse. The nurse gives you more painkillers but it just makes you feel sick.
John talks with the officers and the nurse after they’re done. Johnny tries to keep your attention on him. You feel embarrassed, the nurse said they did a rape kit, you don’t even remember that, the police need to take it for evidence. That makes silent tears come, you can’t stop them.
“C’mon, none of that love.” Johnny says reaching up to brush them away.
“I want to go home,” you sob.
“We’ll be home soon, promise,” he smiles. You want a shower, you want to scrub your body clean. You feel dirty, your stomach is turning as your mind wanders to the unthinkable. You hope you never remember what happened, you fear you won’t be so lucky.
_____________________
Ghost’s fist meets his cheek, his nose is broken, his jaw will be next. Not now though, now they need him to talk.
“Price says he’s on his way.” Gaz says as he walks back over to him. “Asked you not to kill him.” Ghost just grunts.
Ryan, that's his name. You never mentioned that to them, you didn’t mention much just that he was making you uncomfortable. Gaz was right they should have dealt with this sooner. They shouldn’t have let you go to the party alone. Even before you left you had reservations.
Ryan hasn’t said much. He was very drunk when they picked him up. He seems pretty sober now, he’s scared.
Good, he should be.
Ghost wonders if you were scared, when you were assaulted. It doesn’t seem like you remember much, for your sake he hopes it stays that way.
The door to the secluded warehouse opens, the sound of slamming metal echoes in the space. John bought this place a few months ago, used to store scrap metal. The place still smells of rust, but it’s outside the city center, it’s quiet and that's all they need.
Price walks over coming out of the darkness. He doesn’t say a word, just takes in the scene. Ryan looks up, his eyes glued on the new person walking up to him. Price grabs the back of a chair and places it in front of him before sitting down.
“Ryan, right?” He asks. The man nods. “Had a good night? He doesn’t move.
“Do you like your job?” He nods again. Price leans forward. “So, let's have a chat about what happened tonight.”
“Nothing happened tonight,” he says, swallowing hard. Price smiles at him for a second before sitting back up.
“Let’s try that again. What happened at the party?” Ryan looks confused for a second. Blood is still dripping from his nose, Price sighs this is going to be a long night.
“Wait, is this all about her?” He asks looking up past Price at Ghost. “Look I don’t know what you think happened but she came onto me.”
Price hums his hands gripping his thighs before getting up and moving the chair away. “Thing is, I just don’t believe you.” Ghost steps back over to him.
“I’m telling the truth.” He pleads.
“Nope, try again.” Price says. Ghost’s fist crashes into Ryans face. His head snaps uncomfortably, he spits blood coughing.
“So what happened at the party?” Price asks again.
“Who the fuck even are you!?” He shouts looking round at the 3 men standing in front of him.
“That doesn’t matter.” Price says, Ryan scoffs spitting again.
“Why do you care?” He asks, looking around at everyone.
“It’s a simple question.” Price says bending down so his head is level with his face. “We can be here all night. Or you can be honest with us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says, there’s a shake in his voice. The adrenaline and alcohol pumping through his system is filling him with confidence. They have to break that first. Price sighs moving back to stand with Gaz.
This time Ghost’s fist slams into his stomach. He buckles over in pain, crying out as he pants. Price doesn’t wait, striding over to him grabbing his hair, pulling his head back.
“Okay, okay. But she was drunk!” He shouts, trying to fight Price’s grip. His arms and legs are tied to the chair. Price doesn’t let go of his head holding it back as far as it will go.
“No. Try again.” Price says through gritted teeth.
“I didn't do anything!” He says between breaths. Price looks up at Ghost and nods, Ghost unfolds his arms going back over to the car.
“We can make this very uncomfortable for you. All we need is the truth.” Price says, pulling his head again.
“I don’t know anything.” There’s a whimper in his voice, a crack in his confidence. They're getting there. Price forces his head straight as Ghost comes back over to them twirling the knife in his hand. Ryans eyes go wide, his arms and legs pulling on the restraints. Price keeps his grip firm on his head forcing him to look at Ghost’s hulking figure moving towards him.
“Last chance.” Price says. Ryan doesn’t say anything, his eyes still locked onto Ghost.
“I-I didn't-” He sucks in a breath of air swallowing. “She was drunk!”
Price sighs, shaking his head. He looks up at Ghost, he can see the disgust behind his lieutenants eyes.
Ghost plunges the knife into his thigh. Price lets go of Rhyn’s head as he screams.
_____________________
John left almost an hour ago. Johnny recommended a bath instead of a shower, so you could soak and warm up. He gets in the bath with you pulling your back up against his chest as you sit between his legs. The bath was a good idea, the water is almost too hot but you don’t mind.
It feels good to be in Johnny’s arms. He helps you rub soap over your body. He’s gentle, pressing kisses on your shoulders avoiding your neck. You sigh, relaxing back into him. Your head is still stuffy, it feels like you’ve been run over by a truck.
“Where is everyone?” You ask.
“Out, they’ll be back soon don’t worry.” He says his voice is warm in your ear. His arms squeeze you closer to him. The memories of the night seem to be just out of reach, you remember a face though.
“I know who it was,” you say your voice catches in your throat.
“Shh, we don’t have to talk about it.” His hand comes to push hair behind your ear. You smile, you don’t want to talk about it but maybe it will help.
“I have work tomorrow.” Your stomach sinks. The thought of going back to that place with him there. Having to spend the days avoiding him, brushing off his hands as they squeeze your ass or his fingers press against your breasts. You were going to talk to your boss about him in the new year.
“No you don’t, don’t worry about anything.” He says kissing your shoulder again. You shiver, the water has lost its heat. Johnny shifts pushing you forward.
“C’mon let’s get you into bed. You’ll feel better after a good sleep.” You don’t know if you believe him but he gets out the bath leaving you alone and cold. You feel dirty, used. You feel panic rising in your chest. As soon as you hear the door to the room open you lay down in the tub closing your eyes and holding your breath.
Your mind goes back to the alley, it’s like flashes in your vision, the dump trash bin you’re uncomfortably bent over. A hand over your mouth then round your neck. The pain, the pain is unbelievable. You don’t remember how it happened, how you ended up there, the next thing you remember is a party of drunk women finding you. Then the paramedics showed up.
Your lungs burn but you don’t care. You deserve the pain. Hands grip your arms pulling you up out of the water.
“Christ love,” Johnny says, holding you against him as you pant sucking in breaths of air. The panting turns to sobbing. He reaches, pulling the plug out the bath and picking you up in his arms.
“I know, love I know.” He takes you into the bedroom putting you down on the bed. You pull your legs up to your chest. Johnny dries you, rubbing you down while you sob. He brings pyjamas over, he helps you change, pulling the fresh clothes on you. You still feel dirty, maybe it will always be like this. You don’t want it to be like this.
“It hurts.” You say as he climbs into bed behind you. His arms wrap around you pulling your back against his chest.
“You’re okay lass, you’re safe.” He kisses the top of your head. It’s not, it's not going to be okay. You just hope whatever the others are doing they’re safe. You miss them, you want to see them again. You want everything to go back to normal
…
Simon crawls into the bed with you and Johnny. You’re asleep on Johnny’s chest. He shuffles up against your back wrapping his arm around you both. His hair is still wet from the shower. He kisses the top of your head. Johnny stirs feeling a hand grip his hip.
“Did you get him?” Johnny asks, his voice still sleepy.
“Yeah, we got him.”
_____________________
#call of duty#cod#fanfic#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#kyle gaz garrick#john price#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#taskforce 141#141#tf 141 x reader#cod 141#task force 141#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon x reader#captain john price#john price x reader#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz x you#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader
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Alrighty I'll do this for my character- Mtn, a lot of this has been touched upon on the actual server the character was made on- But nothing about them is known here so I'll just say some stuff here now:
1. They have an entire closet for stuffed animals.
2. Would burn a plant, HAD a pet rat called Spritz, and would not want kids.
3. Nonexistent love life. (Character is Aroace)
4. Clashes with their color scheme- But they wore a Vampire costume one time and it looked pretty sick.
5. Would completely worry and fumble through a speech- but will accidentally deliver it amazingly.
6. Trusts their Bestfriends the most andd hates the scientists from the lab Mtn was made in the most.
7. Likeable Chaotic Goober. Upstanding Soda lover.
8. They would attempt to puzzle, and then give up halfway through then try to eat it.
9. "Books" lmao. EVERYONE in that world is an object technically, excluding the 4th dimensional overseer birds.
10. They'd want to be their current age, they were "made" in 2006 so they would be 18 currently.
11. They actually HAVE won the lottery with a fellow book before, basically they bought a MtnDew decorated car and then had it blow it up in a Mario Kart inspired race. Still has some money tho-
12. They find romance intriguing in stories but don't actively participate in it.
13. Lmao they don't got any, if the caretaker Mtn had in the tube counts then- ig friendship and compassion.
14. Literally them drinking SO MUCH MtnDew, also Gambling, and Five Guys peanuts, and a Firework collection, and the tendency to cause Chaos.
15. They wouldn't really consider anything a "waste" of time, just likes hanging out.
16. alternativefashion.png
17. Literally hasn't met one, pretty sure they exist in this world- but literally has not seen one.
18. No kissing at all.
19. Guess through half the questions, or just wing through the job interview with bad puns.
20. Probably the fireworks, they only almost lit ONE baby on fire.
21. Wouldn't be in a relationship. Though if we're just pretending- then probably something that reveals the partner is a bad person.
22. Technically "Mtn" is the nickname since their full legal name is "Mountainous Dewford." So they're always being referred to by a pet name.
23. Novelty, but doesn't inherently dislike Stability.
24. Honestly, (they like being honest.)
25. Possibility. New things are cool for them.
26. Talent. Doesn't have a lot of it.
27. Bit 'a both. Would try forgiveness but if that doesn't work- Revenge time.
28. Nope! (Fixer-upper part unrelated)
29. Keeps having a dream about being a fish in a pond, and then wakes up and looks to see if they're not a Fish in the Mirror EVERY SINGLE TIME.
30. Would own every single Mountain in the world, and charge of fee for admission in. Also make gambling legal worldwide.
oc asks that reveal more than you think
Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?
Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?
Ask them to describe their love interest.
Do they look good in red?
Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?
Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?
Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.
Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?
Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?
What age do they most want to be right now?
They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?
Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?
Name one thing their parents taught them.
Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?
What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?
If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?
Do they like children?
Kissing: tongue or no tongue?
Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?
What do they like that nobody else does?
What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?
Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?
Stability or novelty?
Honesty or charity?
Safety or possibility?
Talent or effort?
Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?
Would they date a fixer-upper?
What recurring dreams do they have?
What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?
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꒰ — fuckboy!chris x smart!reader. ꒱ your parents always seem to end up interrupting you and chris at the worst times — chris finally deciding that the interruption is no longer a reason for him to stop.
your hands were gripping your bedsheets hard, your knuckles turning white as you grasped the material in your hands.
he was relentlessly stimulating you, his own hands occasionally reaching up to run over your hardened nipples — all whilst he licked and sucked at your heat.
his tongue running over your clit like it always did, before he’d gently suck on the delicate nerve, making you go crazy.
he was good at what he did, that was for sure. no matter how much you had other things to do, you’d always find yourself laid out on your bed as he worked his mouth on you.
he loved it, feeling you squirm underneath him — the way you looked so fucked out when he took breaks. your hole clenching around nothing.
it had become increasing difficult for him to not ask for sex, but he knew better than to push you in that way.
besides, he was more than happy with the current arrangement, going down on you any chance he could — watching as your body rang for more.
he loved how sensitive you were, and that this was all somewhat new to you.
he loved that no one had ever touched you like this, only him.
you yourself were addicted to the feeling, threading your hands through his hair to push him closer — as if he wasn’t close enough already.
there was something so wrong about what you were doing. having a boy in your room, eating you out as your parents remained blissfully unaware of the occurrences.
you knew it was wrong in a sense — or at least you’d been taught that. but that only made the experience better, biting down on your lip to stop anyone else from hearing how incredible chris made you feel.
bringing your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds, and burying your head in your pillow when you came.
but there were points when you had to stop, when your parents would talk to you through the door — or if they called you from downstairs.
you always stopped, only resuming if the coast was 100% clear.
this time should’ve been no different, if it wasn’t for chris’s annoyances when he got high.
“feel good?” he mumbled hoarsely from between your thighs, pressing soft kisses against your core as he catches his breath.
“yeah.” you nod, already grabbing the back of his head to pull him closer. “keep going.” you whine, hesitating to bring your own hand down in desperation.
“gimme a sec.” he tells you, shifting on the bed to get comfier. then your phone flashes, a call from your mum. “hang on.” you sigh, picking up the call and putting it on loudspeaker.
both you and chris listen as your mum talks about the dinner options, a wicked smirk growing on chris’s face as he looks up at you — slowly dipping his head back between your legs to eat you out.
you shake your head violently, warning him to stop but he ignored it all. trailing his tongue through your folds, with not a single hint of regret on his face.
“hang on mum, can I just finish this question- in uh.” you almost moan, biting down hard on your lip as you try to get the sentence out. “I’ll be back in a second.” you say quickly before muting the call.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you question, the anger evident on your face.
“calm down.” murmurs against your skin, still swiping his tongue over you. “seriously chris- it’s my mum.” you tell him in a panic.
“you told me t’keep goin’.” he points out, much to your dismay. “just stay quiet f’me.” he mumbled, his lips brushing over your clit as he touches the delicate nerve teasingly.
you want to tell him to stop, you really do. but he’s clearly not gonna make it easy, and you need to respond to your mum now.
“hi, mum. I’m back.” you say sweetly, holding the phone away from your face when you weren’t speaking.
she asks an array of questions about dinner, your lips sealed tightly shut as chris licked and sucked at your puffy clit.
“uh, roast is fine.” you say quickly, practically holding your breath as you speak — chris making it insanely difficult for you.
she chimes in agreement, and you think she’s gonna hang up before she asks yet another question — your eyes rolling to the back of your head in frustration and pleasure.
“I really-“ you whimper a little, your eyes going wide as you swallow down any other sounds. “I don't mind mum.” you say through the phone, staring chris down despite his eyes being closed in concentration.
“I need to know what you want, I’ve got to start cooking in the next 5 minutes.” she rambles through the phone, most of her words not registering in your brain, which is consumed by the way chris was devouring you.
“anything’s fine.” you gasp, holding your free hand over your mouth as he picks up the pace, finally looking up at you once that sound leaves your lips.
“are you alright sweetheart?” she asks, her voice now worried. “yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” you nod as you speak, trying your hardest to sound fine.
chris smirks against your core, his tongue pressing over your clit in a circular motion — your eyes squeezing shut, and your mouth falling open at the sensation.
“I’m gonna- mmh.” your brows furrow as you speak, your words caught in your throat. “I’m gonna go mum.” you finally breathe out, tugging at chris’s hair to pull him off — your orgasm rapidly approaching as his tongue swirls over your wetness.
“are you sure-“ your mum asks again, but at this point the heat in your stomach is surging through you, your body trembling at the feeling.
“yeah, m’good.” you spit out before hanging up, letting out a string of curses and moans as you cum right there — barely any warning.
“oh fuuuck.” you whine, grinding your hips towards his face to draw out your orgasm.
he smiles proudly, continuing his movements as he grips your thighs to keep you there. “holy shit, chris.” you sigh, your body shuffling away from his grasp as you let out small breaths.
“that was hot as fuck.” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with his thumb.
“mmh.” you hum, nodding a little as your body relaxes on your bed. he chuckles a little, patting your thigh comfortingly before leaning off the bed — chucking you your underwear and pyjama bottoms.
once your orgasmic bliss passes, you slide your underwear back on. “we’re never doing that again.” you tell him in stubborn huff, no longer in your lustful haze.
“why not?” he murmurs, leaning towards you to press soft kisses on the side of your still exposed thigh.
you stop, glaring down at him and his stupid cocky smile. “I almost came whilst still on the phone.” you sigh bitterly, putting your legs into your trousers. “I don’t want her to know— they can’t know.” you correct.
he nods in understanding. “we’ll just call bella next time.” he suggests jokingly, squashing your point.
you shake your head, a small smile appearing on your face against your own will as you stand up to get dressed.
“you’re weird.” you tell him. he smirks at that, watching you put your clothes back on as he lies on the bed.
“it was hot.” he says back shamelessly. you roll your eyes, not letting the compliment get to you. “you’re weird.” you repeat, making more of a point of it.
“I almost came in my pants.” you grimace, although your stomach does a backflip at the thought. “you need to be checked out.” you retaliate, moving over to the mirror to fix your hair — wanting to look presentable when you go downstairs.
he frowns a little, watching you. “y’know, it might’ve just been the sound of your mums voice that…” he trails off, looking down at the tent in his jeans.
your mouth hangs open in shock at the vulgar joke. “chris! no!” you scold him not dealing with any of his stupid jokes. but he just laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.
꒰ notes ꒱ a lil one shot off of climb through my window
꒰ taglist ꒱ @iizzyyy @sophsturns @strnilolover @sturniolossss @hearts4sturniolo @emely9274 @dominicfikeenthusiast @m6lancholiaa @dylansfavwife @conspiracy-ash @chrattsbestgirl @harrystylestigertattoo @radiohead722 @urnumberonefangirl @chaossturns @sturnina @nickgurl4life @mattsgirlxoxo @iloveduckssm
©sturnsrecord
#[—sturnsrecord .ᐟ]#[ʚfuckboy!chrisɞ]#[ʚsmart!readerɞ]#chris sturiolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo#sturniolo smut
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stray cat rescue
vi x reader
i’m so down bad for vi i could write like 20 absolutely filthy fics about her I NEEEED HER… ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
tw: detailed smut, reader is fem - 18+ mdni!!
Strobe lights flashed in the dingy club as you sobbed hysterically into your watered down martini.
Life was going great! You got a new job, adopted a cat and were even looking for a house with your boyfriend - you hated to brag but you knew you had hit the jackpot.
And then you found out your boyfriend of two years cheated on you. Two long years down the drain in the blink of an eye.
That was that. Your perfectly curated life was crumbling before your eyes and there was nothing you could do to make the situation better. No matter how loudly you protested, your friends, bless them, decided to drag you out of your depression-induced hibernation in order to lift your spirits. Needless to say, the night was a major fail.
You down the rest of your drink and stand up from the booth, resigning yourself to another night of sobbing into your poor cat’s fur.
Before you could make your escape, you bumped into a charismatic, muscular, attractive, no, very attractive woman - Vi.
She had a wicked smile and cocky demeanour as she told you she’d been watching you for a while, that she hated to see a pretty woman cry, that she knew the best way to cure a broken heart.
Now your makeup was running for a whole other reason.
Vi’s strong arms had manoeuvred you into a mating press, ankles dangling precariously over her shoulders as she lay off the edge of the bed and you watched her tattooed biceps bulge under the low light. Shit, she was so hot that just watching her made you wetter by the second.
“Fuck, princess,” she groaned into your pussy, the vibrations forcing another wail from you, making your eyes roll back into your head, “you’re absolutely dripping wet. Think you can squirt for me again, cutie?”
Her own low pants grew louder as she lifted her head from between your legs to look up at you. Her chiseled face was flushed a deep red, eyes glazed over and, fuck, the lower half of her face was drenched in your juices. If you didn’t know any better, you would think she was the one getting ate out.
But you weren’t one to question a gift horse in the mouth so you settled for roughly tugging tufts of her cropped hair in your hands to guide her mouth back to where it belonged. She groaned at this and you felt another pang of arousal hit deep within your core.
Her mouth returned to your sopping cunt but instead of eating you out like you hoped, her scarred lips left teasing, feather light kisses on the insides of both your sensitive thighs before plunging two thick digits inside of you without warning.
“Shit, you’re so tight, cupcake.” She hissed as her wrist flexed from the force of pistoning inside and out, fingers curling up towards the spongy spot with a come-hither motion that had you drooling from the mind numbing pleasure.
“Right there! Please, please don’t stop!” You keened and writhed, unable to keep still which made Vi chuckle, dark and full of sensuality.
“Can’t believe your ex just gave this up. Sure as hell can’t complain though.”
A rough hand manhandled your left tit, squishing and squeezing it in the palm of her large hand before she flicked your pebbled nipples, making you squeal in surprise.
Her eyes shot up from where they were glued to your heaving chest and a devious smirk spread across her face. She quickly yanked out the hand that was finger fucking you, blue eyes rolling playfully at your noise of indignation, to give attention to your neglected tit.
“You’re such a slut for me, crying out for me like this and I barely had to touch you.”
Her wet fingers left behind a trail of your sticky arousal that she promptly licked up so she could lather wet, sloppy kisses all over your chest that turned into sharp nips when she reached your delicate neck - you moaned breathlessly at every kiss and the thought of the dark marks you would find blooming tomorrow, only having enough energy to stroke her silky hair.
Once she had her fill, she dove back down to continue lapping up your wetness like a man starved. The way her tongue flattened against your crying pussy to lick a wide trail up to your clit made you feel like you were on the verge of passing out, nothing could feel better than this. Mounting pleasure built up inside of you, snaking up from the tips of your toes all the way to the top of your head like a pressurised can under a flame - you’re all but ready to burst.
But then she pursed her lips around your swollen clit and sucked down so hard your vision went white and you were convinced you must be convulsing as you came so forcefully.
You knew you squirted again as Vi’s pleased chuckles and loud slurps were a good enough tell tale sign for you - where had Vi been your whole life?
Her gravelly voice called out to you from beyond the thick fog that smothered you, the only thing that tethered you to the waking world, borderline snarling in the throes of satisfaction, “Think your little boyfriend could’ve fucked your brains out like this? Bet he didn’t know the first thing about making you feel good, doll.”
You started to come down from your high, thighs trembling and so, so sticky. The world had finally stopped spinning and you think it must be over, that you can turn over and go to sleep content and happy for the first night in a very long time.
It seemed that Vi had other plans as in your haze, she had enough time to put on an impressive a strap-on. Well, know you had proof she definitely wasn’t overcompensating for anything.
You gawked at the sheer size of the strap but somehow your pussy had became slicker at the thought of being pounded by her huge dick. Her sharp teeth flashed ravenously in the dim room as her well defined and sweaty body loomed over you- it was clear she was proud at the cum-drunk reaction she elicited from you.
She leaned down and tapped the side of your cheek and you instinctively opened your mouth, watching in morbid curiosity as she spat inside and claimed another part of your body. You yelped as she easily flipped you over and positioned you in doggy with a warm hand on the small of your back to arch it further.
You felt hotter by the second and another gush of arousal leaked from your pulsating core as you felt her plush tits and hard body drape across your back. Her hair tickled the side of your love-stained neck and you could feel the faintest touch of her chapped lips against the shell of your ear.
There, she whispered so lowly you had to strain just to make out the words, “God, I love ruining innocent girls like you that don’t know the first thing about a good fuck.”
#arcane fanfic#arcane#arcane violet#vi arcane#vi x reader#violet x reader#vi smut#vi league of legends#arcane smut#arcane vi#arcane vi x reader#smut#vi x reader smut#arcane oneshot
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Wayward souls
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Advent calendar: Day 18. Holiday knot
Yeti x fem!reader || semi-public sex, oral sex, knotting
You had a great idea for your anniversary. Since you married your yeti husband, you’d been trying to get him to chase you through the woods, but seeing as it was mid December and the temperatures would probably kill you if you ran naked… You decided to make it special in other ways.
You wore a nice coat, the longest one you had, with extra padding on the inside so you’d be warm no matter what. And under it you wore… almost nothing. You bought the naughty lingerie so long ago you almost forgot you had it, but at the last second you put it on and walked to his office as a normal day. You had dinner with him once a week, always on Wednesdays, and he was always waiting for you.
But this time around you had a bit of a surprise.
You opened the door to his office and closed behind you, making sure the blindfolds were down and the secretary left for her lunch. He was on a call you weren’t too interested in, you could only focus on the feel of the coat against your naked skin and the way your heart was trying to escape from your chest.
Even from afar he was magnificent, giant and furry and so incredibly beautiful in his monster features that you were dripping wet even before he even breathed in your direction. You’d never felt so strongly about any human, but as soon as you met him… you were done for good. Forget human tiny dicks, who wanted that when you could have giant ridged dicks that knotted you until you were dripping cum for hours after?
You were a bit nervous, you knew he’d love your surprise, but you were way past your honeymoon phase and maybe office sex wasn’t on his kink-list… Maybe.
“Well, hello there, wife,” he greeted you in his most cheerful rough voice, making you shiver.
It was now or never.
You slipped the upper part of your coat down your shoulders, exposing the red lingerie framing your tits in the most amazing way. He choked on a breath, and that encouraged you. You let the coat fall to the floor, pooling at your feet as you blinked slowly at him. And you realized the exact moment when he saw the mistletoe adorning your panties.
In a flash, literally the time it took for you to blink, he had jumped over the table and was crowding you, his giant sized body pulling you up and against the door. You shivered in anticipation, his rough breathing matching your accelerated heartbeat.
He bit down on your neck playfully. “You smell like cookies, wife…” He rumbled against your ear. That meant you were excited, that you were aroused, he loved the smell of cookies as much as he loved the smell of your horniness. “You came here wanting to be ravished by a monster?” He teased, his voice amused but his dick very hard under your barely covered ass.
Your nerves got the best of you when you answered: “Really? If you… If you want to...”
He pulled back a fraction, his big white inhuman eyes looking straight into yours, almost shocked when he deadpanned: “Do I want to fuck my wife in my desk? Yes. What kind of question is that?”
“I- I didn’t know if you’d be up for it,” you confessed, feeling shy all of sudden.
“Wife, I’ve wanted to fuck you over that desk since the first time you came to have lunch with me. And you are making my fantasies come true right now, you are the bestest of wives,” he said between soft kisses around your face, making you giggle with his sudden affection.
But it wasn’t all that soft, his dick was pressing insistently against your ass and you wriggled your bottom until he was whimpering, his strong arms holding you up as he walked to the desk and sat you there. He kissed you softly on the lips, and then sat down on his chair, legs open and erection very clear in his slacks. Fuck, he looked good enough to eat with his fur peaking through the buttons of his shirt, sleeves rolled up…
But he was only staring at you, not doing anything. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You asked, a bit confused at the situation.
“Oh, yes… I’m definitely going to. But first: lunch.” That was all he said before his face was buried in your pussy as he pushed the panties to the side, not even taking them off.
He devoured your center with desperation, with a hunger so primal and deep that you didn’t know if you would survive. It was the best oral sex ever, and he had just started. He kept grunting and moaning against your sex, his furry face getting messy with your juices as he enjoyed himself. You could only hold onto his hair and pull every time he tried to get a breath in between licks. You didn’t care if he breathed or not, you only needed him against your pussy, his fingers playing dexterously with your clit.
“I’m- I’m gonna…!” You tried to warn, but you were too slow.
The orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave as your body convulsed over the desk, his hands holding you down as you knocked a few things off the table. He only chuckled against your pussy, probably not caring you were destroying some important documents.
He pulled back, whipping your juices away from his chin and licking his fingers clean. That movement was so hot that you whimpered as he smirked at you. He knew what he was doing.
“Now the main course,” he said, ripping the panties off and pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. You groaned whorishly and he smirked again, his fangs so big you couldn’t suppress a shiver.
You thought he would push inside in one go, but he chose a tortuous pace, his dick breaching you so slowly and thoroughly that you could feel him everywhere at once. His hands were on your boobs, on your ass, on your clit… And his dick kept going deeper and deeper. Your brain was barely functioning at that point, not caring about the noise of the possibility of someone finding you. You could only focus on the way he felt against you.
But once he bottomed out, there was no place for soft sex anymore. He started a rough pace, fucking in and out of you with the desperation of a husband in his anniversary. With the desperation of a yeti who found his mate in the middle of a big city. With the hunger of a monster in need of his bride. And you ate it up, matching his noises and groans, moving against his body until you were both sweaty and your lingerie was probably beyond repair.
But you didn’t fucking care.
It felt so good. It felt too good.
“I’m going to knot you,” he warned.
“But we- Someone could...” you tried to argue without much strength. You wanted it. You wanted it more than anything. You needed it like you needed breathing.
“Let them,” he grunted. The rough tone and the way his dick hit your G-spot just right at the same time his thumb rubbed your clit was enough to send you over the edge once again. “Fuck, so tight, so good…”
He kept chanting how good your pussy was when you felt the erratic thrusts and the beginning of his knot at your entrance. He pushed one last time before it fully developed inside of you, locking you two together as he came over and over inside your welcoming heat.
His body was holding you down as you breathed calmly, his dick still twitching inside of you as he kept coming and coming. You knew this would take a while, and you were more than content to just wait it out. It felt great to have him inside, almost like cockwarming but… bigger. Maybe you should try cockwarming next.
“Stop thinking so hard,” he complained against your neck, landing a few soft kisses and scratching you with his fangs, making you shiver.
By the time his knot went down, you felt almost coherent again, but when you got up and felt the first gush of cum out of you, you were already thinking if he could fuck you again soon. You were about to tease him to get a rise out of him when he beat you to it.
“Are you going to walk back home with my cum leaking down your tights?” He asked as you put your coat back on, hiding your body from him. There was an edge to his voice that you couldn’t quite place.
“I’m going to the car and then I’ll drive home,” you explained, a smirk on your lips when you realized what he wanted. “Do you want me to plug myself and wait until you get home?” You asked back, a blush covering your cheeks as his eyes turned big, his dick filling inside his slacks once more.
“Fuck. Yes,” he groaned. “I’d be there as soon as possible, I just have one meeting.”
“Don’t be late or I’ll start without you, I bought a new toy…” You commented before closing the door, laughing when you heard the curse behind you.
You didn’t get to the elevator before his big body was hoisting you up between giggles and walking to the stairs with you over his shoulder. “Forget the meeting, forget the elevator, I need you in our bed ASAP,” he roared as you laughed.
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