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alwayseternity · 3 months

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“come on, come on !”

✦﹒( nsfw ) wanderer x f!reader﹒✶﹒﹒

being childe’s, or, ajax’s younger sister was the best thing in the world! he spoils you to no end, always making sure you’re dressed in the prettiest clothes and your skin is decorated with the most expensive jewellery.

he’ll pat your head and make sure you’re feeling okay before sauntering off back to the living room to converse with his friend, scaramouche.

“heey, i’m back!” the ginger would cheer, plopping down next to the indigo eyed male, who simply sent him a look from the side. “you wanna watch something?”

“mm.. sure.” he’d shrug, leaning back against the cushions as he closes his eyes. “what do we watch, though?” scaramouche adds with a hum.

childe sits in thought for a moment, before the sound of his phone ringing catches his attention.

“shit my mom’s calling — gimme a moment.”

when ajax came back, a solemn look was painted on his features as a sigh left his lips. “she said i’ve gotta pick up tonia from her friend’s place.. n’ she lives a while away.” another sigh. “sorry, man.”

“nah, it’s good. go get your sister:” scara says cooly, waving a hand dismissively. “do you mind if i stay here for a bit? don’t really wanna go home yet — y’know.”

childe simply nods, hands reaching for his car keys as he dashes out the door, and scaramouche can’t help but cheer internally.

finally, some alone time with his best friend’s dear little sister, you.

his steps are as heavy as his breath as he walks slowly up the stairs. it’s not long before’s he’s standing in front of the door to your bedroom, hands twitching as he reaches out for the doorknob.

but a soft, almost unnoticeable sound knocks him out of his thoughts. shuffling, and — a moan?

oh, ohh no. you can’t be doing this to him. are you really touching yourself when he’s around?!

he can’t mistake the sound of those breathy moans and mewls, or the squelching sound of what he guesses is your tiny little fingers pushing in and out of your cunt.

oh, how he wishes he could just kick this door down and pounce on you.

wait, what’s stopping him? it’s not like your brother’s home.

“s-scaramouche..”

that’s right, nothing stopped him when his hand pushes the door open, his body looking over your bed where you lay, whines spilling from your pretty lips with each movement of your fingers.

it’s a wonder you haven’t noticed him yet, he thinks, closing the door behind him and creeping over to you.

“what a naughty, naughty girl.” he chuckles, almost sinisterly at the sight of you.

your body jolts — both from shock and pleasure — as your eyes crack open and stare up at the man.

he leans down, gaze darting down to where you fingers are plugged in your pussy, and he can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation.

“hello, sweetheart.” he coos, a slim hand reaching to stroke your cheek. “you need help with that?”

you can only swallow down your spit and nod nervously at him, your cheeks hot with embarrassment.

if you were being honest, you were wishing for something like this to happen. but you didn’t expect it to really come true!

his hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls your fingers out of your pussy, smirking as you whine at the loss.

“don’t worry, don’t worry.” his other hand strokes your cheek. “just shhh.” he whispers, lips beside your ear as he leans down.

his hand removes itself from your wrist and moves to unbuckle his belt, letting his pants drop to the floor before pulling down his boxers.

his cock springs free, hard and leaking with pre. perfectly ready for him to bury in your warm walls.

you look up at him as he crawls onto you, straddling your hips as a hand slides down your your waist, his other guiding his dick to your hole.

soon enough, he was buried to the hilt in your pussy as his fingers dug into the flesh of your waist. he was quick to snap his hips, in and out, in and out, moaning at the feeling of you.

“s’good, s’good!” you mewl, back arching off the bed as his tip reaches further into you, kissing your cervix with each sloppy thrust.

a few more had you gushing around him, moaning lewdly. it was so hot. you’re so hot.

“look at you.” his warm breath fans across your neck, his dick pounding into you so perfectly. “you’re so filthy.”

you can only moan dumbly, creaming around your brother’s best friend’s cock as he hits just the right spot. it’s so dirty, so nasty — the words he mutters into your ear as he cums inside of you.

your mixed juices drips out of your cunt, spilling down your thighs as he abuses your pretty cunt.

“damnit.” he grunts, slamming back into you. his nails leave small, crescent shaped marks in the soft skin of your waist as he fucks you.

he’s fucking you, and he’s fucking you hard. dick hitting that spongy spot over and over, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your skull as drool pools at the corner of your lips.

“one more. come on, come on!” he insists, eyes trained on the way his cock slips in and out of your soaked pussy. he can’t decide if it’s beautiful or revolting. maybe it’s.. disgustingly gorgeous.

so perfect that it makes him sick.

then, he’s got you impaled on his length as he spills his seed into you, practically whining when he feels you cum around him.

he flips the two of you over so you’re on top of him, sat down on his cock and leaning onto him like a little fuck doll.

“aww, how adorable.” he whispers, a smirk on his lips as he leans closer and presses a kiss to the skin under your ear. “what would your brother think if he saw you like this?”

“mmh..” you can only manage to moan, grinding down against him as your eyes shut sleepily. “m tired..”

his hand strokes your lower back in gentle movements as his breathing lulls you to sleep.

“don’t worry, dirty girl. i won’t tell your brother.” he sings, voice uncharacteristically soft. “he’d kill me if he found out.” he snorts, pulling the blanket over the two of you as his other hand pats the back of your head.

“let’s stay like this, yeah?”

different ver with childe x sacra’s sister! reader coming soooonnn

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #wanderer smut #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x y/n

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jolapeno · 3 months

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20. rainier grey

frankie morales x f!reader | epilogue of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. they're no longer idiots. an: the end

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key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You sure you got everything from the house, baby? I think so! Does this mean you're giving the keys in?

Unpacking another box, you slide a photograph onto the shelf, right next to his. You smile, shifting it, trying to make your things look like they belong as much as his.

Evidence of you already slotting in. Books sitting with his, plants finding homes in corners that look as though they were made for them.

Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind? Not even a little bit. Good. Because I already handed them in. And what if I had said I thought I’d forgotten something?

The bubbles in the corner appear, fluttering and twitching, until they vanish. You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue-wrapped small artificial cactus, placing it, and tilting your head as your phone vibrates.

You know I’ve checked the place twice. Did the sex chair go into storage okay, by the way?

Even from here, you know he snorted. A breathy laugh, one that has and will always make your lips press together before sliding up into a smirk. You giggle at it, imagining him trying to suppress it if he's with people. Shaking your head at the image as you see him typing.

You gotta stop calling your office chair a sex chair. Well, the only thing that happened in it was that. Gonna drive now, you menace. Hurry home, baby.

Sighing, you rip the tape from the underside of the box and flatten it, staring at the wasteland of boxes that have taken over his living room. Despite the chaos, you feel like you're finally home, for the time in a long time.

A thing you'd whispered to him when he'd hooked his leg over yours in bed this morning.

Steam billowed, carrying the scent of spices, tomatoes, and herbs blending into the air as you hear the front door open.

It brings a smile, tugging at the corners of your mouth, even though this should feel ordinary by now. A thing you should be used to, it feels like the first day all over again.

No more boxes, all unpacked, places for everything and newly learnt routines that you know to listen for.

Head turned to the doorway, hearing one thing after the other landing in the bowl: Keys, wallet and two thuds of his boots being removed.

It's all a routine now, something normal. Dinner is divided between whoever arrives home first. If he gets home first, he starts it, the two of you relying on the board on the wall to keep track. The one that's a vibrant array of colours—butterscotch orange, dinosaur green, and rainy day blue—highlighting the various shifts, jobs, and school pick-ups your month has in store.

This week, it’s a lot of orange. Things are picking up, with more word getting out about Frankie’s business and what he can do. The reviews are trickling in, and you know he’s already quickly outgrowing the summer house in the back garden. You commented on it when the two of you made the decision, something he assured you would be fine. You still agree that paying for two homes wasn’t a wise choice when he was already taking a risk.

Risky—a word you could never use to describe him. But a word you let him have, relenting, melting into his arms as you bid goodbye to the office he made you, with the promise of a better one in the future.

Now, standing in the kitchen that used to be just his and is now ours, you count in your head the seconds until his arms slide around your middle, his mouth pressing a kiss to your head.

“Smells good.”

Turning your head, fingers sliding under his chin—you steal a kiss, and another, sliding your digits around his jaw before they’re tangling in his hair.

“Could get used to this.” You hum against his mouth, murmuring a what that makes him smile, smirk, right up against yours. “You in our kitchen.”

“Well, it has been months now—I’d hope you’d be used to it.”

Shrugging, running his hands up down your arms, he steps back and leans on the counter. On the days when he beats you home, you bring home stories of Harry, customers and the random paint name you’ve found that you make him guess the shade of until he gets it right. Tonight, you ask him how his day has been. A mundane question, a thing that arises every day and yet the answer is never the same.

He talks about another enquiry, how the photos of your old office space, in the place you once called home, had inspired another couple to get in touch. And you try not to smirk, to wear a knowing smile, but instead nod, stirring and grabbing plates as he folds his arms and keeps his gaze on you.

A thing you thought would have lessened, but hasn’t.

“You need my help with this one, or?”

Shaking his head, folding his arms—looking you up and down as he traces his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What?”

“We said if we did this you wouldn’t try and do it all.”

You might not groan outwardly, but you do inwardly. His brows raise as though knowing so too, a thing which almost drags a laugh out of you. Almost.

“Come here,” he says, hand extended, finding your slides in as he drags you close. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“I do.”

Good, he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb—the roughness of it making liquid heat spark in your stomach as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You want a hand dishing up?”

Shaking your head, you kiss his wrist. “No. Go change—you can’t do it all.”

His snigger stays in the kitchen with you, long after he’s left to go change.

Luca told me something interesting at drop off.

Not sure I want to know.

Apparently, we’re getting a dog?

Little shit. No. He asked me and I said I’d think about it.

Well, apparently he thinks that Saturday when we pick him up we’re going to get him a dog that lives at our house.

Fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Are we against a dog?

It takes a second for the squeals to calm down.

Your arms may be scratched, and you may have wanted to sob as you tried to build the crate on your own, but the joy thrumming inside you as Frankie wrestles the puppy and Luca screams with laughter makes it all worth it.

It feels right that there are two bowls on the kitchen floor, both sitting on a plastic mat covered with paw prints.

It makes the home feel complete, even with a wet patch on the rug, even with your new shoe marked with tiny teeth marks, and even though you're exhausted beyond words.

Grinning, you lean back on the couch, watching Frankie pretend to bark and growl as the puppy tries to nip at him. The two alternate between rolling around, evading each other, the creased laugh marks on Frankie's nearly enough to make you get on the floor and join him, just to brush your fingers against them.

Instead, you teasingly poke the boy next to you. “Luca, what do you want to call him?”

Mouth sliding from side to side, Luca shuffles and bounces along the sofa before his head comes to rest on your arm. Frankie shifts to playing a version of tug-of-war. “Tyler.”

“Tyler?” Frankie asks, pausing to stroke the retriever's ears.

Luca smiles and then beams. “Like tyrannosaurus.”

Somehow, you suspected you should have seen that coming.

“Okay, well, Tyler needs to go to the toilet. Do you want to try and take him?”

Luca, nodding and smiling, taps your arm. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

As you stand, you catch sight of Frankie beaming up at you, warmth flooding your cheeks and ears at the sight of it.

What are you doing for lunch, baby?

Well, I was going to treat myself to a coffee and maybe a sweet treat. But what are you thinking?

I was thinking of letting Tyler out, bringing you fast food and sitting in the office at Harolds?

Oh, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. I like that our roles have reversed here.

I know. Do you know when Harold will let you have lunch?

Delivery is almost away, and then I just have to do a few bits.

I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve missed your face today.

Sounds good. Maybe you should have spent more time with it this morning then, than between my legs.

I have zero regrets about how I started my day.

“Have you seen the yard—I think that’s enough room for Tyler, how much bigger can he even grow after a year, and look here...”

Your fingers loop in between his, tugging him, practically dragging him with you to the kitchen window—the slightly overgrown grass and white fence greeting the two of you.

It’s the eleventh house the two of you have seen. Fingers brush over his thumb as he follows you around the rooms in a house that’s spacious, with three bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s airy, light—ridiculously bright.

But it needs work.

A thing you can tell he’d thought on sight, even if the most he’s done is make a snort or a hum.

You suspect Frankie is paying more attention to the things wrong with it, than what is right. Missing some of the things you point out to him, too busy calculating square footage as the two of you walk around it. Ignoring your opinions on floor-to-ceiling bookcases and hallway mirrors, if the two of you could get a bigger bed than you both have now.

You do think he catches that you think Luca should have the largest room—your reasoning dripping from your tongue that he needs space as he grows up, that you both have a bigger closet in the second biggest.

“—And, we'd probably need to get him one of those beds soon, the ones where he has space under for a pull-out or a desk. The closet is decent, but we’ll have to get him some drawers too.”

Your fingers trace along the doors of the closet as he blinks, coming back to you, to the house, to the room.

“Wait—what…”

And you smile. Not just with kindness or joy, but with everything. Push it outwards, hoping it stretches its warmth out over the entire room, hoping it’ll surround him, maybe he’ll allow it to wrap itself around him as you tilt your head.

“I think this should be Luca’s room.”

Walking towards you, the heels on his boot sounding on the wooden flooring. “Baby, you can’t think that. For one, this house is—“

“Perfect,” you finish, palms finding his cheeks, thumb stroking the hair on either side of his lip. “It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You can see it, even if he doesn’t say it: it isn’t.

You’ve suspected for a while that he has an idea of a home the two of you should have. He’d whispered it to you three months ago in bed, head buried in your neck, fingers fanned over your hips as he talked about garden size, a pool, a workshop and even an office.

In some capacity, this house ticks some of those boxes. It has a spacious kitchen, it has a decent yard and a pool that needs a deep clean. There’s a room that could be an office, but would most likely be a spare bedroom for friends, for Benny or one of your own.

And, you’re grinning. Watching him smile in response, all radiant like he thinks you’re the reason the world rotates.

Then he says it, the thing which has been ticking behind the scenes. Unsaid, unspoken—ignored as though it doesn’t have its own pulse. “You deserve better.”

You don’t mean to, but your forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together as your smile fades into a thin line. Feeling it, etched and written across your face as shame works across him. The evidence of a battle he’s having with himself—something churning, twisting as you slide your hands down his neck and loop them at the back.

It’s clear now it’s been needling him—likely making his chest tight, wrapping vines around his chest, all thick and full of spikes, as he rolls his neck and sighs.

Tilting your head, trying to keep your tone level, you whisper, “Baby, what do you mean?”

Because the realtor is downstairs.

Not wanting to cause a fight—a scene. Your skin prickles as you momentarily panic that you’re whisper isn’t a whisper, when his mouth opens, but no sound leaves it. Worry tangles in your head, and in your throat as you move closer. Wanting more words to appear, to conjure, tell me, tell me, tell me, burning a hole in your tongue as you need him.

Your hand brushes his cheek, forehead smoothing out—concern replacing earlier confusion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The edges of your mouth twitch. “And, I love this house.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you glare.

“Don’t… don’t do that, Francisco. Don’t think for me because you’ve concocted some image of what I want.”

Letting his eyes hang down, he sighs. “I’m not–I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You… you’re looking at each house as if it has a checklist to meet—like it’s being measured against something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You sigh, dropping your hands from his face. And you miss touching him the moment you do. Wanting to place them back, have him take your wrists and put them back, but you’re already folding them, shaking your head as you stare out the window.

“You can’t be mad at me for wanting the best for you.”

You snort this time, narrowing your eyes as you shoot him a glare that says you can, and you will.

“If, and I mean if we take this house, I… I want, no, I need to do a lot of work on it. Because you deserve the house of your dreams, and admittedly, I can’t afford to give it to you. Because houses are fucking expensive, but I can make it for you.”

Biting down on your lip, you glance, catching the sight of him running a hand over his face. Fingers pinching the inside of your arm as you try not to let tears bubble, swim and then fall.

“I… I don’t want that.”

“What do you mean?”

You look up, blinking away the tears. Seeing the doubt spread across his face, like he wants to rewind the clock—take back ever saying you deserve better.

And you don’t want to fight, not with him.

“Frankie… I don’t want it to be my dream house, I want it to be ours.”

He takes a step towards you. “I know.”

But you raise your hands, not pushing him back, but not inviting him in either.

“But you don’t. You’re not picturing a doorframe we can keep measuring Luca growing up. You’re not thinking of warm Sundays with our friends around the pool—and you’re not seeing the lick of paint needed so our bedroom is a little dimmer, so your eyes don’t burn from all the off-white.

“I don’t need an office—I like working with you and at Harold’s. And, yes, I’m not walking around thinking you won’t have to do anything to this house, because, of course, you will. You’re good, you have an eye. We wouldn’t even be thinking of buying something bigger if you weren’t. But, you started a business a year ago—we can’t afford perfect. But we can buy good and make it perfect. If, and when you stop thinking of me, and instead us.”

Brushing a hand over his face, he takes a moment. Swallowing a sigh, an annoyed grunt. His fingers itch at his forehead, pushing strands of hair under his hat before he drops it and stares at you.

“You really want this one?”

Nodding, you roll your lips. “What about you?”

And so he looks around. Hands digging into his jacket pockets, walking in slow footsteps around the room—

Hoping you've helped him see it, picture it, with all your earlier ramblings.

Where the wooden trunk he made will go, the bed you just talked about—the prints of stars, spaceships and galaxies. He glances out of the window, spotting the long drive and the trimmed grass—the quiet neighbourhood that he could teach Luca to ride his bike in.

He feels you come up behind him, arms sneaking around his waist, his hands clutching your fingers as he smiles.

“You want to take another tour, Morales?”

He smiles, nodding, before he turns in your arms so he’s facing you, clutching your face as he kisses you. One which is full of sorry’s and love.

He lingers his palms on your face, just for a fraction. “Will you tell me all the other things you picture as we walk around?”

Grinning again, like before. One which would rival the sun and the beauty of the full moon on a clear night sky.

“Sure,” you whisper, taking his hand, leading him out of the room that in several months will be his son’s.

I’ve packed our case and it’s in the shower in our en-suite, so do not turn the water on without looking. Luca’s is half done, but just need you to help me with a few last-minute bits?

Can I ask why our suitcase is in the shower or am I missing something?

Luca is being nosy. He goes into our bathroom but not into the shower. Trying to keep a surprise from him is harder than you think when I apparently “have lying face”.

You do look very suspicious when you lie.

Good job I don’t have to lie for a living.

Is he behaving?

We’ve baked cookies for tomorrow—even if he thinks it's for a movie day. And he’s currently using my iPad to talk to Sam.

I keep hiding in rooms with boxes so he doesn't ask me things.

Rainy, baby.

I know, but it's only a few more hours, right?

Yeah, promise. Sam called me earlier, and said she has managed to get Monday off so she can meet us there on Sunday—says we should pick somewhere in the park so she can surprise him properly.

Do you want me to get to thinking and then text her?

If you don’t mind baby? I should be done here around 7.

Sounds good. Gives me something to focus on until you're home.

You sure you're doing okay?

I’ll be better when we tell him tonight, I’m feeling really bad about lying to him even if it’s for a good reason.

I promise you, the moment he realises we’re going, you’ll see how it’s worth it.

I know. Plus, the promise of you in Mickey Mouse ears is really keeping me going.

The photo of you getting off one of the rides is what is keeping me going.

Mean.

But I love you.

Love you too.

Peaceful—that’s how you’d describe it.

Condensation slips under your fingers, sliding under your wrist, pooling at the watch strap as you hear him shouting something to someone as he makes his way over. The music is quieter over here, the loud voice that attempts to synchronise with the lyrics seems less shrieking, and more full of harmony.

You were only hovering on the outskirts to call to see if Tyler was okay, and then you found yourself lingering. A moment needed, not questioned or protested.

You know that's why he’s been biding his time. Watching, eyes flicking to you just in case you beckon him to come. Now, you smile as he approaches, it pulled from you with so much ease it's reactionary at this point, no thought. Just a-Frankie-smile, all his, hopefully forever his.

The once-warm air has now cooled, whipping the fabric around your frame as he saunters over.

“Wondered how long it would take you.”

Snorting, he takes a sip from his glass—letting it wet his lips, admiring the same view you have been for some time.

Slipping his hand around your waist, you move closer with ease. Hip moving to hip, cheek coming to rest on his shoulder—contentment filling your bones when he brushes his fingers up and down your back.

“You cold?”

“Not now.”

And he smiles, light—it coming with ease now that he has you back by his side.

“Missed you.”

“That’s because you’re a needy boy, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, he buries it in your neck—light, airy—before pressing a kiss to your head and turning to watch those moving on the dance floor. The soft glow of twinkling lights shimmering in his brown, fingers teasing up and down his white shirt.

The moment is only punctuated by a distant sound—a shift in melody embedded into the night breeze. It takes a second, one far too much before you recognise the tune, the song. Smirking to yourself as you remember your passionate rendition in his car the other week. An updated version to the one over a year ago. The look the same, though, all grin, all teeth and almost crinkled eyes.

You feel him turning your head, eyes meeting his.

It’s simple, uncomplicated—a movement that seems rehearsed as you move, leaning, resting your head on his chest as you feel a soft sigh escape his lips.

“When we do this, we’re eloping.”

Brow arching, he smiles. “When?”

“Like you’re not desperate to slip a ring on my finger, Morales.”

Snorting, resting his chin on your head, you take a comforting breath.

Hearing him swallow, you look at him, finding his tongue flicking against his teeth as he stares ahead at the party. “What if I was… desperate?”

Smirking, finding his eyes now on you, even if his head is facing forward. “Well, Frankie, maybe I’d be desperate to say yes.”

Have I told you today you’re beautiful?

Are you texting me from across our hotel room?

I am. I can see your smile in the mirror.

How the roles have reversed. You look good in a suit, have I told you that?

Told me I look good in a different kind of suit today.

Oh baby, you always rock that one very well.

Can’t believe I’m marrying you today.

Can’t believe there’s a chance I’m going to be married by the real Elvis today.

I hope he says uh-huh-a-huh.

If he doesn’t, I say we annul and try again.

You do really look beautiful.

You should take a photo with Will’s camera—I guarantee I’ll get sauce down me.

You and white.

It’s actually rainier grey, but maybe I should have worn butterscotch.

Not sure I’d have survived that. Already pretty close to falling apart at the sight of you now.

Shut up and come here and kiss me.

AN: The End.

God, I was emotional last week, but as much as I am this week, I'm just grateful. Grateful you've all followed, that I got to tell this exactly how I wanted to. But, mainly, that you let this pair into your hearts. I love you, thank you.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

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forsworned · 5 months

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NO PICTURES, PLEASE ft. DAVID 'HESH' WALKER

Author's note: dedicated to all the Hesh fans out there, this is a hard send lol

Warning(s): Fluffy fluff, Slightly Sexually Suggestive, AFAB!Reader

Keegan is having difficulty rifling through the photos on the notably expensive Sony A7R IV that he purchased for you to capture pictures of No Man's Land when he sent you out on a surveying mission. It was imperative to conduct a reconnaissance of the area for environmental assessment purposes. The Sergeant had previously expressed how vital it was to gather data that was relevant for any potential future infrastructure development, disaster response, and management following the ODIN incident. Sounded simple enough. And yet, Keegan is left puzzled by the initial fifty images out of a whooping two hundred and fifty that is starting to show a discernable trend. They're all images of Hesh.

Now, this wouldn't be such an issue if they were the images that he had specifically requested you to take on said mission. But it was practically a full-blown photoshoot of pure pretty boy.

"[Name]." Keegan pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath before he continues.

Your lips curve into a charming smile. "Hmm?"

"Can you tell me what is wrong with these photos?" He points the screen of the camera in your direction.

You lower your head to get a good gander of what he was referring to: Hesh standing in perfect golden hour lighting that seldomly peaks over the horizon and paints him a pretty shade of tangerine. He looks ethereal, and your smile only grows.

"Mmm, I think they're perfect. Follows the rule of thirds. See." You point to how Hesh is not perfectly centered.

For a moment, Keegan's eye twitches and he can't decide whether he wants to slap the absolute shit out of you for insubordination or for your sheer lack of regard for what he was asking of you. It is blatantly obvious to him (and the other Ghosts) that you have a raging crush on Hesh, though to be fair Hesh was completely oblivious to it. Nonetheless, it is absolutely infuriating when you choose not to follow orders and, instead do a candid imaging session of your Lieutenant.

"That's—kid," Keegan breathes out. He's weighing out his options. Keegan isn't the type to yell at a woman, but he's almost provoked to do so. He chooses not to engage in a manner that will upset you, so coddling it is.

"Hm?" You peer up at him with cutesy, puppy eyes and fortunately for you, his gaze softens and it's easier not to be so enraged by the situation.

"Ya gotta crush on Hesh or somethin'?"

Your smile falters and you feel the heat sidling to your cheeks and ears when those words fall out of his mouth, and he has to stifle the laughter that's threatening to erupt from his chest.

Your eyes dart to the ground as you awkwardly shift your weight. "Um, what gave you that idea?"

He's studying the way you nervously rub your arm and he almost feels bad for asking.

Another exhale. "Nothin', kid. I was just messin' around is all." He hands you back the camera and gives you a knowing look.

"I'm willing to overlook this if you take this seriously." His voice has a bit of an edge to it. You glance up at him and nod with a pout. "Go round up Hesh and update him on the mission. You'll need another go around."

Your face lights up and you begin to dial up Hesh's number to notify him.

"And one more thing," Keegan calls out to you and you hear Hesh pick up. His voice like the purest heroine, but you have to rip your attention away to listen to your experienced Serg.

"No photoshoots"

You grin and give him a thumbs up as you jovially skip away. In all earnest, you did not hear what he said. You are too enraptured by your crush's voice to listen to what Keegan is yapping about, and part of him is aware of that. So as a precaution, he may or may not have warned Hesh ahead of time about your recon mission to keep you in line.

"No pictures, please!"

Hesh giggles, raising his hand to conceal his face from the camera pointed in his direction.

"Aw, just one! We already wrapped up what we needed to!" You maneuver the lens to capture his dimpled grin that melts your heart. But Hesh is not giving in. He's under strict orders not to permit you to take pictures unrelated to your assigned objective. However, your infectious laugh and the adoring gaze from those pretty eyes of yours are proving to be quite the distraction.

He halts his actions, contemplating whether he should just allow you to have your way. After all, you did complete the necessary task, so maybe one photo wouldn't hurt?

"Alright, just one." He chuckles, giving in to your ridiculous demand. But he's already being prompted to model on the large boulder bolstered against a blossoming weeping willow. The view behind him overlooks a glimmering lake, teeming with wildlife in the afternoon sun.

And Hesh is like a Disney princess. Cottontail rabbits approach him at his ankles and a hummingbird lands on his shoulder as if it's a rest stop. It's a picture-perfect moment as you snap away at his gleaming smile that beautifies his already handsome face. It's taking you all your willpower to not rush at him and shower him with all your affection.

A small huff leaves your lips as you store the camera back in its original weatherproof pouch. You think that it's probably for the best if you both start to head back to base, and notify Keegan of a successful mission to avoid any unnecessary reprimanding. As you zip up the storage bag and absentmindedly make your way toward Hesh who is preoccupied with feeding his leftover trail mix to a black squirrel, your balance seems to waver and you're crashing down face first. Luckily, Hesh secures you in his taut arms, but he's fumbling with his own equilibrium and completely loses his composure, leading you to collapse into the shallow end of the lake in a raucous splash.

The water is quick to sodden your uniforms, and you're pressed up against Hesh's rigid and saturated body. You meet his gaze and he's gawking up at you with flushed cheeks and reaming eyes. You imagine that your expression had a certain likeness.

"I'm so sorry..." Your eyes glaze over his soaking white shirt that's now giving you a pretty good view of his herculean torso. And you honest to God hadn't meant to memorize every delicious carving of his toned midsection, but it was right there.

And Hesh is by no means innocent either. His wandering emerald eyes are just as guilty as yours. Instead of your usual, mundane tactical brassiere, you're sporting a baby blue lacey bra, an oversight that transpired because you were too engrossed in hurrying off to your one-on-one mission with Hesh. And when your dilated gazes meet, your stomachs do a little flip that have you clamoring to get up.

You wordlessly extend your hand to him, and he accepts it without hesitation, responding with a polite yet quiet "thank you." Water trickles down your drenched forms and the silence is deafening. That is until Hesh bursts into a fit of laughter. He's carding his fingers through his dark, moistened locks and shaking with mirth. The type of joy that's contagious as hell, and you have no choice but to join him.

A zephyr sweeps past you and it sends a chill up your spine, and your nipples are poking through your sheen shirt. Hesh is rushing out of the shoal of the lake to grab his (thankfully) dry tactical jacket to envelop your shivering body. It's warm and smells just like him. Spicy vanilla, patchouli, and warm amber waft into your senses. Your breath hitches when you feel the pad of his thumb brush the apple of your cheek, perching the loose strands of hair that cling close to your eye behind your ear.

Your wet lashes flutter up to him and he absently licks his lips. His viridian hues train on you as you shyly conceal your abashed features. He chuckles at your coquettish behavior, caressing your cheek, feeling the peach fuzz stand up straight as gooseberries line your skin.

His body inclines toward you and you feel his heart stammering against your chest, meeting the stuttering pace of your own. His other hand is on the small of your back, pulling you closer as he captures your chin between his fingers and tilts it upwards.

"Viking-Actual, what's your location?"

The cacophony of his radio startles you both, shaking you out of your lovestruck daze. There's a look of annoyance that flashes over his features as he presses and holds the push-to-talk button and speaks:

"This is Viking-Actual, we're wrapping up our current operations and RTB. Over."

There's a brief silence before Merrick's voice is heard again.

"Request location update, not status. Over."

Hesh rolls his eyes so hard that they might just come out of their sockets. Your teeth latch into your lip as your shoulders jostle in hilarity. His expression is priceless, but it quickly shifts into a grin knowing that at the very least he can entertain you.

He sighs before notifying him of your location and it's met with another silence to which Hesh takes that as a sign to continue what he was doing before he was interrupted. But the moment that your lips almost graze, the static of the radio returns and he can't help but snicker at the ridiculous timing.

"Copy that. RTB ASAP. Over."

You're giggling under the propped-up collar of his jacket and it's starting to redden the blush on his cheeks. He's getting trepidatious at this point. The tension feels palpable and he's almost deterred from kissing you now.

But like the goddamn soldier he is, he pushes through and he's leaning in once more. Not even the stupid clatter of the radio can stop his lips from finally meeting yours. It's a gentle kiss. Soft, pillowy flesh that presses sweetly against your own and your body is warming up, relishing in his natural musk and the toastiness emanating from his body.

Your arms curl around his dampened waist as you breathe one another in. It's electrifying feeling him against you like this and there's a pyre that's slowly burning down below, but he withdraws too soon. The corners of your mouth draw out into giddy smiles. It's a gratifying feeling. Reciprocation.

"Should probably get back to base soon." He studies how you tuck your lips in, swiping at them with your tongue in an overly elated manner that causes him to giggle again.

"Uh huh." Is all you can muster up and it incites another round of glee. And Hesh can't help himself from cupping your cheeks and bringing you into another kiss. Your heart is soaring as your lips collide and you easily find a rhythm that makes you feel like your bodies are melding together.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, another pair of idiots lurk in a set of tall shrubs about 50 meters out, snooping on your little makeout sesh.

"You think they can see us from here?" Merrick asks his quiet Serg, as he peers through his binoculars.

"Nah." Keegan replies, popping a piece of granola into his mouth and sets his optics down. He pats his counterpart on the shoulder. "Let's head back."

Merrick raises a brow at him. "You don't wanna tell 'em to come back?"

Keegan smiles as he packs his things and slings his sniper over his shoulder. "Let 'em be. We can give 'em hell for it later."

And just that sentence alone thrills the Captain as they tread back to base leaving the nescient, impassioned couple behind. Never a boring day back in the Ghosts HQ.

mini heshhivemind tag list: @keegansshark @milkteaarttime @soapsgf @blacktacmopsi @howtotwirlaknife22 @kun3ho141

the end , that's me after writing this^

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bump1nthen1ght · 2 months

Text

Attention to Detail (M!Reader x M!Demon)

Pairing: Male!Demon Cosplayer x Male!Demon

Genre: Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Flirty, Fluffy

Word Count: 2563 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Halloween is a great time to subtly flex your cosplay skills, pouring hour and hours into your costume. You’d even found an occult book at a second-hand store for reference! At a house party, someone pays special attention to all your hard work.

Request: I’m so glad you’re doing well and good!

Can I request a Male Demon x Male Demon Cosplayer on halloween night? Cosplayer could think that the demon is just another dude unaware of the actual danger he’s in?

and maybe could the demon praise and love cosplayer for cosplaying their kind and getting all the little details just right? 🥹

Sometimes, house parties aren’t so bad.

Sure, they could be crowded, smelly, and way too loud. But that was often a by-product of teenage stupidity and desperation; too many bodies crammed into one place, scrambling for beer and faking adulthood. As an adult they get a lot more tolerable. Comes with practice, you suppose.

This halloween house party has been great so far. You’d come with a group of friends who'd all split up, leaving you to find more drinks in the kitchen, but it wasn’t super stifling. You’d actually gotten a lot of compliments on your costume too, a little ego boost to ease you into socializing with all the strangers.

This kitchen is nice as well. Spacious, lots of counter space, some really nice cooking ware. The kinda thing you appreciate more as an adult. The walls helped block out a lot of the music as well, a perfect hiding hole to refill your beverages and recharge your battery for a second. And adjust your costume. God, leather and sweat do not mix.

You take the time and admire your costume-paint, several runes decorating up and down your bare arms. The paint held up pretty well after dancing for so long, the intricate lines still being cohesive. Your body paint had begun to chafe and smudge a little at your knees and elbows, but luckily were hidden beneath your many leather accessories.

“Ow, fuck!”

A voice snaps you from your admiration, a shadowed figure with a red solo cup in his hand, now rubbing his forehead.

“Damned horns. These infernal houses are too small…” He doesn’t seem to notice you at all when he ducks his head and enters the kitchen. It makes sense, you’re probably under his line of sight because holy fuck this guy is tall.

You're not the best frame of reference, still sitting on the counter as you are, but he’s pushing 6 '6, maybe even 6' 7. Not including the horns, which seemed to add an extra 3 inches of height alone. You wonder what they’re made of to support their bulk. They stay pinned to his head well too, despite the bump. His paint is immaculately done, dark purple showing no signs of fading or chipping away.

“You need some ice?”

That catches his attention, your quiet voice somehow making this absolute giant of a man jump out of his skin. His eyes are wide, yellow sclera glowing in the dark.

Gotta ask where he got those contacts. They look so real.

Said eyes go up and down, his nose twitching as he takes a deep breath. His face crinkles. Jeez, did you smell that bad? You’d made sure to wear deodorant!

“No…I am alright.” He rubs the sore area again. “It’s just the third time it’s happened. Who lives in this house? Imps?”

That gets a snort from you.

“I think you're just tall, dude. Those horns are killer though, totally worth a casual head injury.”

The tall cosplayer stands a little bit taller, finally relaxing and properly looking you in the eye.

“Thank you. I like..” His eyes narrow, “..yours too.”

You brush a hand across your clip-on horns, gentle enough to not mess with the paint. You had set it, but those hours of shaving down the foam and painting were not to go to waste. “Thanks, not that sturdy but I figured I wouldn’t be headbanging too much tonight.”

The man goes silent, eyes now locked on your arms. You twist your forearm, wondering if maybe the paint had smudged while you weren’t looking.

“Those are incredible.” The man is able to cross the length of the room in just one stride, now firmly in your bubble. You figure he must be a little tipsy and not realize, so you brush it off. Hard to be mad when you’re getting complimented.

“Thanks, man. It was hard getting the shapes just right in the mirror. But I think I did an okay job.”

“You did a fantastic job.” He eyes the specific curves of one rune, the more intricate one on your inner wrist. “People often mess this one up, you see. They forget the toz’goth.”

He gestures to a small arrow-like shape protruding out of the side of the rune.

“Is that how you say it?” The book you had copied from hadn’t had many English sections, most being in a script unrecognizable to you or Google Translate. “Good to know.”

“May I?” The man gestures towards your forearm, palm out and stretched open to hold. You quirk up an eyebrow. You don’t even know this guy's name and he’s already asking for a feel?

But he has been giving me a lot of praise, sooooo.

It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the need for approval that has you nodding, setting your arm into his palm. You finally notice his long, sharp black nails as they gently wrap around your wrist, hand ensconcing it in its size. A textured thumb brushes across your inner wrist. A (hopefully) impercitable shiver runs down your spine.

Can’t say I hate this.

The man mutters under his breath as he traces more and more of the runes, nodding approvingly. You try not to shake with giddy.

“The detail you’ve managed with just a paintbrush is astonishing.” His low voice does pleasant things to your stomach, eyes still locked in thought.

“Thanks, I got a nice set for Christmas. One benefit of being the ‘artist’ of the family, I guess.” You snort, thinking back to all the cheap sets you’d gotten over the years. The thought was appreciated, if nothing else. “I buy the paint in bulk, it does great for really long wear time. I can send you the link, if you want.”

The man just hums, eyes now crawling farther up your arm to your biceps, then to your shoulders. It lands on your neck and you swear the man darts out his tongue to lick his lips when he lands on your pulse. Your stomach flips again.

“My name's ____, by the way. What’s yours?”

The man's eyes go slightly wide, a smirk curling up the sides.

“Galvith, the Torturer.”

“Ah, much cooler than mine already.” You play long, a little salty he didn’t give you his real name when you gave yours, but whatever. Maybe he’s just really method with his cosplays, or a more private person in general. “It’s a shame, left all my torturing stuff at home. Otherwise us demons could have had some real fun.”

That gets a laugh, a shockingly boisterous laugh. You see the hints of sharp canines, surely fake, that almost glint in the low light.

“Yes, I bet we could.” Galvith chuckles to himself, almost like he’s remembering an inside joke. “I’d be the brawn, you’d be the brains behind the operation?”

“Well, if you insist.” You throw your hand in a faux sign of humility. “Just didn’t want you to waste all those muscles, big guy.” Patting his chest is a good way for you to subtly feel his chest, and wow are those pecs prominent. Gotta respect the hustle, Galvith is a brick shithouse.

Galvith takes the compliment easily, going the extra mile and flexing his bicep, which is almost as big as the honeydew melon sitting not too far from you. Thank god you’re sitting, or else you’d have probably swooned already.

“Think we’d have to get you a different outfit though. Cargo shorts and a graphic tee aren’t really giving ‘torturer’.”

“And I suppose all of this is?” Galvith flicks at a tassel on your leather vest. “Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of leather?”

“Hey man, don’t hate the look! What kind of torture-expert would I be if I didn’t bring style to the gig?”

“A messy one, that’s what.” Galvith takes a step back eyeing your whole outfit, from your vest to your ripped jeans to your combat boots with studs. “You’re less tortue-expert and more Incubus. All style and,” He eyes up your exposed clavicle, tracing it with his eyes, “-debauchery.”

The word feels so perfect coming out his mouth, like it was molded by it. This hard seltzer must be stronger than you thought, cause you can’t remember the last time a total stranger had you this horny.

“Well maybe I’m looking to change positions. Heard it’s much cushier, being an Incubus and all.”

Gavith chuckles, eyes once more rolling up and down your body. Goosebumps pepper the back of your neck, a primordial something settling in your gut. You're not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

“You’ve certainly got the looks for it, little one.” He clicks his teeth, fake fangs and all. You’re impressed by the durability, and how he doesn’t seem to speak with a lisp with them in.

You find yourself getting lost in his contacts, yellow and slitted. They don’t seem to be irritating him at all, and you add it to the list to ask what his prescription is. It’ll be hard to remember though, when he places a hand right by your thigh, enclosing into your space.

“Do you like to dance, my little Incubus?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow the lump in your throat, once again getting lost in his hot gaze, in that sultry look. “Yeah, I like to dance.”

“Good.” A clawed hand settles on your lower back, pushing you off the counter and practically in his arms. On the ground, it’s even more noticeable just how big Galvith is. “Let’s test out that body paint, shall we?”

—

It’s hot on the make-shift dance floor, despite just being a mat laid out in the backyard, a wireless speaker pumping the top 100 over the party noise. But with Galvith’s hands on your hips, those fangs nipping at the top of your ear, you're steamy.

“I must admit, I’m a fan of this new genre of human music.”

Galvith whispers in your ear, swaying your bodies to the drum beat.

“I think they call it ‘pop’.” You play along, adding an extra haught to your voice, as if you're really 100 plus years old.

“Hm, like the pop of a vertebrae when you snap it in half. Or a bone being forced out of the socket.”

That has you both laughing, that shared dark humor coming in clutch. You could get down with this kind of roleplay.

“Exactly! The most pleasant sound around.”

Galvith swings you by the hips, your feet nearly lifting off the ground. Your head gets thrown back in a giggle. Seems like those muscles aren’t just for show.

“Oh, what is this?”

Galvith grabs at your necklace, now untucked from your high collar and free flowing. His eyes go slightly wide at the intricate design, composed of several small circles and wrapping lines.

“A friend made it for me actually. She makes jewelry and I offered to trade some leather pieces for a custom design.” You look at the emblem, wondering if he recognized whatever series the book you found came from. It was extremely detailed, and although a bit on the older side, was full of information too niche to be from any religions you’re aware of. You double checked and everything.

“Asmaes.” Galvith purrs, twirling the sigils between his fingers. The silver chain rubs against the back of your neck. “Fitting piece, you chose well my little Incubus. Superb craftsmanship as well, kudos to your friend.”

“Thanks, I’ll let her know.”

Before you can ask him more about the book, he spins you around once more, the world turning as he drops you into a dip. Galvith pulls you up with just as much ease, your ankle hooking around his calf so you don’t collide face-first.

Hot breath blows across your lips, your tongue darting out for just a second. Up-close, those fake fangs look even more real. The closeness is almost too much, your eyes darting to look away. But a calloused thumb presses against your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“So…delectable.”

Sweat pools at your clavicle as Galvith kisses you. Your costume fangs clank together, almost coming loose in your mouth, but it’s hard to care. Not when his hand comes down to your hip, grabbing you and pushing you against him.

It’s easy to fall into the kiss, for that sense of shame to fall to the wayside, even as he practically devours you in front of all these people. You’re not usually like this, you don’t come to these parties for someone to kiss and grind against. But there’s something about him, something thats drawing you in. It’s hot, like a moth to a flame.

The only thing that drags you out of the lust-bubble is the vibration of a phone in Galvith’s pocket, resonating against the thigh you currently have pressed up against him. He growls into your mouth, pulling back at the very last moment.

Galvith curses in a foreign language, you think, grabbing the phone with one hand, the other still swaying you side to side.

“What?”

You swallow down a weird jump of fear. Jeez, you would not want to be on the other side of that phone call.

An unintelligible voice babbles something from the speaker. The vein in Galvith’s head begins to bulge.

“Fine. Whatever.”

He hangs up as the other person is mid-sentence. You don’t even get a chance to ask who it was, before he steals you in another breath-taking kiss.

“Sorry, little human. I have to go.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sorry.” You try to unlodge yourself from his arms, the haze of kissing fading and feeling a little more than embarrassed. God, what came over you? But Galvith’s grip is tight, keeping you in place with an alluring smirk.

“Do not worry, we will meet again. Sometime soon.”

You try not to let your smile get too wide, to seem too eager. “Sure thing. Do you want my phone number, or-”

Galvith digs his face into your neck, taking a deep whiff. You nearly squeak. He pulls away with a shuddering breath, wetting his bottom lip.

“I’ll know where to find you.”

Finally, Galvith unwinds his arms, letting you free. You find yourself almost lurching forward, desperate to feel that heat again.

It’s gotta be the alcohol, right? That’s the only logical explanation.

Galvith gives you one last peck to the cheek, a cheeky squeeze of your ass.

“Goodbye, my sweetling.”

With that he’s sauntering back into the house, leaving you speechless and breathless. All alone in someone’s backyard.

I gotta find my friends. They gotta hear about this.

—

Galvith has to sneak into a broom closet to teleport, just barely large enough to fit him. It’s demeaning, even if the spell takes just a second to go through.

Ugh, the one time he finds an interesting human, and he’s called in for an ‘emergency.’ He had wanted to scream at the amatuer demon over the phone. “It’s torture! How hard could it be to figure it out!?”

Galvith steals himself. It will do no good to be angry. Save it for the poor soul currently strung up by his ankles. He takes a deep sniff of the palm of his hand, the smell of leather, denim and your sweat still lingering.

He’ll come back for his little human. One day.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #male reader insert #x reader #demon x reader

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whereireid · 2 years

Text

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

part one | part two — pairing: miles quaritch x fem!reader

summary: — “miles coming back from a mission angry & taking his stress out on reader” and “miles returning from a mission and finding bunny playing w herself”.

— warnings: established relationships, submissive!reader, nicknames (bunny and daddy) - nsfw content - cnc, spankings, rough oral sex [m + f recieving] semi-rough p in v, breeding kink, reader dumbification, orgasm denial, overstimulation

It’s not like you’ve been trying to be naughty.

You try so hard to be a good girl for Quaritch, to please him in every way possible, even when he’s not around. The rules he’s set for you are simple - no touching yourself, no use of toys, and absolutely no rutting against things like the goddamn horny bunny you are.

In the grand scheme of things, though, rules are meant to be broken. Rules that were presented to you under false premises - under the idea that Quaritch would be gone for only a few days when it's now been two weeks. Those are rules that are meant to be broken.

And it’s just like your daddy says — you’re just a horny little bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain.

So, that’ll be your excuse when Quaritch discovers what you’ve been doing behind his back. You huff as you clamber onto his pillow, your lips set into a pretty little pout as you straddle it, your fingers curling into the soft flesh as you gently begin to grind your hips against the smooth fabric.

It feels good - satisfies the little pool of arousal that resides within you. Your slick paints the pillow, allowing for easier movement, and the friction from the cover makes your breath shudder slightly, your clit being faintly stimulated as you move. The tenderness of your movements isn’t enough, though — it doesn’t get you going like your daddy does, and you frown, your little hips beginning to rut eagerly at the pillow, speeding up your pace.

And, oh my gosh, it feels so good. It feels similar to how Quaritch’s rough fingers make you feel, and you toy with different positions until you finally find one which has you withering for relief. You shake like a leaf, your eyelids drooping as your cunt pulses, the desperate need to cum dulling your senses, a cry slipping past your pouty lips.

You’re so focused on chasing your high that you don’t even hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. You don’t even see the flash of blue out of the corner of your eye - no, you’re too busy being a naughty, horny little bunny, more preoccupied chasing your own high than paying attention to your surroundings.

Just as your cunt clenches, your stomach growing tight and pooling with familiar warmth, two big hands wrap around your ankles, forcefully pulling you from your position on the pillow. You squeal, your hands rushing downwards to cover your cunt from the fearsome invader, who seethes down at you with such anger, you almost wonder why he doesn’t have steam shooting out of his ears.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh, bun?” Quaritch says, his voice distorted, rumbling in his chest, resembling that of a snarl. “I gave you three rules when I was gone. Three. Are you seriously that much of a dumb fuckin’ baby that you can’t even remember them?”

You cry out as Quaritch’s fingers wrap around your wrists, his strength no match for your own as he pulls you up, forcing you on your hands and knees in front of him. “I remember them,” you whine out, your cunt leaking with slick, crying from the loss of touch. “I know the rules, daddy, I promise.”

“Yeah? Then why’d you break ‘em, huh?” His ears twitch uncontrollably as he begins to unbuckle his belt, one of his hands still wrapped angrily around your wrist. “You know, I’ve been more than lenient recently. Been real fuckin’ nice to you, bunny, but you gotta remember who the boss is in this relationship, and it sure as hell ain’t you.”

“Didn’t mean to break the rules! You were gone so long, daddy, it started to hurt!" You protest, voice shaking softly as Quaritch’s fingers wrap around his cock, his lavender tip throbbing with need. You lick your lips, watching as his thumb swipes over the pearl of precum, desperate to have him in you. “Please, daddy, want it so bad. It hurts.”

“Oh, bunny, you don’t know nothin’ about hurtin’ yet,” Quartich seethes, his cock slapping lewdly against your lips, his length beginning to force its way into your mouth. You moan around him, your ass wiggling eagerly in the air, and he grins as you gag around his cock. His hand trail down towards your ass, gently palming at the soft flesh, before raising his palm, and bringing it down in a harsh, fluid motion -

SMACK! - Quaritch hits you so hard that you’re certain it’s going to leave a mark. You don’t expect it - jolting forwards as his hand makes contact with you, your throat constricting as he thrusts into your mouth simultaneously. There’s an evil grin on his lips as he fucks into your mouth, relishing in the sound of you gagging around him, his hand coming down again and again and again, spanking your ass so harshly that you’re crying, gagging, and choking around his cock.

“Oh, bunny, does that hurt?” Quaritch mocks, his balls making lewd, sloppy sounds against your chin, and your throat stings with an overwhelming amount of pain. His cock glides in and out of your mouth, his tip brushing against the back of your throat uncomfortably, a low groan slipping past his lips. “You’re spoilt, baby bun. ‘S my fault, been lettin’ you get away with too much.”

You try to protest, try so desperately to argue that you’re a good girl who listens and behaves and is always so obedient. But if you did, it would be a lie, and the sound of your arguing just sounds like humming, because Quaritch is relentlessly fucking into your mouth, your spit drooling down your chin degradingly as he does so. You’re nothing but a hole for him right now, nothing but a horny little bunny for him to use for his own satisfaction.

“Hurts, daddy,” you manage to gargle out, but Quaritch simply chuckles, his fingers grabbing at everything - your hair, your face, your shoulders, your ass. He’s palming at you like a goddamn cat, grunts leaving his mouth as he fucks your face brutally, chasing nothing but his own high.

“It’s meant to hurt, bunny.”

Nonetheless, though, Quaritch pulls away, cooing as a string of your salvia follows him. His length shines from your spit, and he groans, fisting his cock softly, slowly, slapping the length lewdly across your face. With each slap, you flinch, but your body feels all gooey and warm when the soft, squelchy sounds of his beatings echo around your bedroom.

Quaritch is so relentlessly beautiful, and you stare in awe as little specks of aqua light radiate from his skin. His thick cock brushes against your lips and you relish in the feeling of liberty and freedom for just a second more, before his large hand wraps around your head, and he forces his girthy cock inside of your mouth again.

It’s so degrading. You choke around him, feeling so useless and small, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as he uses you. It’s a terrible, hurtful feeling - but you’re so wet that your slick is practically dripping onto his bedsheets. The absence of Quaritch's hand toying with your cunt like he usually does makes you hump the air stupidly, and your mouth stings with stretch because his cock is just so stupidly wide.

Discomfort spreads throughout your nerves like fire as he thrusts into your mouth, tears falling down your face and cooling the burning of your cheeks. You want it to stop so badly - you want your daddy to pick you up and use your little pussy, but instead, he’s hell-bent on using your mouth. And you’re so needy and desperate, you wiggle your little ass in the air hornily, but it’s a mistake, because his hand comes down roughly again, cracking against your skin like a whip.

You cry out, choking around his length, tearfully pushing on his navel to escape his relentless thrusts, but he doesn't even move an inch. “You’ve been a bad bunny,” he tells you, the tip of cock beginning to twitch softly in your mouth, “so take it.”

You listen, your ass stilling in the air, and though your skin throbs with pain, you bite back the urge to whine about your discomfort. Quaritch palms at the soft flesh of your ass, quiet groans slipping past his lips as he thrusts into your mouth, his motions becoming sloppy and desperate.

You can taste the saltiness of your tears, because they’re running down your face and painting his cock. You protest, which comes out muffled, unable to stop Quaritch’s cock from pushing against the back of your mouth, again and again.

Your throat constricts as his hips begin to shudder, his balls resting against your chin as he cums. It feels like you’re suffocating, and the twinge of arousal isn’t enough to chill the fear that spreads throughout your spine. Quaritch pumps his cum down your throat and you gag, choke around his length, wiggle your hips, and you push on his navel in an attempt to get away - but to no avail, because he holds you in place, and your strength is no match for his own.

By the time Quaritch pulls out of your mouth, your tastebuds are dancing with the salty aftertaste of his cum, and you’re left gasping for air. You shake beneath him, your round doe-eyes pooling with tears, and Quaritch coos, his thumb collecting some of your spit and some of his cum that had dribbled from your lips when he’d pulled out of your mouth.

Quaritch's thumb forces its way into your mouth, and your eyes flutter, trying to bat away your tears as your cheeks hollow around his finger. “I don’t want you to waste a single drop,” he tells you plainly, his tail swaying frustratedly behind him, ears twitching when you nuzzle closer, needy for his touch. “God, you look like such a mess.”

You blink your tears away, and try to force the pout from your lips, but it’s borderline impossible. Your face is so expressive that Quaritch can read all of your emotions, and he knows that his words have just struck a nerve. “Tried to look pretty for you,” you say tearfully, pushing your head into Quaritch’s palm as his other hand smooths down your hair. “Didn’t know when you were gonna get back, daddy. Dressed up every day for you, just in case.”

“You always look pretty, bun,” he purrs, the bed dipping with his weight as he sits next to you, his fingers meekly rubbing the tears from your eyes. "Even when you look a mess. Just imagine how pretty you’re gonna look, when you're all knocked up with my babies.”

The mention of being full, swollen with Quaritch’s babies makes your stomach pool with warmth, and your eyes begin to shimmer with desire. Shamefully, you wrap both your hands around one of his own, your frame now resting atop of his, your throbbing ass planted on his lap. “I want your babies, Quaritch,” you say eagerly, your heart racing in your chest as Quaritch’s hands gently rub your ass, in an attempt to soothe the pain. “Quartich, I want them so bad.”

“Quaritch, huh?” His brow line quirks upwards, and your face floods with warmth. “What happened to daddy, bunny? Got all eager and desperate to be knocked up, that you forgot this was a punishment?”

You shake your head, trying to calm your nerves, your slick painting his thighs as you correct yourself. "Daddy, I want your babies so bad. Please." You wiggle against him, your hands grabbing at his face, placing desperate kisses against his lips.

Quaritch’s ears flicker on his head, and his eyes soften momentarily as he gently kisses you back. The intimate moment is fleeting, though, and his fingers pinch at your ass and you jolt, pulling away and hiding your head in his chest. “Not right now, bunny. Naughty girls don’t get to decide what you want, and you’re so cockdrunk that you don’t even know what you’re saying.”

You want to protest, argue that you know exactly what you’re saying because you want Quaritch’s babies so bad, even when you’re not rutting against him like a horny little bunny. But the argument would just fall on deaf ears, and you’d only be getting another spanking - which you don’t want, so you stay quiet, nodding your head like an obedient bunny does.

You’re pleased that you did stay quiet, though, because Quaritch eagerly places his face between your legs, beginning to use his face to fuck and toy with your cunt.

It's so much better than rutting against your pillow in an attempt to chase a mediocre orgasm. Quaritch’s lips are pressing eagerly against your pussy, and you try to muffle the gasp which slips past your lips but you just can't. He knows your weak spots - of course he does, you’re his little bunny - and his tongue works at your clit softly, slowly, pressing slow kisses against your cunt.

“You must’ve been desperate, bunny. Look at how wet you are, just from sucking daddy's cock,” Quaritch murmurs, pulling away from your cunt, tongue wetting his lips as he admires just how puffy and swollen and red your pussy looks. It looks desperate to be used - leaking with so much slick that it looks like it’s crying, and he coos, his breath fanning over your sensitive cunt, causing goosebumps to dart up your skin.

“Needed you so bad, daddy,” you cry, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue skilfully swirls around your clit, lips peppering delicate kisses against you. “Felt so lonely without you here.”

Your hands paw at his head, your stomach pooling with arousal as Quaritch’s tongue toys with you. It feels so good - so painfully good, but every time your little legs begin to shake, he pulls away. He knows you - knows when your orgasm is coming, and he’s denying you of it. Any pleasure is fleeting, slow, dragged out, his tongue swirling against you agonizingly slow.

You mewl pathetically as Quaritch’s lips draw away from your cunt, his fingers caressing the soft flesh of your thighs. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whimper, legs twitching at either side of his head as he slowly drags his tongue over your delicate bundle of nerves, his fingers parting your puffy slits. “Please let me cum, I need it,” your voice comes out in a squeak, your stomach tightening as he relentlessly toys with your clit, peppering you with overwhelming waves of pleasure.

Excitement rushes through your body as Quaritch continues to play with your clit, spitting at your cunt lewdly. He doesn’t even swat you away as you start humping against his face needily, and desire pulsates through you when you realise he’s going to let you finish. And you’re so close, your toes curling as he sucks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, your heart pitter-patting in your chest, and your stomach flips as the overwhelming sensation to cum consumes you.

But then it disappears. The fire inside of you burns out, and a broken sob slips past your lips at the absence of your orgasm. You hurt so much - your limbs feel fiery and broken, your muscles sore, and Quaritch blows against your cunt, grinning as your legs flinch shut.

“Oh, bunny,” Quaritch murmurs when your breath begins to hitch, your eyes crinkling shut. Quaritch licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, slow and deliberate, humming as he does so. “You really thought daddy was gonna let you cum? After you’ve been so naughty?”

“Daddy, please,” you cry as Quaritch pulls away for the final time, his hard cock pressing against the soft flesh of your inner thigh, inches away from your weeping cunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break the rules!”

“That’s not true, bunny.” He shakes his head, pulling you forwards slightly, careful as his fingers part your slits, sighing at how sore and needy your cunt looks. “I saw you humpin’ that pillow like a god-damned cat in heat. Jesus, you were ruttin’ away like nobody’s business. But I’ll be nice, bunny, since you’re so needy an’ all.”

“Nice?”

Quaritch hums, his cock sliding through your slits, slapping lewdly against your clit, lewd, wet sounds echoing throughout his bedroom. “I’ll let you cum, bunny. But only around my cock, and only when I say you can. Deal?”

“Will you cum when I cum?” You ask eagerly, your blood rushing to your head as the tip of his cock presses against your hole. “Will you, daddy?”

“I’ll do what I want when I want to,” Quaritch says pointedly, but his ears flicker as he thinks of stuffing you full of his seed when you’re leaking your own around his. “You ready, bun?”

You try to ignore the flash of hurt at his words, because you desperately want him to cum inside of you and get you all pregnant and full like he mentioned earlier. “Ready, daddy,” you say breathlessly, withering slightly as his tip pushes inside of you, stretching your cunt out painfully.

It’s so painful that you feel like you’re dying. The stretch is impossible, and with each slow push of his hips, Quaritch wonders if you’ll split in two around him. He can’t remember you being this tight before - maybe his rules were a little too harsh. Maybe he should’ve actually instructed you to use the dildo he’d gotten made for you rather than forcing you to abstain.

His lips are set in a frown, and his brow crinkles in worry because he wants to punish you but he can tell that going any rougher than this slow, rolling motion of his hips will hurt you. And your eyes are pricking with tears, but not the cockdrunk, needy kind - genuine tears, because the stinging of your cunt is so, so painful.

But also so sinfully good.

Your small hands raise to cup Quaritch’s cheeks, and your nose brushes against his, a broken mewl forcing its way up your throat as you clench down around him. “Want you, daddy,” you tell him as his hands come up to play with your tits, his fingers rolling your nipples skilfully, sending shockwaves shooting down your spine. “Harder. Please.”

“This is supposed to be a punishment, bunny,” he says throatily, but his voice is clouded with lust and a hint of desperation. You’re just too cute to say no to, and Quaritch presses a rough kiss to your lips before his hips begin to roll into you.

Quartich begins to move, his pace quickening, easing from slow and gentle to rough and fast. The stretch burns, but the pain aligns with the pleasure of his tip brushing against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt, and the stinging is dulled by the senseless pleasure that you're feeling.

“You left for so long,” you mutter, your eyes pricking with tears as his hips smash into you, his head lulling into your neck, his tail curling possessively around your ankle. “Only supposed to be a few days.”

“I know, bunny. Couldn’t help but touch yourself, could you? Those rules were just so hard to follow, and you’re just a bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain, aren’t you?” Quaritch responds, his words hitching in his throat slightly as your walls clench down around him.

“Yes daddy, ‘m just a dumb bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain,” you agree, eager to please him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy as he fucks up into you. Quaritch’s teeth graze your neck, biting into your soft flesh ever so slightly, and you feel him draw blood, but you’re too focused on the rolling of his hips and the painful stretching of your cunt to acknowledge it.

You feel like a broken doll, so raw and sensitive, and you cry as Quartich licks up the blood he’d drawn, his cock rolling into you at an unfathomable pace. The sound of your cries and moans are muffled by the noises of your squelching cunt and his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and you feel so cockdrunk and so needy for him.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Quaritch asks, watching as your eyes crinkle shut and your legs begin to shake, and he moves his hand down to your abdomen, pressing on your belly, watching you squirm. “Go on, then, cum.”

“Want you to cum with me, daddy,” you plead, trying to ignore the tightening of your stomach and the way your body begins to grow weak with every thrust of his hips.

Quartich grunts, watching as you paint the bottom of his cock white with your ring of arousal. “God, bunny, ‘m gonna full you up so good, make you nice and round and pump you full of my babies, huh?”

You cry out when he speaks, nodding your head eagerly, the dull pain of your throbbing ass and your stretched cunt pulsing through you. You’ve tried to hold back, but you can’t, and you clench down around him, gasping as Quaritch tells you, “cum, bunny.”

So, you do. And it feels perfect - so liberating as your cum gushes all over him, your frame shaking against his, and Quaritch’s tail tightens on your ankle as he cums, too, his hips rolling ferociously as he fucks into you desperately.

“Quartich,” you cry, your voice strained, shaky as you embrace him, his strong, Earthly scent clouding your senses. “I need you so bad.”

“You’ve got me, bun,” Quaritch tells you, his head nuzzling into your neck, peppering gentle kisses to your skin. “You’ve got me. I’m not goin' anywhere.”

There’s a dull throbbing inside of you by the time Quaritch pulls out of your cunt. He’s not even fully soft - still somewhat hard, but he eyes your exhausted frame, and his features soften. You look so battered and broken, and he feels somewhat bad, because you’ve been so desperate for him.

He was only supposed to be gone for a couple of days, and it did transcend into two weeks. So, when you make grabby hands at him, Quaritch simply abides, pulling you into him, smoothing down your hair, and holding you close to his chest.

If he had it his way, he’d never leave you again.

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honeyyhivee · 3 months

Text

best friend!joseph joestar ⠀ྀི

⠀ྀི in which joseph joestar can change your mind every time ⠀ྀི

cw ⠀ྀི minors dni! black!fem reader in mind but read as you please, explicit smut with a little bit of plot, battle tendency!joseph joestar, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks!), dumbification, petnames (pretty girl, babe, my girl, pretty, doll), joseph's lowk a perv

word count & thoughts ⠀ྀི 701, lowercase intended, not proofread :(, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated ♡

“look at you! ya’ didn’t need to get all dolled up for me.”

you laughed at your best friend, joseph's comment before rolling your eyes. “who said i was dolled up for you? it is one of the dresses you got me for my birthday though.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. his hands held onto your waist for a moment before he tried to sneak one hand towards your ass, quickly you let him go and grabbed his wrist.

“i got a date in like an hour, jojo. don’t be a perv.” you pouted a little while moving away from him. “a date? with who?”

“with my business, jo’. i was coming over because i wanted to talk to nana erina.”

he scoffed and folded his arms. “are you trying to get back at me for something because this isn’t a funny joke. she’s not here at the moment anyway.”

“then i have no reason to be here myself.” as you went towards the door, he followed and waved his hands. “pretty, pretty girl, don’t tell me you’re being serious.” you avoided eye contact with him as you nodded.

“hm, fine, if you think your ‘date’ can take better care of you than i can, go on.” he actually left you alone, walking towards the couch. with your hand on the doorknob, you began to hesitate. you knew that joseph was sitting there right now with a smirk on his face, if you stayed you’d prove him right yet you still opened the door only to close it right back.

things were messy between you and your best friend, they always had been, but this time was worse. this time, joseph was making sure that you could never even dream of getting with another man.

you gripped onto him as he roughly fucked himself into you. you were laid on your back, both of your legs resting on his shoulders with your eyes shut as he continuously hit that spot that made you squirm.

“all mine, babe. you’re all mine.” dumbly, you nodded and recited “all yours” back to him, which only made him grin wider. “keep those eyes open on me, pretty. you gotta know who you’re talking to.” he teased.

once you had your eyes open, he began to slow his pace down a bit, giving hard thrusts. your mouth stayed open with no sound, as your eyes threatened to roll back. “look at my girl. fuck-” he leaned down more, continuing to give you these deep strokes while sucking on your neck.

“more, please.” you whimpered, stuttering your words. “more? you want more?” he asked in a mocking tone but all you could do was nod in response. “why should i, hm? go ask your date for more.”

joseph was always so unbearably annoying at the worst times. you began to twitch around him, which gave him this signal that you were close.

he leaned back up before fixing your legs and holding them still. luckily for you, he was one moment closer to his release. he settled before speeding up his pace again, the sounds of your squelching getting louder as his dick pushed into you relentlessly.

“sorry, doll. ‘m gonna cum in you.” he groaned, remembering that the two of you had no protection at all. to his surprise, you replied back with a whiny “please, i need it.” he couldn’t hold back anymore while he pumped himself into you, you clenched tighter around him.

your moans grew louder, as your eyes rolled and your manicured fingers gripped onto the couch. your essence painted a white ring around his dick and simply seeing that pulled joseph into his peak, his cum finally releasing into you.

his hips stuttered against you before he got your legs from off of his shoulders and pulled out completely. his eyes widened looking at his seed spilling out of your hole while your legs were spread wide open.

you laid there trying to catch your breath only to feel a tongue lapping up your pussy, causing you to jump and nearly shut your legs. joseph caught them before they closed and looked up at you.

“can i finish?”

don’t use or steal my work, thanks!

#jjba smut #x female reader #black reader #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #battle tendency #joseph joestar smut #joseph joestar x reader #jjba joseph #jjba headcanons

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fried-peaches00 · 2 years

Text

“Neteyam Standards”

Neteyam Sully x Human!reader

Ratings: SFW, Fluff

Word Count: 800

Notes: Man wtf why do I gotta indulge like this. This is me dipping my toes into the world of posting fan fiction, let me know what you think. Also I can’t figure out how to add a read more option help.

“You must’ve been the most beautiful creature on earth.” Neteyam murmurs into the crown of your head, his hand slipping into your considerably smaller one playing in the grass. You always admired the contrast of your skin tones next to each other. You scoff, “Hardly, but I appreciate the sentiment Teyam.” You left your voice drift off into the forest sounds, you prefer to let them speak for themselves but Neteyam has a different idea,

“I don’t think I could imagine anything more beautiful than you, Navi or human,” He ponders for a moment, “I wouldn't be surprised if you would rival the personified beauty of Eywa herself.” You laugh at this, sitting up to face him behind you only to be met with a drowsy, lovesick smile painted on Neteyam’s face as he listens to you with undivided attention, ”Do not say these things!” He catches your hand as you lightly shove him in the chest,

“ I can’t have Eywa upset at me, can I now? It’s hard enough just surviving on this planet without an ethereal deity out for me.” He laughs heartily, pulling you down to rest against his chest looking up into the canopy and at the sun shining through. It’s nearing eclipse, just close enough to see the first sliver of Polyphemus through the trees but not enough to worry about your return yet. Either way, you know that Neteyam could protect you against anything you may find in the dark. Out of the corner of your eye you see Neteyam’s ears twitch. Picking up all the chirps, hoots and howls of the forest. Two Atokirina dance between each other, floating down just far enough to tickle the finger tips of your outstretched hand.

“And besides, Eywa is much too beautiful. I don’t think I’d want to rival her. Nothing would seem beautiful to me if I was the most beautiful.” You add, only for your lover to squeeze your shoulder, his hand reaching out to join yours against the backdrop of the sky,

“I would like to believe Eywa thinks we are beautiful…” He murmurs before rolling on top of you, deciding he would much rather look at you than the leaves of the trees,

“Either way, you must be the most stunning creature on earth at least.” His bright eyes gaze up into yours. You can’t seem to find any hint of playfulness or doubt, he's fully sincere. So sincere it almost makes you tear up,

“Not particularly, I’m not exactly conventionally Earth beautiful either.” You give him a shaky smile, But he perseveres, cupping your face in his large hand, pressing his forehead to yours,

“I don’t buy it, my love. The way you speak of earth, burnt and devoid of life. I can’t imagine the people must be any better. All of the Humans I see here on Pandora are destructive and violent.” You hum, feeling the light rumbling of a purr in his chest against yours. You think for a moment, it might be nice for Neteyam to keep thinking that you are so beautiful that the Earth should weep for forgiveness for ever letting you leave, but you feel like you should tell the truth. That for earth standards, you were really, quite below average. Even though you don’t have to feel the pressure to look the way everyone wants you to look anymore, you would like to be able to be vulnerable with Neteyam, your mate,

“Earth… Has a very steadfast expectation on how you should look. So many humans would do anything to look that way,” You smile for a moment but it fades fast. “We would kill our planet for it. The plants and animals,” Neteyams huffs, pulling back for a moment,

“They did. Not you. This is not a matter of we.” He pouts. You will not bear this guilt alone, not on his watch. This makes you smile again,

“Whatever,” You roll your eyes. Never have you met anyone so stubborn to let you know how cared for you were, “I don’t meet that standard, Teyam, I think you would be stunned by those who do.”

Neteyam’s face softens. He can’t even fathom how you perceive yourself. To him you were the most empathetic, intelligent, caring person he’s ever met, not to mention the very love of his life. He moves to sit on your outstretched thighs,

“I don’t care about ‘Earth standards’.” He creates bunny ears with his fingers,

“In Nettayam standards, You are the most stunning being in the whole galaxy.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam sully x reader

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vampcubus · 1 year

Note

hii ashi ive got a fun little thought for u

imgagine kyojuro, despite how strong he is, can never ride you for more than a few minutes. kyo always tries his best, but his legs always get so shakey and sore everytime by how overwhelming it is, that you have to help him fuck himself on your strap :((

bell u are a godsend i haven't been able to get this idea out of my mind since u sent it and now that i have coherent thoughts...

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, sub!kyojuro, dom!reader, pegging, master kink, overstimulation, long orgasm, not proofread.

Kyojuro's trained to have incredible stamina, but it's like it all goes away and his legs turn to jelly when he's bottoming. He tries so hard to keep going, to keep bouncing on your cock but his legs are shaking and he lets out a frustrated whine. He slows down, looking about ready to cry when his orgasm slips out of his grasp.

"Aw, do you need help, baby?" you purr, watching him struggle with half-lidded eyes, amusement glinting in them. He was so cute it wasn't fair really, his steadily bouncing cock especially, which flops neglected against his belly with each pitiful thrust.

"Please help me. I'm sorry I can't do it myself any longer," he sobs, and you only croon, sitting up so you can adjust him, slipping your hands underneath his ass so you can spread him open and start to bounce him up and down on you. You thrust up into him and the head catches on a spot that makes him squeal, clinging onto you and slurring grateful open-mouthed kisses across your neck and shoulder. "Thank you! ohh thank you, master!"

"S'ok, master's got you. You don't gotta lift a finger. Let me do all the work. It's okay," you pant, a satisfying ache settling in your abdominals as you fuck up into him and press his hips down at the same time. He's all but howling with pleasure, lips sucking marks into the tender flesh of your throat. "There's a good boy."

He moans aloud at your praise, golden eyes rolling back as he loses himself to the pleasant scrape of the toy against his sensitive inner walls. You're practically abusing his prostate, fucking the sense right out of his muscled yet soft body. God he's so handsome, and burly, yet he falls apart and arches for you so prettily.

"Feels so good, m-master. Fffuck! Fuck, I feel so good!" Kyojuro wails, hand shooting to his cock to stroke it. You let him, eager to watch him unravel for you. "I-I'm gonna c-cum soon! Please, please may I cum?"

"Mhm, let it all out baby. Look at me while you cum all over my cock, yeah?" He tears himself away from your neck, teary honey and rose-colored eyes swimming with overwhelmed tears.

You fuck up into him harder at the sight, growling in delight and his hand speeds up on his cock. His dewy lashes flutter, fighting the urge to close. He wants to obey you, to be good for you. The knot in his belly finally snaps and he shouts in alarm as cum spills out of him, painting your stomach with seed as he thrashes and wails.

You bounce his body up and down on you through his orgasm, and he sobs, overstimulated. He stares at you with a desperate look, trembling as he continues to convulse and spurt for longer than he usually would.

"Oh gods! Oh gods! Unhh I-I can't stop cumming. O-oh fuck!" Kyojuro cries helplessly, though his hand keeps milking his own cock, the slippery, frantic movement making an obscene squelching sound.

"Shhh, just let it all out, sweetheart," you comforted, nudging his hand away from his sticky cock to replace it with your own. He flinches when you stroke him with a tight fist, wringing more cum out of him.

"A-ah okay, master. mhhh ahh!" he finally stops erupting, slumping against you with his head on your shoulder, exhausted and twitching like mad. You affectionately thumb at his tip a while longer as he softens in your grasp, before heeding his whimpers of 'no more.' and 'too sensitive.'

#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes #bell <3 #sub!kyojuro #sub kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #dom!reader #dom reader #n/sfw

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iamthecomet · 5 months

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hear me out: dew lost his gills when he transitioned to fire but his neck is still very sensitive where the gills were

You're so right and forgive me if I lose my mind about it a little.

Some Dewther "gill" fucking filth under the cut.

It's an accidental discovery. Aether reaching up to trace his fingers over those silvery scars on his neck. Still fresh. Dew, staring up at him, vulnerable--afraid to let himself be explored like this. Body feeling somewhere between home and completely new. He keeps his hands at his sides, fists clenched, nails digging cresents into his palms. It's hard to be seen like this--touched like this. He's never been good with intimacy. Aether's reverent, devoted. Eyes big and wide as he touches Dew. Feather light, barely there, over every inch of warm skin Dew will let him. Watching as Dew's skinny chest heaves with each stuttering breath. Panic mixed with arousal. Aether has him naked--unable to hide. He dips his fingers into the hollow of Dew's throat and watches as Dew's cock twitches against his thigh. Dew stays as still as he can, would do anything to keep Aether like this. Despite the strange twist of anxiety he gets from letting himself be seen, it's the way Aether looks at him that fixes it. Like he is everything. Like there is something in him worth marveling at. The first touch of Aether's fingers on his scars is like lightening through his skin. A jolt. For a minute it's like he still has gills. That same alarm bell sensitivity of fingers aren't supposed to go here. Dew lets out a whine and Aether pulls his hand back. "Sorry. I didn't--do they hurt?" "Do it again," Dew whispers. Silence hangs, Aether blinks at him, fingers uncurling. "Please?" "I don't want to hurt you."

"Doesn't hurt," Dew promises. "Please, Aeth." Aether reaches out, drags the calloused pad of his index finger over the middle scar and Dew hisses. Eyes slamming shut, cock kicking to life. Almost fully hard now, twitching between his legs as Aether pets. Dew arches, tips his head to the side to give Aether better access. "More." He'd thought he lost this. This electrical current feeling. The brutal sensitivity of his gills that never fails to turn him to goo. It was an unfortuante side-effect of a transition that he needed--that he wanted. But to have it back? He shudders as Aether adds two more fingers, petting over each silver scar. A methodic back and forth motion that makes Dew groan. His cock spits pre into his happy trail. He thinks that if Aether decided to curl his whole hand around his throat, to press the pads of his fingers to the scars on both sides, if Aether was to squeeze--just a little--Dew could cum. He can't ask for it though--doesn't know how. Words are fleeting. All he knows how to do is unclench his fists and get his hands on himself. One to cup his balls, the other to polish the sticky head of his cock. "That good?" Aether teases. He starts to pull his fingers away and Dew's eyes snap open. He shakes his head. Pulling at his cock frantically, lips falling open. "Nononono don't--you gotta--fuck, Aeth--don't stop, please don't stop." Aether grins at him, bending forward to block Dew's view of anything but him. He kisses him, sweetly, on that pouting lower lip. "Never," Aether promises. Dew doesn't realize his mistake until after he cums, painting his belly and knuckles in creamy white. And Aether doesn't stop, fingers still dragging over. He fits his hand around Dew's throat, splaying his fingers across the scars on both sides. Dew's eyes fly open, he twitches. Overstimulation rocketing through him.

"Wait--Aeth--too much--" Aether leans down to kiss his sweaty forehead, his smile turns predatory. "You told me not to stop."

#comet writes #ficlet #Dewther #Dewdrop/Aether #Gill play #ish?#there's not gills but there might as well be #Ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fic #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul

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carmenberzattosgf · 4 months

Note

I’d like your thoughts feelings and opinions about giving Mr. Berzatto a hand job. pretty please and prettier thank you.

-🧸

There’s something about a hand job that just makes Carmy fold. The feeling of your hand stroking his cock makes his brain short circuit.

It’s just so different from how he pleasures himself. Good different. Your palm holds him delicately, squeezing his tip just enough on the upstroke to fuel the fire growing in his stomach. You’ve already spit all over his length, letting you quicken the pace of your hand with ease as you sit next to him on the couch of his apartment.

You’re just so fucking pretty, too. When you have him like this, Carmy can really look at you. Sure, you look gorgeous with your mouth around his cock, but it’s not the same. With you getting him off with your hand, he can watch all of your expressions. He doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration.

When you start talking, though, he loses all train of thought. “I like the sounds you make, Carm. It’s so hot. You gotta know that.”

“Your sounds—fuck,” he hisses as you let another glob of spit fall from your mouth. “Y-yours are prettier.”

“I wanna talk about you, baby.” You lean in to press a hot, open mouth kiss to his neck. Carmy’s hips twitch in response. You don’t tease his neck for long though, lifting back up to meet his eyes. “You’ve got such a pretty cock, Carmy. So pretty, and so big.”

“Holy shit—you can’t just say that—“ Carmen’s head falls back in pleasure. His hips chase your hand. He’s so desperate to cum.

“Why not? It’s the truth. Just look how big you are compared to my hand.”

Carmy knows he’s playing with fire by looking down, but he does anyway. His dick is leaking with precum, dripping over your hand. Your palm dwarfs in comparison to his thick length. “Sweetheart—shit— I’m gonna—“

“Cover my hand in your cum, Carm. Please.”

and Carmen does just that. A deep, rough groan escapes his lips as he reaches his orgasm. The sound is quickly replaced by whines and whimpers as he watches his cum paint your hand in white. The sight is fucking entrancing. It takes everything he’s got left in him to push your hand away when the overstimulation becomes too much.

So yeah Carmy and handjobs are something I think about very often.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy bear #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy smut #brain rot

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anonymous-dentist · 1 year

Text

It’s two in the morning, Cellbit is sulking his way back home from yet another attempt at the Federation’s air vent system, and it’s snowing. Christmas is in a week and a half; Richarlyson’s present, a pack of those fancy art markers that cost twice what Cellbit makes in an hour, is in Cellbit’s backpack nestled between a packet of stolen documents and a handgun. He’s tired, he wants to go home, and-

“Stop.”

It’s quiet, a hoarse whisper from a nearby dark shady alley. But Cellbit stops because it’s a kid.

Dying, he hears. Cucurucho, dyingdyingdyingdying-

Cautiously, he looks around. Empty streets, snow piling up in inches. Fucking cold, ice flying in the air. It’s gonna be a nasty storm, so he should really be getting home. But-

But it smells like blood.

So Cellbit hikes his bag up on his shoulder and steps out of the storm and into the alley, and he almost steps on a tiny dying hero.

“Oh,” he softly says, his body losing all its tension as he takes the kid’s broken appearance in. “Hello.”

The kid glares up at him. He’s… small. Just a bit bigger than Richarlyson, maybe. Standard Junior Hero uniform, mask over his eyes and nose, and a lot of blood.

“Stop staring,” the kid huffs. His teeth are chattering, and his lips are blue from the cold. “Just call the Feds for me.”

“Oh, sure,” Cellbit lies. He shuffles to the kid’s side to try and block out the worst of the wind, and then he crouches just a little, just enough to try and see what the damage is. But the kid scowls and curls in on himself, wincing as he moves.

Ribs, then. Cellbit recognizes that flinch, he’s seen it on enough of his victims.

Wounds are fresh, fresh enough for the kid to still be alive, anyway. Torso wounds suck. Easy to give, harder to make lethal.

Cellbit sighs and pulls out his phone. “Which one are you?”

He doesn’t have the Federation’s app downloaded (because fuck that), so he texts Forever instead; he’s the mayor, he’s gotta have some kind of Federation of Heroes Hotline going on. He’s probably awake. If not, well. Maybe the police can actually do something useful for once.

The kid’s chest puffs out despite the pain, and he says, “I’m Thorn, duh.”

He’s a child, that’s what he is. And he’s a fucking terrified one- Cellbit doesn’t need to use his ability to feel the fear coming off of him in waves. Because he’s a little boy who probably hasn’t seen his parents in years and he’s all alone in a storm dying and the villain who did this to him is still out there waiting.

Forever texts back: ‘🤬🤬🤬’

So he’s told the Feds, who probably have an evac team on the way. Because this is the leader of the most recent Junior Hero graduating class, and it’d be bad PR to let him die alone in a ditch somewhere in the city.

But, well… he’s a kid.

So Cellbit slides his phone back into his pocket and presses the back of his hand against Thorn’s cheek. Thorn hisses- fucking hisses- and tries to scoot away, but he can’t get too far with whatever injuries he’s got.

“Calma,” Cellbit says, letting his ability do its work, “I’m just checking for a fever. My son gets them all the time, I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

And, yeah, Thorn’s feverish. More importantly, though, he’s calm. His heartbeat evens out, and so does his breathing.

Thorn stares up at Cellbit in shock. “You’re a dad? No way!”

What the fuck?

“Of course I’m a dad!” Cellbit protests. “Look at me!”

He drops his hand from Thorn’s face and gestures towards his t-shirt, hand-painted by Richarlyson and reading, “World’s Okayest Dad”.

Thorn is not impressed. “You look homeless.”

And technically Cellbit is, but he isn’t just going to say that! Not to someone who’s technically his enemy.

So he huffs and crosses his arms and plays at being dramatic. (He’s got plenty of experience after dealing with Forever for so long.)

“Whatever,” he sulks. “You’re the one in a stinky alley. At least I have a shower.”

The kid’s lips twitch into a very hesitant little smile. Mission accomplished.

“Yeah, but you don’t use it,” he counters.

It’s a shame Richarlyson hates the Federation almost as much as he hates showers, because he and Thorn would probably get along pretty well. (Maybe Forever can set up a play date…)

Cellbit makes a show of smelling his jacket- clean, freshly washed. He makes a face, anyway, and Thorn giggles, and it’s kinda hard to hate the enemy when they’re made up of literal children.

“I never said I do my laundry,” Cellbit sniffs. “Do I look like I have that kind of money?”

“No!”

“Hey!”

The kid laughs, head thrown back. And then he grimaces and doubles over, eyes briefly squeezing shut.

Cellbit takes another look around the alley. Nobody’s there but the two of them, which makes sense. What kind of villain would stick around after supposedly killing the Federation’s Junior Hero poster child?

With a sigh, he settles down into the snow next to Thorn with his back against the chilly wall.

“You called them, right?” Thorn asks.

“I did better than that. I texted the mayor.”

Thorn snorts. “The mayor doesn’t have any friends, pendejo. He’s too busy being the mayor.”

Ouch.

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“Tell him that I’m gonna beat him up, too.”

“What?” Cellbit gasps exaggeratedly. “Why would you want to do that? He’s the mayor.”

“He’s stupid. He wants to put the Junior Hero Program into schools so all the babies can join it.”

Thorn frowns. He’s not scared, Cellbit made sure of that, but he’s worried. A bit different, and unfortunately out of Cellbit’s wheelhouse.

“My son wants to join,” he says.

Thorn shakes his head. “Well, get him out of it. It’s not worth it, man. Too much homework.”

“I thought you were gonna tell me it’s too dangerous.”

“Nah, it’s pretty chill.” (Now that’s a lie.) “I spend most of my time doing paperwork.”

Cellbit frowns sympathetically. “Yuck.”

Thorn sticks his tongue out. “Yuck.”

And it keeps snowing. The colder it gets, the closer Thorn gets until he’s pressed up against Cellbit’s arm shivering. Hesitantly, slowly, Cellbit puts that arm around Thorn’s shoulders and lets him try and huddle for warmth as best he can.

“You’re a weirdo,” Thorn mutters.

“I’ve met weirder.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Cellbit rolls his eyes. Yeah, he and Richarlyson would be very good friends.

It’s quiet, and then:

“Can you make me scared again?”

Cellbit’s heart stops. “What?”

Thorn turns his head to give him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid. I won’t tell anybody, but it’d be weird if they show up and I’m super chill, you know?”

“But-”

“I’m a hero, man. Nothing scares me.”

He’s also a child.

Cellbit gives him back his fear, anyway, this time with a simple worried head-pat. Thorn grumbles and leans away from the touch, but he got what he wanted.

Cucurucho, Cellbit hears, and, for once, he agrees.

Tires from down the road. That’ll be the Feds.

“You’re a brave kid,” he says. He squeezes Thorn’s shoulder with an assuring smile. “Stay safe, okay?”

He stands, and he helps Thorn up as well.

“Whatever,” Thorn grunts. He swallows the pain and stands up straight and tall as the Federation’s van pulls in front of the alley and slows to a halt.

Cellbit watches Thorn get helped into the van, and he watches the van drive away, and he stands there in that alleyway until he’s cold enough to become a Cellbicicle.

Then, and only then, he looks down at the single red rose poking out of the snow where the kid had been sitting.

(Rumor has it Thorn only grows roses in honor of his parents, reportedly both deceased. Cellbit doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but he leaves the rose be, anyway.)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#deli superhero au #oh bobby

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