dmitriene

[dmitriene]

nikto request came in the inbox.. wowsie.. i'll definitely think about a possible plot 🙂‍↕️

[dmitriene]

for the soap x john price anon in my inbox

cw: light smut, authoritative dynamics, characters can seem ooc i'm sorry.

johnny is a good soldier, farther from it, he's a well capable demolition expert, an addition to the task force that john would never trade for anything, or anyone, and he shows his appreciation for the boy quite well, perhaps a bit concerning, but it's doesn't matter when mctavish shoots him a wide, toothy grin and sparkling glint of his baby blue eyes, preening under his captains gravelly words.

that's not a place to play favorites, price knows this for sure, but the young pup got into his heart too easily for his liking, and even so, john can't push him away, not his biting jokes, not his casual touches, not his loud whines about how tired he is to be stuck at the base, he needs some air, perhaps a drink or two, a pretty lass, or not, to dance with, so john huffs with deep crease bet his thick eyebrows, promising him a proper outing at the end of this week.

johnny is careless, sometimes, childishly so, in his words, in his acts, and when it's get's him in some trouble, price gets him by the scruff and drags out like a wild kitten, despite all the kicking and hissing, tangled babbles that he had it under control, that everything was alright, only to get scolded in the end, shoulders slumped, listening to the growl of jonathan's deep, husky voice, swallowing the feisty income that curls on his tongue, stuck beneath his canines.

the knowledge that johnny knows the captain here, who he needs to listen to, sometimes even to obey, makes something searing hot curl low in his gut, press, demanding attention, and it's only between him and the gray walls of his room when he grips his cock tight and dry, fisting rough through ragged breaths and sight of johnny's eyes behind his closed eyelids, those clever, sweet eyes, smart, mischievous, swirling bright, the teasing, scottish heavy — “captain price” ringing in his ears when he cums with a punched grunt.

john should feel ashamed, fuck, he really should, not only the boy is younger than him, he's practically a father figure for him, a man that guides, supports, lends a helping hand, pats at the already ruffled mop of mohawk at his head with some encouraging words already coming, while thinking how would johnny sound while rasping his name around his big, fat cock, how he'd wriggle his perfectly lean, toned body under john's heavy bulk, sweating, arching, while pressing plump, muscular ass against slapping hips.

and still, price can't help himself at all, he acts on the feeling that gnaws his insides, falls under a haze of desperation, need for taste, so when he invites johnny into his cabinet late at evening, cigar between his teeth, abandoned glass with amber liquid on the wooden table, posture lax in his chair, and mctavish inviting himself further in from the doorway, body loose from recent shower, water dripping from the curling strands of his long mohawk, smelling of masculine shower gel and minty shaving foam, he can't resist.

beckons him as close as he can, dumping the still flaming cigar into the nervously full ashtray, before tangling his curling fingers in the long hairs at johnny's neck, and tugs him closer, seeing the way boy swallows down a ragged gasp, and flutters his doll long, wispy eyelashes, before their lips meet, clash of teeth's, silenced whimpers, beard and stubble rasping against flushing skin, grasping fingers tugging at each other's hair and clothes and johnny almost climbing up john's body.

johnny's mouth opens for his captain's tongue, ribcage cracked to laid a heart out to take, a good soldier, a perfect boy, and when price tries to pull away, lips spit soaked and tingling from numbing kisses, he get's dragged back by a painful tug at his mutton chops and johnny's leg hoisting, rubbing up towards his hip, fully understanding, now, that he didn't made any mistake when he called mactavish here, didn't mistaken his intuition.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

for the soap x john price anon in my inbox

cw: light smut, authoritative dynamics, characters can seem ooc i'm sorry.

johnny is a good soldier, farther from it, he's a well capable demolition expert, an addition to the task force that john would never trade for anything, or anyone, and he shows his appreciation for the boy quite well, perhaps a bit concerning, but it's doesn't matter when mctavish shoots him a wide, toothy grin and sparkling glint of his baby blue eyes, preening under his captains gravelly words.

that's not a place to play favorites, price knows this for sure, but the young pup got into his heart too easily for his liking, and even so, john can't push him away, not his biting jokes, not his casual touches, not his loud whines about how tired he is to be stuck at the base, he needs some air, perhaps a drink or two, a pretty lass, or not, to dance with, so john huffs with deep crease bet his thick eyebrows, promising him a proper outing at the end of this week.

johnny is careless, sometimes, childishly so, in his words, in his acts, and when it's get's him in some trouble, price gets him by the scruff and drags out like a wild kitten, despite all the kicking and hissing, tangled babbles that he had it under control, that everything was alright, only to get scolded in the end, shoulders slumped, listening to the growl of jonathan's deep, husky voice, swallowing the feisty income that curls on his tongue, stuck beneath his canines.

the knowledge that johnny knows the captain here, who he needs to listen to, sometimes even to obey, makes something searing hot curl low in his gut, press, demanding attention, and it's only between him and the gray walls of his room when he grips his cock tight and dry, fisting rough through ragged breaths and sight of johnny's eyes behind his closed eyelids, those clever, sweet eyes, smart, mischievous, swirling bright, the teasing, scottish heavy — “captain price” ringing in his ears when he cums with a punched grunt.

john should feel ashamed, fuck, he really should, not only the boy is younger than him, he's practically a father figure for him, a man that guides, supports, lends a helping hand, pats at the already ruffled mop of mohawk at his head with some encouraging words already coming, while thinking how would johnny sound while rasping his name around his big, fat cock, how he'd wriggle his perfectly lean, toned body under john's heavy bulk, sweating, arching, while pressing plump, muscular ass against slapping hips.

and still, price can't help himself at all, he acts on the feeling that gnaws his insides, falls under a haze of desperation, need for taste, so when he invites johnny into his cabinet late at evening, cigar between his teeth, abandoned glass with amber liquid on the wooden table, posture lax in his chair, and mctavish inviting himself further in from the doorway, body loose from recent shower, water dripping from the curling strands of his long mohawk, smelling of masculine shower gel and minty shaving foam, he can't resist.

beckons him as close as he can, dumping the still flaming cigar into the nervously full ashtray, before tangling his curling fingers in the long hairs at johnny's neck, and tugs him closer, seeing the way boy swallows down a ragged gasp, and flutters his doll long, wispy eyelashes, before their lips meet, clash of teeth's, silenced whimpers, beard and stubble rasping against flushing skin, grasping fingers tugging at each other's hair and clothes and johnny almost climbing up john's body.

johnny's mouth opens for his captain's tongue, ribcage cracked to laid a heart out to take, a good soldier, a perfect boy, and when price tries to pull away, lips spit soaked and tingling from numbing kisses, he get's dragged back by a painful tug at his mutton chops and johnny's leg hoisting, rubbing up towards his hip, fully understanding, now, that he didn't made any mistake when he called mactavish here, didn't mistaken his intuition.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: smut more towards the end but it's here.

sometimes taking care of simon's ghost riley wounds may take some time, usually, this kind of routine goes away fairly quickly, showing off newly found, slightly healed wounds, allowing you to quickly treat them with the right medication and bandage them before he immediately gets dressed and forgets that he was ever injured in the first place, but sometimes, he behaves differently.

brawny chest vibrating with occasional, low growls and little whines that mingle along the way, this time, simon returned home with face coated all over with tiny cuts, not allowing medics to waste his time, and even more so to look at his face, he waited till coming back to you, to get rid of the balaclava that itched all over his sensitive skin, catching on the tiny slashes that he only disinfected with water.

one of those times it could cost him an amputated limb, but no matter how often you show your concern about simon's methods of taking care of himself, he does nothing to improve it, after all, it can cost him the loss of your gentle, caring touch, the worried murmurs of your soothing voice, the way your fingers map over his full, sinewy features, and if often it's his body, now, you have his face in the mercy of your hands.

you let him settle between your spread legs, accommodating the width of his slumping shoulders, as he kneels on the rug beneath your feet, his jaw cupped in one of your palms, hand occupied with holding his face up, as you squeeze the warm, wet cloth in the other, dabbing it against his cut decorated skin, wiping away the grease and blood, noticing the serene, slow flutter of his nearly translucent eyelashes, fanning over the carved out, purple blue circles under his eyes.

simon nuzzles in your palm, suddenly, escaping the brush of your ointment smeared thumb, and you let out an uncontrollable, displeased huff, but it does nothing to bother him at all, not when he nudges his crooked nose over your tickling skin, letting you feel every tissued expanse of his face, the biting, patchy stubble, a feathery kiss of his swooping lashes, nearly dark at the roots, growing pale blonde at the wispy length.

he looks at you with pupils of ebony and irises that gleam under the warm light with underlying, simmering playfulness and raw vulnerability, and when your brows crease in a frown, lips pouting out with a light chastise of his name, his throat rumbles away an almost too high whine, pulling at your heartstrings, twisting them around and making your eyes go wide, unblinking, as if his current, unusually needy behavior is something too unbelievable to comprehend.

but, even then, you don't stop trying to apply the needed ointment on simon's skin, winning over even through his grumbles and all the nuzzling he gives to your hand and thigh, he'd have you all to himself afterwards, you tut, even with a light coloring smile over your lips and a delicate, faint kiss you press against his forehead, the barely there touch of your fingertip trailing along the creases of the crow's feet wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, deepening with age.

you'd let him heal the way he wants afterwards, nuzzling his stubborn face against your spread, sopping wet pussy with pleased rumbles and eager, twisting tongue, coating his mug with your viscous, sweet slick, spending hours lapping over your slit and thrusting up your spasming, fluttering hole, feeling over your gummy walls, the way they engulf his muscle, pulling and tightening around the intrusion, as he slides deeper, curling against this sensitive, spongy spot.

your work is done there, now, with your fluids soaking simon's skin alongside rubbed in ointment, digging fingers holding your quivering legs apart, as he fulfills the inner need and ache for more of you inside his gut, slobbering over and drinking up every drop you have to offer, filling his drooling, ravenous mouth, and the little sting he feels in his wounds is a thing to be worried about after, when he would be sated enough.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

cw: smut more towards the end but it's here.

sometimes taking care of simon's ghost riley wounds may take some time, usually, this kind of routine goes away fairly quickly, showing off newly found, slightly healed wounds, allowing you to quickly treat them with the right medication and bandage them before he immediately gets dressed and forgets that he was ever injured in the first place, but sometimes, he behaves differently.

brawny chest vibrating with occasional, low growls and little whines that mingle along the way, this time, simon returned home with face coated all over with tiny cuts, not allowing medics to waste his time, and even more so to look at his face, he waited till coming back to you, to get rid of the balaclava that itched all over his sensitive skin, catching on the tiny slashes that he only disinfected with water.

one of those times it could cost him an amputated limb, but no matter how often you show your concern about simon's methods of taking care of himself, he does nothing to improve it, after all, it can cost him the loss of your gentle, caring touch, the worried murmurs of your soothing voice, the way your fingers map over his full, sinewy features, and if often it's his body, now, you have his face in the mercy of your hands.

you let him settle between your spread legs, accommodating the width of his slumping shoulders, as he kneels on the rug beneath your feet, his jaw cupped in one of your palms, hand occupied with holding his face up, as you squeeze the warm, wet cloth in the other, dabbing it against his cut decorated skin, wiping away the grease and blood, noticing the serene, slow flutter of his nearly translucent eyelashes, fanning over the carved out, purple blue circles under his eyes.

simon nuzzles in your palm, suddenly, escaping the brush of your ointment smeared thumb, and you let out an uncontrollable, displeased huff, but it does nothing to bother him at all, not when he nudges his crooked nose over your tickling skin, letting you feel every tissued expanse of his face, the biting, patchy stubble, a feathery kiss of his swooping lashes, nearly dark at the roots, growing pale blonde at the wispy length.

he looks at you with pupils of ebony and irises that gleam under the warm light with underlying, simmering playfulness and raw vulnerability, and when your brows crease in a frown, lips pouting out with a light chastise of his name, his throat rumbles away an almost too high whine, pulling at your heartstrings, twisting them around and making your eyes go wide, unblinking, as if his current, unusually needy behavior is something too unbelievable to comprehend.

but, even then, you don't stop trying to apply the needed ointment on simon's skin, winning over even through his grumbles and all the nuzzling he gives to your hand and thigh, he'd have you all to himself afterwards, you tut, even with a light coloring smile over your lips and a delicate, faint kiss you press against his forehead, the barely there touch of your fingertip trailing along the creases of the crow's feet wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, deepening with age.

you'd let him heal the way he wants afterwards, nuzzling his stubborn face against your spread, sopping wet pussy with pleased rumbles and eager, twisting tongue, coating his mug with your viscous, sweet slick, spending hours lapping over your slit and thrusting up your spasming, fluttering hole, feeling over your gummy walls, the way they engulf his muscle, pulling and tightening around the intrusion, as he slides deeper, curling against this sensitive, spongy spot.

your work is done there, now, with your fluids soaking simon's skin alongside rubbed in ointment, digging fingers holding your quivering legs apart, as he fulfills the inner need and ache for more of you inside his gut, slobbering over and drinking up every drop you have to offer, filling his drooling, ravenous mouth, and the little sting he feels in his wounds is a thing to be worried about after, when he would be sated enough.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

I have my notifications on for EVERYONE I follow, everyone is equally important to me, even if I interact with a certain amount 😭😭

oh you're so dedicated 😭 i wish i could put them on too but the last time i had notifications on the blogs i really like i got quickly overwhelmed with how many there are and gave up..

thank you for having the notifs on me as well, though ‹𝟹

[dmitriene]

I don't see your content often (because I follow over 100 people on here), but you're writing is AMAZING, vagueposting about you just means they're jealous (I was raised with this mind set, so don't mind me)

helloo i notice you so often because of how quickly you like my posts (and that's always make me silly happy)!!

i get it, i follow many as well and can miss my moots writing posts and that's makes me always feel sad, the fact that you even follow me is already really sweet ‹𝟹

thank you for finding what and how i write amazing, and for being so nice and kindhearted about it, it's means a lot, and i'm grateful for the support!

[dmitriene]

people vaguepost you? where 😡 let me at them

i honestly thought that anon talked about the comments or asks i sometimes might receive, i have no actual idea if anyone out there talks about my writing, honestly, but it's nothing to worry about too!

instead of letting you at them i'm gonna keep you safe and sound in my arms anon 🙂‍↕️

[dmitriene]

Hi, lovie. 🤍

Just wanted to drop by and let you know that I love your blog and your work! 🥺

I know the CoD fandom is pretty toxic at this point unfortunately, with all the cliques and "popular/big" blogs, and the lack of engagement but increasing demand from readers—so now it's even more important to stick together and keep encouraging/supporting each other.

Hope you have a good day! xx

helloooo my dear thank you so much!!! you're so lovely about supporting writers and it's encouraged me a lot lately, especially when you were commenting under my struggling posts, i'm grateful to you endlessly!

i adore your writing and unique plots so much, i hope you do stay strong too and post for your own pleasure first, we indeed need to hold together, and i'll glue myself here ‹𝟹

much much love!

[dmitriene]

idk how you deal with ppl vagueposting about your delicious smut but they need to get over it

anooonn thank you that's so sweet 😭 it's doesn't affects me much, fortunately, i learned to not put much attention to the words spoken solely to hurt or make feel down, so i manage quite well!

thank you for your love towards my writing, i hope i won't fail you! ‹𝟹

[dmitriene]

simon riley is the man that rarely wears any shirts when he's at home, and you match him well, trotting around with no pants, wearing exactly one of his pajama, loose button up blouses, fabric long enough to stream down and sway at your supple thighs, a one of the most tantalizing sights, for sure, while he's left wearing the matching pants, hanging low on his wide hips.

you get to gape at the pretty body of his for days on end, at the way his scarred, tissued skin pulls taut over the rippling, sinewy muscles of his stretched out shoulders and ample chest, defined pectorals less soft than his stomach are, padded with a squishy looking, healthy layer of fat that hides the couple sculpted cubs of his abdominal muscles, underbelly sticking right atop the treasure tail of his happy hairs, turning more brunette where they run beneath the waistband.

the sharp, cut standing line that separates simon's waist from his hips makes you stare like a woman starved, roving all over everything you can set your enraptured gaze at, and it's a hard work to hold the simmering heat from flooding your face wholly, as if you didn't saw him like that before, and more than that, completely naked as well, but he's always an eye candy, messy all over from his tousled hair to naked feet, pale morning sun playing along to glow up his features.

you're not the only one to look, though, the unwavering, molten gaze of his amber eyes watching you from every corner of the house, hungry, attentively, tracing the swell of your ass that is clad in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties he get's to see when you bend over, or stretch up with your hands, making this blouse on you ride up, bunching into uneven folds, revealing glimpses of skin, round thighs and plump asscheeks, that he strives to squeeze and feel over his own.

there's pure greed when you paw at each other, not a single routine duty in the house passes without you and simon making out with each other, his roughened hands cupping over your curves and full parts he can fondle, your nails raking up from his waist and to his chest, crossing over line of spine and digging there, whispering with heat and desperation mingled when your mouthes meet, clattering teeth's and tongues fighting.

an obsession with each other, nothing less, and it's the best relationship in the world, where you can present yourself with need and want, body bracing over and down every surface imaginable, and he's already there, your sweet, gorgeous simon, with his cock standing ready and proud, slit beady with dripping precum, just as wet as your pussy, gushing and twitching in excitement, inviting him closer, in, until you both sate that chaotic need.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

simon riley is the man that rarely wears any shirts when he's at home, and you match him well, trotting around with no pants, wearing exactly one of his pajama, loose button up blouses, fabric long enough to stream down and sway at your supple thighs, a one of the most tantalizing sights, for sure, while he's left wearing the matching pants, hanging low on his wide hips.

you get to gape at the pretty body of his for days on end, at the way his scarred, tissued skin pulls taut over the rippling, sinewy muscles of his stretched out shoulders and ample chest, defined pectorals less soft than his stomach are, padded with a squishy looking, healthy layer of fat that hides the couple sculpted cubs of his abdominal muscles, underbelly sticking right atop the treasure tail of his happy hairs, turning more brunette where they run beneath the waistband.

the sharp, cut standing line that separates simon's waist from his hips makes you stare like a woman starved, roving all over everything you can set your enraptured gaze at, and it's a hard work to hold the simmering heat from flooding your face wholly, as if you didn't saw him like that before, and more than that, completely naked as well, but he's always an eye candy, messy all over from his tousled hair to naked feet, pale morning sun playing along to glow up his features.

you're not the only one to look, though, the unwavering, molten gaze of his amber eyes watching you from every corner of the house, hungry, attentively, tracing the swell of your ass that is clad in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties he get's to see when you bend over, or stretch up with your hands, making this blouse on you ride up, bunching into uneven folds, revealing glimpses of skin, round thighs and plump asscheeks, that he strives to squeeze and feel over his own.

there's pure greed when you paw at each other, not a single routine duty in the house passes without you and simon making out with each other, his roughened hands cupping over your curves and full parts he can fondle, your nails raking up from his waist and to his chest, crossing over line of spine and digging there, whispering with heat and desperation mingled when your mouthes meet, clattering teeth's and tongues fighting.

an obsession with each other, nothing less, and it's the best relationship in the world, where you can present yourself with need and want, body bracing over and down every surface imaginable, and he's already there, your sweet, gorgeous simon, with his cock standing ready and proud, slit beady with dripping precum, just as wet as your pussy, gushing and twitching in excitement, inviting him closer, in, until you both sate that chaotic need.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

Jayvik...cum?? Overstim?? Fucking in both holes?? Fucking delicious, I'll have a second helping and a dessert, please and thank you 🤤🤤🤤

my first jayvik anon omg!! 😭

i'm so happy to know you enjoyed the writing, that's so sweet of you, i promise to try and write some more in the near future ‹𝟹

[dmitriene]

— it's viktor.

[dmitriene]

cw: creampie in both holes, overstimulation, breeding kink?

simon ghost riley is determined in his way to make sure you'll be sated enough when he's filling you, spread wide over his lap, sweaty, sharp curving back slotted where it's need to be, against the firm, brawny expanse of his tense chest, one leg tugged close by his arm thrown over, twiney muscle wound tight from wrist to bicep, bulging over the spread of tattoos there, and the other you hold close to your own body, arms coiled around tightly, feeling each tremor.

you're barely in your right mind, fogged to the point of being just a mess of strewn thoughts and molten arousal, filling every crevice until you can't think, can't speak, just hold your legs spread and taking his cock in your pulsing, gooey cunt, letting cum and slick dribble out in filthy, tacky globs from both of your holes, coating his choppy thrusting shaft in layers of glistening fluids, squelching loud, ringing in your ears, muffling the words you can't register, too fucked out.

simon makes sure so you'll just stay here and take, wheezing, mouth parted, drooling with a muted whine on your tongue, as he fucks his cum out of your fluttering, spasming cunt with precised, striking thrusts against every sensitive spot, nudging in deep, as if even deeper than he's been, cock slippery with amount of drooling pre, of how wet you are despite how much you already came, how much he already filled you, plump ass dripping the same seed that's pumped in your creamed pussy.

heat in his blood pools to his cock, you're struggling to catch your breath, gulping aloud, every movement, grunt and gravelly moan shooting straight to your stomach, warmth coiling in an almost feverish way, simon's cock inside you throbs, fast and hard as it thrusts forward, rapid and throbbing with another impending release, making simon's eyebrows crease, muted red skin sticky and shiny with perspiration, hair wild, plastered against his forehead, thrusting again, rougher, once, then twice and then coming with a coarse, voluptuous growl against your burning ear

— “at this rate you're going to ge' knocked up, sweethear'”

and you feel the wave of orgasm run through your quivering, loosening limbs, heartbeat in your cunt, in your ears, in your throat, in the tips of your fingertips and curling to the point of hurt toes, making you slump useless and almost unconscious, chest expanding with panting breaths and jumping breasts, nipples pebbled as simon gives them a rough pinch, and this time, the sound escaping you is nothing but a sob, his softened cock stirring inside in renewed interest, but for now, he presses his mouth against yours with sloppy, gnarling kiss.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[dmitriene]

some more frames that didn't made in the post

the golden hour

[dmitriene]

cw: creampies, perhaps breeding, viktor loosely mentioned as having a cunt.

viktor needs jayce to be as close as physically possible during sex, all over him, with his heavy bulk trapping viktor against the soiled sheets, letting him only curl his trembling and flexing fists in crumpled cotton material beneath, canting his finger shape bruised, bony hips to meet the slaps of other heavy, muscular hips against his reddening ass, keening out sweet and hiccuping, earning a gravelly coo from jayce.

that said, viktor needs to be filled up well, plugged full of warm cum that keeps oozing out his both holes, slippery, cum coated folds fluttering around nothing, with his ass getting pounded, clenched tight around the pistoning weight of jayce's curved, weeping cock, all veiny and deliciously engorged, dragging against the spot that makes viktor wail, toes spasming until it's too much, thighs shaking, tacky with drizzling, trailing down fluids.

viktor rasps, begs through wheezing sounds, claws at jayce's forearms, doing everything so he'd press harder against his curving, flexing back, force his cock even deeper, harder, make viktor sob from bone numbing pleasure, amber eyes going cross and bleary, nodding along the filth jayce murmurs against his flushed, sensitive ears while kissing there tenderly, passing over each tiny mole, promising to get him so full he'd bloat, from what exactly he doesn't cares.