#like a dog that keeps pulling on the leash

[ghouljams]

Goose beats the shit outta König, that's the fic. Yay :) Dedicated to all my König haters, I get it.

cw: fighting, highly opinionated internal monologue, Goose is #1 König hater

You'd hate this man even if you didn't have two brain cells to rub together. You'd hate him just for bein' alive, but mostly you hate him for the jagged scar he's left around your husband's neck, and the audacity he has to glare at him from across the ag hall like it's Simon's fault. Simon's fingers steady against yours as you reach for your hip, his grip firm, warning. You're not supposed to be starting fights at town halls, and you certainly can't go about firing a gun in a room full of trigger happy hicks. But God Dammit you're a trigger happy hick and you want to shoot this motherfucker!

His stupid mug points its eyes your way and you level your glare at him. If he thinks that sort of smolder is going to scare you he's got another thing coming. You'd stick your hand in a fire and call it cold before saying that look did anything to you. Which seems to startle König a little(dumbass motherfucker, callin' himself a king when he's barely a cowboy). He blinks, his brows draw together, his eyes move back to glower at Simon and then sort of dart to yours. You'd spit if you could.

Simon leans heavy against you, the same way he always does when you're getting agitated, wraps a big hand around the back of your neck and turns you to look at the front podium. You do your best to keep your attention on the town happenings, the updates to summer reading lists, the town bylaws being up for a rewrite, all the minutia of small town living. But that fucking guy won't stop itching at you. You keep checking him out the corner of your eye. He's distracted by the city girl, which is good, gives you a chance to glare at the back of his head before Simon turns you forward again.

You're all but grabbed around the middle by the time the town hall ends. Simon working to keep you in place as you jump to your feet and attempt to go over and talk to König. Maybe some polite conversation will keep him from eyeing your husband like he wants to finish what he started. It doesn't matter, the man brings himself within swinging distance. Obviously too big for the brain rattling around in his head.

"König," Simon stops him, his fingers holding tight to the back of your jeans, "try keepin' your eyes on yer own work, hate havin' to lay you out again."

König's eyes narrow, his annoyance palpable as he looks for something cutting to say. Whether or not what Simon claims is true doesnt matter, the tension of a long standing grudge is one you know well. Youre just glad your man is being more civil than you are for once. König's eyes settle on you, and his head tilts. "And perhaps you keep your dog on a tighter leash, I would hate to deprive the town of a good-"

Simon lets you go and you fly at König. It's enough of a surprise that he raises his arms first to shield his face, before you crash into his middle to tackle him. Simon's on his feet, quick to grab the city girl when she tries to intervene as you bring your elbow down hard on König's nose. His hand shoots out to grab you by the neck, leveraging his reach as he tries to sit up. It's a good strategy, your arms are certainly shorter than his, but your legs aren't, and you're not the Captain's daughter for nothing.

You grip his wrist and throw your weight back, twisting to wrap one of your legs around his arm, your foot hooking behind his shoulder. You twist hard, and feel the joint dislocate with a satisfying pop. His fingers twitch, torn between letting you go and squeezing tighter. You unhook your leg from his arm and drive the toe of your boot up under his chin. Pulling at the dislocation as you push his head back, driving the pain clear through his arm from both angles. König howls, his free hand coming to clock you hard enough you're forced to let go and roll away from him.

"Hey!" your dad yells, "No fightin' in the ag hall."

"I'm not fightin'," you spit, pushing up onto your feet again, "I'm winnin'."

König says something in German you don't care enough to translate and attempts to rush you. He trips and whips his head to glare at Johnny's smile. You take the advantage, shifting your weight to your left foot. König preps for a right side strike, which is really too bad. You jump to your right, spinning as you hit the side of his knee with a hard left kick. König goes down a second time, taking the blow and dropping to one knee.

He's too reliant on his reach, swiping at you with blind fury as you slip right and cut his cheek with your elbow. You're really aiming for a knock out when you're hauled up and out of reach, König's arm closing around the space you'd been occupying. Gaz holds you out of the way with a mumbled apology.

"Captain's orders," he tells you.

"Nutte," König spits at you, you feel Gaz bristle.

"Mate, really..." Gaz grumbles, his hold loosens and you give a solid kick in König's direction. It doesn't matter. You watch Simon tap König's shoulder, watch König turn, and watch you lovely husband's fist collide with his jaw.

König goes sprawling and you see your mother rush over to check his injuries. The city girl is crying, you feel sort of bad for her. You should invite her to dinner sometime.

[x22817]

I have to get this out and don't know a better place

I don't know what to do. I don't feel like I can go for a walk in any neighborhood anymore. I don't know if I handled this situation well. I do know I did better than I would have in the past, at the very least. In hindsight, I wasn't paying enough attention.

Hekate and I were out for a later evening walk than usual. It was past sunset but not super dark. We were walking the big path that runs through the whole neighborhood. There were maybe ten kids out playing in their unfenced backyard. I looked. I didn't see a dog. I looked again as we were about to pass the house and saw a dog with a parent on the back porch. I should have turned around. I assumed (made an ass out of u and me) that the dog was on a leash or under control in some way.

I was wrong.

I looked down at Hek and kept walking. I'm not paying any more attention to any of this. Hekate is in a loose leash heel on my left side. This dog came so fast that I just saw a blur out of the corner of my right eye. He full body slams into Hek and almost causes me to fall over when almost hitting me, too. He is going so fast that he over shoots us and has to turn around. By that time, I'm screaming at the dog AT AT AT (I've learned that's what works best for me) because he's starting to dart at Bean again. I pull her behind me and put myself between her and this dog, who still doesn't give a shit that I am trying to keep him away. The dog starts barking and trying to get to Hek through me. He was so close I felt his breath through my leggings. He body slams my leg again, barking at Hek.

I snapped. I started swinging the end of my leash at him. My first good hit worked. He yelped and backed off a few feet. Still barking, but at least he was backing away. The father who was sitting on the porch has come out to the path now. He's pissed off, yelling at me, "he's not doing anything. He's not doing anything!" I turn to him and say, "your dog came after me and my dog. I don't know how he is going to react. I have been attacked by too many dogs." He grabs his dog and replies with, "you don't have to hit him." By this time, Hek and I are already walking away. I turn around to say, "I wouldn't have to if you kept your dog on a leash, under control, away from me and my dog."

I really wanted to say, "I could mace him if you prefer that. You and your dog are the reason I carry mace with me at all times" but I was too stunned to do any of that and I just wanted to get the fuck out of there

[crestfallercanyon]

I don’t think I’ve seen two “ship” characters who embody “cat and dog” more than Len and Barry. I know I am certainly not the first person to think about this but I’m just thinking about it in depth today, i dunno.

Maybe it’s because most ships I’m part of don’t contain a hero and a literal thief/criminal but I digress—

Len is 100% like a cat. He gets into places he shouldn’t (how? And wait — why?). While he seems to have a grasp of how he feels and what’s going on, fuck off if anyone else does, he portrays himself as extremely mercurial. He is the type of guy to just push a glass of water off the table and let it shatter just to see you clean it up (Barry’s “don’t spill the salt” and him laying it flat on its side). Fiercely protective of his own food, will mooch off of others and get offended if he’s told to fuck off. Desperately vies for attention by any means necessary (from nuisance to straight up CRIMES) but when attention is on him when he doesn’t want it he hisses and claws and acts all ferocious. Loyal to those he loves but leaves them all wondering “do you even like me?” And he responds with essentially “can’t you tell?” And when they’re like “no, that’s why I’m asking,” he’s shrugs and goes with “well it must suck to be stupid,” and moves along and his loved ones still don’t know. Gets roped into shenanigans on the regular and is either faux-reluctant or genuinely reluctant. Cat behavior.

Barry, however, is SUCH a puppy. He’s high energy. He sticks his nose into everything. He constantly gets himself into situations and then looks at others with the big sad eyes asking “how he got here” and “I want out”. He wants to eat all the time and will steal food — but when bucked off he just kind of is like “aw, darn,” and may try again in two minutes. He’s got that neglected shelter dog rizz, he’s kind of sad sometimes and a little pitiful. If someone doesn’t like him, he just keeps trying until they do or they die. His relationship to cats is tenuous because they seem to tolerate him but he’s also fucking obnoxious and ruins their peace and quiet. Has a deep sense of right and wrong and it’s somewhat taught through commands and sometimes just instinct he acts on — like a dog who pulls its owner on a leash to investigate or run away from something. When he’s calm he’s very sweet and very nice and very cute but when he’s high energy he’s a menace. He overall looks super sweet but could fucking kill you. Sometimes he gets ferocious and barking and then he’s actually genuinely frightening and sends everything running. He doesn’t like being that though and typically just wants to hang out. He wants his people around him all the time and doesn’t like to be alone. Loves affection. Loves giving affection. Like, what a puppy man, I don’t know what to tell ya.

Anyway. There’s my coldflash thoughts of today.

[lilyharvord]

I started reading EragonxRed QueenxFrom Blood and Ashx--oh, shit sorry.... 4th Wing today, because everyone in my reading group said I had to, and... I'm 7% of the way through and I'm already so tired. Did no one edit this book? Did no one... read this book out loud?

Me currently finishing chapter 1 and going through the 5 stages of grief because I know this whole experience is going to RUIN my reading for 2024.

Anyway, I'm writing a whole ass review that is pretty much line by line my thoughts XD If I make a google doc of it I'll let people read it. Might be more entertain than the book. 🤷🏼‍♀️ plus I'll only put like 0.1%-1/4 of it on Goodreads so think about what you might miss out on (me being upset and cranky and rutheless (((: ) Updating that doc might actually help me get through reading it faster.

[bonefall]

Whats your process for coming up with food ideas?

Being hungry all the time, mostly.

Inspiration comes from a lot of things, tunnelbuns are actually based on miner pasties because I wanted to adapt a culturally relevant dish from the area. Other times I just think about the sorts of materials they have, and what I would like to eat it with.

I'm also just a very curious person, so for example, I was once looking at leeches and my brain said, "I wonder if you can eat those."

Some googling later and, yes, you can! Bang that's inspiration for Warrior Bites. APPARENTLY they also become crunchy like a nugget. I'd put them in some butter, add some garlic, fry it up, and dip that in some sweet sauce.

A LOT of my ideas start off as "I wonder if you can eat X" and then going on a trip to Duckduckgo to find out. Most things can be eaten and there's a long history of people eating it. The second question, "can cats eat X", usually only comes up for non-animal foods.

Like mushrooms for example. Cats CAN eat safe varieties of mushrooms AND they can taste it, because fungi have similar proteins to meat, funny enough.

So I guess I should say that my food idea process looks like curiosity. A lot of asking questions and playing around with the answers. I wish I could be quicker with putting Warrior Bites entries out, but I try to only put those out with art.

[hamaonoverdrive]

One of the "check out these blogs" snippets had a post with an image with this scene from the Godfather as the preview

I imagined it but with Tora and

And I think I

I tthat thibk

I need to be put down

[the-private-local-enemy]

i call my dog a wild mangy mutt because he's actin like one (barking at a dog that barks at him when its outside... when it isn't outside or even able to hear him, like a fuckin old man yelling at a cloud 🤪) and this old biddy ahead stops and turns several times to stare

like biiiitch you got something to say say it, i'll use my unfiltered vocabulary on you too 💖 i've got words that'll make you clutch your pearls so hard they shatter 😃

[vanderilnde]

rugby player soap fucks you after a win. that’s it. extension from this post of mine

cw for dubcon smut, noncon exhibitionism, and gross johnny + simon

-

“Did ya see that, hen?”

Johnny’s words come out stifled behind his mouthguard. He smiles, and it’s bulky, a little dim-witted in how he darts his tongue out, licking up a wash of blood that sluices down his lip. His eyebrow is split and his nose is bent out of shape, his cheeks all swollen and ruddy. 

He pulls you into a crushing hug, shaking like an ebullient dog that’s unaware of how big it is. His jersey, a royal blue, turns cobalt with his sweat. It sticks to his skin and outlines his chest, peeling off of your shirt when you sheepishly pull away. 

The pitch is glutted with celebrating teammates and their loved ones, but the broadcast camera is raptly focused on you and Johnny. On the grudging hold he has on your waist and the unwieldy trophy he’s just won for his team. 

Johnny grins like it’s a challenge. Like he wants to make the camera turn away. He forestalls the protests on your tongue by sinking into you for a hard kiss, bruising, and almost brutal in its force. It’s like he hasn’t separated himself from the game yet. Like he doesn’t want to compartmentalise you from the barbarous sport he plays. 

The scruff of Johnny’s stubble tickles you as you try pushing him back, try twisting out of his hands. But his fingers, as bandaged and torn as they are, press dimples into your jawbone and keep you in place. Keeps you squirming and shameful beneath the dissonance of celebration. 

He peels away with a kitten lick, pressing a wet smooch to the corner of your mouth. He’s smiling, pulling your jeans against the bulge beneath his spandex-like shorts, chuckling.

“Scored that last try for you, hen,” he pants. Spits out his mouthguard and passes his tongue over his bloodied teeth. “Did’ja see it?”

Johnny stinks of iron musk and sweat. He hands the trophy away and uses both hands to pull you close, clemently kissing your jaw. 

“I did,” you hum. You consciously lilt your voice upwards, telling it to Johnny how he always needs to hear it. “You did so well, Johnny. So good.” 

He whimpers into your neck. Just barely gyroscopes his hips against you. 

“Did it for you,” he slurs. Johnny’s words are all soft, melting on his tongue as if he’s drunk. As if his brain is belated and stuck in the grip of your praise. “Did so good, right? A’practiced so hard.”

You take the bait that Johnny has given you, petting him, because if not, he’ll get ratty and make a scene. You pull back and cup his face, preening under the cornflower blue of his eyes and the puppy-like dip of his lips. You smile. “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

Johnny is half-lidded and dizzy, nodding to himself, swallowing your praise like an empty-headed dog. Impatience and lust are written into him—you can tell by the darkened shade of his eyes and how hard he clutches your hand. 

“Let’s go,” he says, leading you through the stadium entrance, shouldering past fans asking him for autographs and photos. “We’ve time before the team goes for dinner. Nobody’ll be in the change room.”

Your cheeks flare with the implication of Johnny’s words and how purposeful they are. Marked by firm determination, leaving no room for objection. 

He tugs you like a puppy pulling its owner. Excited, working against its leash, your feet struggling to catch up. Johnny pulls you into his team's changing room, slamming the door shut behind you. The sound of you getting pressed against the lockers is thin, tinny, and fleetingly impairs you. When you reorient, Johnny has his skinned knee between your legs and against your pussy. His hand palming his cock through the tight material of his rugby shorts.

“Johnny,” you pant, “what if someone comes in?”

“Let ‘em,” he huffs out a laugh. “What’re they gonna do? Ban me from the league? I just won us a trophy. ’m on top of the fuckin’ world, baby.”

Annoyance cycles in your stomach at his lack of consideration. You try wiggling out and mewling, but the thigh between your legs is an immovable object. Your clothed clit catches on his sinews at every angle, pushing a gasp out of you regardless of how you twist and turn. 

“Haud y’r wheesht,” he barks. A hint of aggression bleeds into Johnny’s words, and that makes you pliant. “We’re just celebratin’, hen, no need ta ruin my win.”

Your eyes are on the door while Johnny shucks down his shorts. It rolls down his thighs and he leaves it at his knees, too eager to toe off his cleats and pull it all the way off. He stands awkwardly now, a little stilted because he can’t stretch his legs all the way, but that doesn’t stop him from bevelling his thigh into you and flexing, grinding into you. 

Johnny peels your shirt—a replica of his jersey—off of you, and kisses you deeply. You can taste the salt and blood crusted against his lips, feel his small smile. 

Johnny spins you around and folds you over the bench. Your knees bruise against the rubber flooring and your chest flattens against the cold wood, your brain reeling in the gross implications of it, whatever Johnny and his friends get up to in this locker room. 

He rips down your jeans, almost popping the buttons off, almost burns your skin with the denim, and settles himself behind you. Johnny grabs a fistful of your ass and spreads you open, swatting your pussy with his other hand.

“Johnny…” you mewl, and he chuckles. Gives you a waggle, slipping his large hand over and thumbing your clit.

“Thought you were feart of bein’ found?” He asks, lowering to his knees and kissing your dewy folds. “Why’re y’being so loud?”

Johnny waits for a second, giving you time to think of a reply, but with the first sound to leave your mouth he’s licking a fat stripe up your pussy, collapsing your words. 

He laughs at himself and it sends vibrations up your spine. Your bones are grinding together, your nerves filaments of live wire under Johnny’s hands that dig divots into your thighs and his mouth that sucks on your clit, tonguing your sticky folds. 

He spits on your cunt, spreads the wad of saliva around with his tongue. He pulls you into his mouth and suckles, moving his wet lips against your dewy ones. 

You stretch your arm back and tug on Johnny’s fleecy mohawk, scratching your fingers against the dew-skinned, shaved parts of his head. He expels a groan against your clit and you mewl, pushing into him, wiggling so his nose buries further, his tongue plunging into you and licking a stroke up your walls. 

You’re quivering now, shaking against the cold bench and Johnny’s hot mouth. A knot of energy crackles in your stomach as he wraps his lips around your clit and slurps.

“Gonna come on my mouth, hen?” Johnny pants, but pulls away before you reply. Punches a whine out of you by spinning you onto your back against the bench, pulling his cock out and giving it a few tugs, his dick so hard it droops with laden weight and a slaver of precum.  

“Or would’ya rather do it on here?” He asks, stroking himself. His balls low-hanging in front of you, the fat head of his cock all ruddy and red and flaring as he pinches it. 

You stare, dull-headed, with your mouth hanging open and a hazy film behind your eyes. Johnny giggles. 

“Cannae think with this in front of ye?” He smears his cockhead on your lips. “Sweet girl. So cute.” 

Johnny winces and pulls away. He swings one leg over the bench, settling himself on top of you. His cock is a heavy mass of muscle between him. Swinging, bobbing in place. Dumb and drooling with precum that drops onto your navel. 

He slips himself between your puffy folds, panting like a dog. Equally as impatient as one, squeezing his cockhead past your first ring of muscle, writing off your small cries of pain. He thinks cupping your cheek offsets the burn—still, Johnny’s cock is so heavy and so big inside you. Spreading you open, stretching you out. Making a home inside your belly. 

You hic his name, and he shushes you with a kiss. Johnny weaves into short, quick thrusts, because pulling himself to the tip means losing most of your warmth, and he can’t have that. He settles on barely rolling his hips, focusing on burying himself deep, folding himself into a frog position if that means fucking you meaner.

“Takin’ so much cock, bonnie,” he moans into your neck. “So good. So good.” 

Johnny’s ears turn pink and his eyes turn glassy. He keeps rocking inside you, his cock filling you out so well, so full, your thighs shaking and damp with slick. He fingers your clit, and in his pace, wild and unfettered, you wrap your legs around his waist like a cobbled together leash that you use to pull him closer.

Johnny grows feral at that. He slaps his balls harder against you, biting your shoulder. Sweat and blood rolls down his cheek and onto your face, augmenting the icy gold of his first place medal. It drags along your chest with each of his thrusts, turning into a ball of liquid fire as your body saturates with sweat. Johnny leans down, his lips slick as he kisses you, the push and pull of his hips ripening into a more jagged, desperate rhythm.

“Gonna fill y’up, hen,” he pants. There’s a strong dissonance that impairs you, echoing within the locker room. Johnny’s degenerate moans and the slap of skin against skin. The pitched sound of the wind being knocked out of you, the sticky sound of your cunt getting spread open on his big cock. 

Something else poises itself on Johnny’s tongue, something impure, but it gets shaved-off as he cuts himself off with a long, flinty moan. Johnny quivers as he comes, and that pushes him deeper as he fills you with his warm ropes.

He presses down on your clit, pushing the rise of your orgasm out of you. Your spine curls off the bench, your nails digging divots into Johnny’s arms, your mouth hanging open and a rough wave of pleasure curling over you and breaking into your skin. Your orgasm is so consuming it burns, eating you whole.  

It chews you up and spits you out. You tremble around Johnny’s softening cock as he peppers kisses down your sternum, and while you reorient, you see an unearthly spot of colour in the corner of your eye. It isn’t composed of matter—it’s big and blurry and hides between two rows of lockers. 

Then, you realise the drapery England flag, the absence of a Scottish one. 

The man who stands in the corner is blonde and huge and has his fat cock out, curling his fist around it, pumping. He’s so quiet, an ambush predator as he just stands there, continuing to beat his dick even after you make eye contact with him. 

He turns to Johnny, grotesquely smiling.

Johnny returns it.

[thegnomelord]

Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

[ghouljams]

i wanna like . grip simon by the muzzle as a means to get him to slow down while he mounts me and i want him to growl in response ,,, lost in the puppy headspace ,,,, having to shake his muzzle a little and hear him whimper because WHYYY does he have to slow down it feels too good hes jus like a real dog with a real bone :((( i die

I'm losing my pillow princess Ghost credentials... sub!Ghost my fucking LOVE

Yeah he mounts you. Wraps his arms around your waist and fucks you from behind with all the desperation of a dog. He can't stop himself, doesn't want to. You've had him fucking your boot and now? Now he's being let loose to enjoy your pretty little hole. He growls when you pull his leash, snarling like you've tried to stop him, to take away his prize. He's been good, he deserves to fuck you how he likes. But fuck it's not enough. He fucks you so hard and deep, feels the way your gummy walls clench on him, the way your back arches to push into his thrusts. He can hear you screaming his name. It's not enough. You're so warm, fuck you're so fucking warm.

He presses his muzzled mouth against the back of your neck, imagines biting you deep enough to draw blood and tastes iron. He fucks you, feels you come and shake on his cock, and keeps fucking you. He feels you pull the leash tight, feels you squirm to try and get away and he pulls you back into his thrusts. You reach back and grab the muzzle, shake some sense back into his head and he groans. The ring around his cock is squeezing him painfully tight. He forgot about that. "Fucking yourself stupid," you mumble, your face pushed against the bed, his weight forcing you to hold your hips up to compensate for the pressure of him nearly laying on you, "slow down baby."

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, mumbles out an incomprehensible yes, and slows the motion of his thrusts to a nearly painful speed. Painful for him, at least. Fuck it hurts having you clench on him like that. Greedy thing. He'll get you back for this.

[usedtobecooler]

frat boy!steve except he’s just fucking mean and fucks you mean. has you on all fours with a rough hand pushing your face into the bed, cheek smushed against the pillow as he pounds into you so hard the frame rattles against the wall, barely drowned out by the drone of edm music blasting throughout the house.

“oh my god,” you gasp, high pitched and breathy, incoherent and babbling as you’re fucked within an inch of your life, “steve, fuck. fuck. s’good, so good. haaah, right there!”

“that’s it, baby,” steve grunts, the smirk evident in his voice as he palms at the globe of your ass, smacks his hand down roughly and pulls, “tellin’ me how much you love my cock like a good girl.”

it’s relentless. brutal enough to leave you aching for days and relishing in the sting his mark leaves behind, and he keeps you coming back for more. has you on a leash like a dog and you go willingly, would bark and pant for him if he told you to.

the hand in your hair snaps your head back, shakes you out of your fucked out state as his middle finger hooks into your cheek, pulling your mouth open as you moan and drool like a common whore, pushing back against every brutal thrust like you need more.

“look at you,” steve chuckles, grins wolfishly with sharp teeth as his other hand snakes around your neck to grip below your chin, snapping your head back further, “aw, honey. you cryin’ for me?”

you sob pitifully, staring up at him with bleary eyes, pussy clenching as he continues to slam his hips into your ass, the thick length of him slipping in and out with ease — he’s barely breaking a sweat, hair still perfectly pulled back behind a burgundy snapback.

“shit, baby. this pussy’s meant for me,” he coos, cocky and arrogant as he pulls out only to bully his way back in violently, taking your knees out from under you, “my perfect little sex toy, huh?”

you nod as best you can despite yourself, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your ears are infiltrated with the sopping wet clap of skin on skin. tummy coiling with each bite of his thick head dragging against your inner walls.

your orgasm is pulled from you forcefully, steve’s toned torso practically plastered to your back as he chases your body despite how you slide away from the overstimulation. he cums with a rough grunt in your ear, sends you off with nothing more than bruises littering your body and an empty promise to text later.

he doesn’t acknowledge you in class the next day, never does. doesn’t even take a look in your direction. but the following weekend, at the annual toga party, when you’re being hit on by another student, all it takes is one flirty glance at the poor unsuspecting boy, before steve’s hauling him away by the scruff of the neck.

fire in his eyes and shoulders squared in a warning. he needs to remind you of what’s his.

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GETO (PT. II)

A/N: I…guys this one is…dirty. For so many reasons. I don’t. I can’t look myself in the eye. Suguru made me do it 😅

C/W: Voyeurism, Mature themes, 18+ (Part I here)

Music inspo: This is SO Chase Atlantic coded

Acceptance.

They say the first step to recovery from addiction is acceptance.

Fine, then.

Suguru Geto’s addiction to you is absolute. And he has no interest in recovery.

He’s accepted it. You own him.

Granted, he didn’t realize just how tight your leash is. Not until last night.

Suguru is a logical, reasonable, creature of habit. He doesn’t need much. Really, he doesn’t.

But fucking you to sleep nightly is non-negotiable.

Or rather, fucking his hand. While watching you watch TV. And swirl a glass of Pinot noir in your gorgeous mouth. With your graceful fingers mindlessly swimming in a bowl of popcorn.

Extra butter. With tons and TONS of salt!

The first time you ordered your side snack at the movie theatre, Suguru almost keeled over.

But then he made the glorious mistake of flickering over to you, mid movie. Just as your index finger slid between those pillow soft lips. Pulling remnants of salt and butter away, leaving a trail of lip gloss behind.

He could’ve sucked it off your finger right there and then.

The way you pistoned in and out of your mouth. Doe-eyed and trained on the screen. Not a thought in your head. It was his gateway drug.

The butterfly effect.

A moment in time that rerouted fate.

His excruciatingly beautiful, platonic best friend, now a visceral need.

And just like any addiction. There were stages.

Denial: He doesn’t see you that way. No, of course not. His mind just got caught in a horny spiral. He’ll snap out of it. Things will go back to normal.

Anger: How could you do this to him? You know how disorienting you are. That smile. Always looking up at him with puppy eyes and parted lips. You’re a cocktease. Begging. Pleading. Needing him to debase you to nothing. Is that it? You want him to ruin you, don’t you? And he could. Fuck you into next week. Until you’re screaming and crying. He’d smear those tears all over his cock and fuck them back into your pouty mouth. It’s what you deserve.

Shame: It’s perverse. You call to vent about your day. He rubs himself raw while you talk. You kiss his cheek. His dick leaks. How could he do this to someone who trusts him like you do?

It was a vicious, muddled cycle. He could barely function around you.

Rushed greetings. Kurt words. Clipped responses. Avoidance.

He had to protect you from his depraved thoughts. Shield you from sordid actions taken in the dark — as if they would spontaneously materialize in the light to harm you.

And they did. But in the opposite way Suguru intended.

“Hey, HEY! Suguru, what the hell is up with you?”

You squeezed his wrist with all your might. It felt like nothing. But the weight in your tone hit him like a freight train.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant."

“I’ve been right here.”

“You’ve been distant, Suguru.”

Quartz showers streamed down your beautiful face and his cock quivered. Drooling along his thigh. So. Fucking. Pretty when you cry.

Did you know?

How irresistible you looked?

Glassy eyes. Trembling lips. Vulnerable. Soft enough to hunt.

Did you know?

How he clawed his palm bloody to keep from gripping your neck. Shoving you to your knees. And giving you a reason to whine his name like that again.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“I have to go—“

“I don’t care!”

“Wha—“

“I don’t care!! I don’t care what it is okay? I just…I miss..I miss my best friend.”

You elevated off your heels. No where near eye level, but enough to cradle his face in your dainty hands.

And God dammit. He might as well have been wearing a dog tag with your name on it.

If lost, return to Owner.

Between your misty eyes. Swollen lips. Face like a canvas to paint with his cum. He bit back a pathetic groan. And choked out an apology.

Most importantly, he made a promise to never hollow out your friendship like that again.

So, instead he fills it. With ropes of his arousal. And fuck, it’s rhapsody.

The stages. The anger, disbelief, shame…it was worth it. Because this ecstasy? It’s sublime.

Constant ascension. Never once reaching cruising altitude.

…which made the fall agonizing.

Last night, in a sick, twisted turn of fate - his camera feed cut off.

One minute Suguru is pumping into his abused rubber cocksleeve. Sliding his eyes up and down your hips until he was dizzy in the head. Pre cum squelching out of the little space between his cock and the ring of his 5th battered toy. Unintelligible praises leaking out of him, cementing his devotion. And just as the curtains began to fall on his vision. Balls heavy and hot with his seed—

Then he saw nothing.

Suguru couldn’t recognize the man in his room last night. Fingers aching. Mind racing. Dick red, angry, pulsating for its one and only vice.

Alarm bells rang between his ears. Crash landing into an abyss. Mayday.

Mayday.

In that moment. He knew he needed more. More skin. More angles. More you.

And so, he’s standing outside your Pilates studio @ 7:28 PM. Two minutes until you’re done.

A Dragonfruit smoothie rests in his hand.

And a new camera system rests in his back pocket.

———

“Ugh, I needed that.”

You sling a cold eucalyptus towel around your neck.

“And I need him.” The comment emanates from one of your girlfriends. Both of you rounding the corner out of the studio.

Suguru.

You don’t have to look out the glass windows to know exactly who she is referring to.

“I mean, seriously. How can you not climb him like a—“

“Stop it!!” Your protest made less believable because of your sheepish giggles.

“We’re just friends.” You mutter. Pulling your gym bag out of the front lockers.

Yeah, who are you trying to convince? Her? Or yourself?

Your eyes flicker to your platonic, gorgeous best friend. Raven mane in a glossy, high ponytail. Freely cascading down his back. Curly wisps framing his razor sharp angles.

He stands tall. So Muscular. Quietly masculine. Despite how dreamy his hair is.

“Omg! Your hair!! Whats your routine?” - every woman who meets him, ever.

“Genetics.”

Suguru responds the same way every time with a dimpled smile. The other party is always immediately caught in his web.

His eyes. They lure you in like quicksand. Onyx. Swarming with grey and violet specks. Stormy. Perpetually faraway.

He’s the perfect gentleman. But always a little bit above it all. Just out of reach.

It’s mesmerizing.

You can’t blame the women for trying any and everything for a tiny piece.

Suguru catches your gaze. Silky smile pulls across his lips. He beckons you with one swirl of the liquid gold in his hands.

“What are you doing here, pretty boy?”

“Happy to see you too.” He counters with a low chuckle.

You coax the sweet treat away from him. It’s precisely what you need.

Suguru always has his pulse on you. Somehow he knows where to be and when. Every time.

“Mmm” your eyes flutter shut. Savoring the sickly sweet, cold mush on your tongue.

“Exactly what you wanted?”

“Exactly. Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Not nearly enough.” His baritone hovers over you. Traveling down your spine at light speed.

Has he always sounded this sultry?

You lazily pull yourself out of the sugar-induced dopamine hit.

Suguru moves into you like a storm cloud. Accentuating the comical difference in stature. The world around you slowly dissipates.

Lost in the desert mirage of his gaze. Everything feels conscious.

Your shallow breathing. The thrum of blood surging through your vessels. Heart rattling against its bony cage.

Time stops.

Then it happens all at once.

Before you know what is happening, your best friend’s well built arm is around your waist. His large, veiny hand palming the nape of your neck.

His lips. His plump rosy lips are on yours. Sweet and warm. Pulling, pushing, melding with you into play dough.

He’s delicious.

More delectable than you knew possible.

“Mmmgh” You moan and Suguru takes the space to push his tongue into your mouth. He’s blinding. Expertly tickling the ridges and corners of your mouth. As if to show off just how skilled he is with his tongue.

“S-Suguru..”

He pulls away far before you’re ready. Shocking you out of your lusty daze. For a moment he just rests his moist lips on yours. Exchanging breaths between each other. As if only you two are the source of oxygen around you.

“Wha…what was..”

“There’s a guy burning a crater into your back.” He finally responds. Gruff. Strained. You’ve never seen him without a tight leash around his self-command.

“I didn’t want him thinking he has a chance.”

And just like that, the familiar tame control lines his velvet baritone.

Suguru places a chaste kiss on your cheek before starting to walk in the direction of your apartment. As if the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.

You’re able to maintain a fairly normal conversation with your best friend the entire walk back to your apartment. You both laugh and joke as if he didn’t just fuck your mouth with his tongue. And as if you didn’t feel drunk off of it.

You’re just friends.

…right?

You toss your keys somewhere to your left. In the periphery you see Suguru smile and shake his head. Well aware of your messy tendencies. He leans down to take your keys and place them on the door hook.

The devil on your shoulder is deafening.

Test it.

Test him.

Your hand moves before your mind.

Your fingers hook under your sports bra. Pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. Before your mounds bounce in full view, your arm cups them against your chest.

You turn to Suguru, now topless.

“Gonna hop in the shower for a little. Are you staying for dinner?” Willing your voice to be steady and light. A casual question amidst the mayhem in your mind.

And, as expected, Suguru is the perfect gentleman.

His olive tone is even. Hands slotting into his athletic pants. Faint smile tracing on his lips, dimple apparent in his left cheek.

His eyes don’t falter below your neckline. Not even for a moment.

“Not tonight, pretty. There’s a show I want to catch. Rain check?”

Of course, you’re just friends.

Best friends.

You flash him a genuine smile. Swallowing the nagging flecks of dissappointnent beginning to weave itself within you.

“Rain check!”

And maybe 10 or so minutes after soaking in your steamy shower. Trying to wash the remnants of his kiss out of your memory, you hear your door slamming shut.

You make a mental note to ask about what show he was referring to.

———

Whiskey glides hot and cold down Suguru’s throat.

Back flushed against his desk chair.

Patiently awaiting his 10:00 PM viewing.

His dick is a steel rod. Blushing and moist. Draped in a pair of your used panties. He swiped them on his way out of your apartment.

Suguru drags his palm lazily up and down his shaft. Soaking your lingerie in beads of pre cum. It’s like he’s feeling you rubbing your plush cunt up and down his rod.

Fog is settling opaque in his mind. While he pets the flame stirring between his legs.

You haven’t even come into frame yet. But Suguru admires the pristine view he has of your room. Porcelain duvet messily strewn about. Half open night stand. Magenta vibrator propped against the corner of your drawer.

How often do you touch yourself?

What do you think about?

How pretty do you sound? When you milk pleasure from your dewy core?

“Fuck,” Suguru hisses.

He brings the whiskey glass back to his parted lips. The thought of seeing you work yourself to a peak drove his hand up and down his cock too fast. If he’s not careful he’ll cum before he’s ready.

No.

Not tonight.

Tonight he wants to savor his relapse.

24 hours sober of you was unbearable. He deserves this indulgence.

Suguru tilts his chin up. Damp hair feathering his shoulders and back feels refreshingly cool against the lava circulating beneath his skin.

“You like teasing me don’t you?” He murmurs, slowly pumping his cock through his strained grip.

The way you pulled off your sports bra. Well before you reached your bathroom door. Pretty bedroom eyes raking his face. Testing him. You knew he would go home and feverishly fuck his fist for you. Didn’t you?

A siren’s melody pulls his hazy, dazed attention back to screen.

“There she is.”

Suguru leans closer to his screens. Giving himself kudos for choosing a camera system with audiovisual integration this time around.

You step in full view of his camera and his body stills. Completely statuesque. Mouth ajar. His cock drool dribbling down his stiff hand is the only source of movement in the room.

“Fuck…fucking hell.”

There you stood. Thong as richly colored as the wine in your glass. Accentuating the dramatic dip and swell of your pretty waist and hips. The wavy lines from your slender shoulders to your full tits are enough to make him seasick. Your nipples are so hard. Puffier than he imagined.

You are immaculate.

A divine being. Heaven’s incarnate.

And even if you weren’t. Even if you were the devil. He’d follow you to the depth of hell.

A thick surge of pre cum flicking back against his lower abs pulls him briefly out of his trance. Suguru didn’t realize how hard he was strangling his length. Which is violently jerking in haphazard directions.

Begging for its real owner.

Suguru drags in a deep breath. Reluctantly unraveling his needy hand away from his manhood. Another sip of icy brown liquor.

Savor this.

As if your souls are tied, you take a sip of red wine before settling in your bed. Back against your head board. Feet planted on your plush duvet. You let your knees fall to the side and Suguru nearly drools on himself.

A blooming rose.

Presenting your swollen, misty petals to him for worship. His eyes drop to your core. A thin line of fabric laid so perfectly between your folds.

Suguru has to remind himself that you aren’t in front of him.

And he can’t just dive into your dewy cunt. And nuzzle against your bud. And lap up the honey in between your folds.

You rest your head against the wall. Exposing the delicate lines of your neck. His left hand magnets back to his cock. His right hits the record function on the screen.

You are too special not to capture.

But, even if he couldn’t record you on this system, every moment right now is etched into his mind for an eternity.

Especially the way your dainty fingers travel down your chest, along your torso, beneath the hem of your panties and settle over your clit.

“That’s it, princess.” Suguru chants beneath his clipped breaths. Dragging your soaked underwear along his messy shaft.

He matches his pace to your tiny circles. Small, gorgeous pants tumble out of you.

Your other hand palms at your tits. Pinching and pulling at your pert nipples. Your hips buck at the sweet pleasure and pain.

“Good girl”

His arousal continues to collect at his base, trickling to his inner thighs. The sound of his hilt slamming into his hand fill the room.

“God. S..Suguru…”

His name thunders between his ears.

His name wrapped in that melodic, lusty falsetto of yours.

Suguru’s brain can barely register the way your tits bounce in rhythm with your hands. Pistoning your fingers in and out of your sweet cunt. Ascending to euphoria. He can barely register the way your lips are swollen and abused from your teeth. Or the light sheen of sweat along your collarbones.

“Fuck, Suguru please..” you moan. Both hands now working your flower.

Suguru is slack jawed. Completely short circuited. He cannot move.

Unblinking, he studies you. Hands at his side. Cock spearing high in the air, leaking.

His mind is flooded with the thin, featherlight moans and whines. Sticky arousal leaks from your needy opening around your fingers. Coating your inner thighs. How you twist and groan away from your own pleasure - so clearly overstimulated but not stopping your fingers, anyway.

“Say my name, pretty girl. Say my name.” Suguru rasps out. Sharp pain lightening through him from the dryness in his throat.

And you do. You moan his name when you reach nirvana. Heaving and whining and squirming in your mess. You called for him.

“God, I’m disgusting.”

You laugh through the remnants of your high and bury yourself under the duvet. Lazily tapping the bedside lamp. Bringing Suguru’s private viewing to an end.

And his smile is vulturous.

Suguru’s hand runs the length of his insatiable cock. Slow, lazy strokes. Haphazard twitches pushing out globs of cum. Begging for an encore.

You think you’re disgusting?

Ohhh, sweet girl.

You don’t know the half of it.

[breedbun]

🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶

zhongli/rex lapis x bottom m!reader

details: amab reader, humiliation, feminisation, size diff, public, anal, blowjob, self-indulgent, reader is an incubus, dubcon, rough, bondage, punishment, praise×degradation

minors dni 18+

do not repost 🚫

fanfic below vv

you don't remember when or how you got yourself in this mess, but god, you were not complaining. albeit the fact you're whining, crying and moaning like a slut in front of so many people, it's the fact you have never felt this fulfilled in your fucking life. vigorously being fucked like a dog, humiliated and bred like a bitch in heat. caus' of the blindfold over your eyes neatly going behind your ears, you can hear the very obvious chattering of people below the wooden surface you were on and even cameras clicking, flashing, all for you. you can't see anything, but you sure can hear and feel everything. the back of your thighs slapped against morax's, the squelching sound of his cum in your tight cunt as he consistently and violently kept thrusting into you. this wasn't the first time you've been fucked publicly as a punishment, you were an incubus afterall. it all started with you flirting with this oh so mighty god, wanting to earn his trust and protection.. except, you didn't realise you were just trapping yourself in his grasp— “slut, still smiling are you?" pfft, i mean, how could i not? that thick cock was addicting, just thinking about it would turn him on. but being publicly bred, and being forced an orgasm after orgasm? that would linger in your mind forever.

smack!

a loud, embarrassing moan escapes your throat with the spank, choking on sobs as you gasped for air with the soreness in your throat from his throatfucking previously making you cough. you were definitely drooling now.

his rhythm was clean, smooth, and rough. he pulls all the way out, just enough for the tip to barely be in you, leaving that empty feel inside your cheeks. don't worry though, he quickly thrusts back in at full strength, forcing your abused hole to take his full length in.

..how long was this going for? you don't even know. your wrists and shoulders are starting to hurt, hands tightly trapped in a rough rag he tied around your arms. the only reason why he didn't gag you, was because he wanted to let everyone hear what a whore you were, turned into his fucktoy for sleeping around with another mortal man who doesn't even deserve a glance of your divine, heavenly body. if it weren't for the wet blindfold around your eyes, you'd bet he'd tell you to keep your pretty eyes on him. he wraps his much bigger hand around the belt buckle, using a suffocating make-shift leash gripping tight on your throat, the leather grazing the many bite marks and hickies on your poor neck..

maybe you should sleep with even uglier mortals, he'll get more angry and take even more drastic measures.. like fucking you harder and longer.

"you better learn your lesson quick, before i fuck you to death."

clueless morax, that's exactly what you want.

🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸🔶🔸

hi this is my first fanfic im tired of always fucking zhongli instead of being fucked by him, so take this not proofread shit fic i made... bye

~ `` zayel, 31/3/24 ``

[cordeliawhohung]

FOAMING at the mouth by the thought of a quiet/whimperer reader with Gaz who REALLY wants to hear her.... So he gets toys in the mix

-🍫🔥

FUCK idk if you meant this for ps!gaz or not but this is so him coded. i wrote this on my lunch break forgive me

maybe the two of you are fucking on set, and its your first time together and you're more than a little nervous. he's got an easy, suave aura about him that should be comforting, but he rattles your nerves like no one else ever has before. you're so stuck in your own head that the entire time he spends warming you up, all you can think about is how you look and how you sound, and by the time he finally gets his cock inside of you, you've pretty much got stage fright.

and Kyle was hoping that you'd give him more. more than just those dainty, breathy whimpers. as delicious as they are, they're not quite filling, and he's ravenous. you think you've done something wrong when he pulls out, and even everyone else on set looks confused. you look up at him, eyes wide and questioning, praying that he hasn't gotten bored of you, but he just grins as he tells you to sit tight.

when he returns, he's got a wand in hand and a twinkle in his eyes that you can't tell if it stems from something devious or not. he wastes no time getting back to work spearing you on his cock, this time with the added stimulation of the wand vibrating on your clit. still, you try to have the fortitude to hold back, and Kyle nearly pouts at you when you do.

"not holdin' out on me, are ya doll?" he asks as if you've wounded him. "trying to keep those sounds to yourself? don't tell me you're savin' them for someone else..."

something slips. the gentle vibration of vocal chords rattles your throat, and you try and stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head as he turns the setting up on the wand. he coos at you as he fully sheaths himself inside of you, leaving you much too full and with so much stimulation you're panting like a dog. he gets another guttural moan out of you as he rolls his hips against yours, nearly undoing you.

"there she is," he chuckles. "not saving 'em after all then, huh? just wanted to yank my leash a little? fine by me, doll, but you better believe me when i tell you i earn my meals, so try and take it easy on yourself, yeah?"

[dungeonpuppykai]

Hey lovely, I just want to say I love your bucky fics and especially dark bucky fics, it just hits the spot and it's so good so keep up the great work love. Now i'm not sure if you're still taking requests if so could you please do one of reader wearing absolutely nothing but bucky's army dog tag and him seeing reader like this makes him go feral.

And if you don't want to that's perfectly fine and i hope you have a great day/night and keep up the great work love 💕

Thank you so much! I am so happy that you like them and I know it's been a hot minute but the way this ask short circuited my brain omg!!!

Warning(s): Dark!Bucky, stockholm syndrome, sir kink, use of makeshift leash, choking, rough p-in-v, power imbalance, m!dom, f!sub, puppy kink, humping, dumbification, cock riding, mention of somnophilia. Browse at your own discretion. Contains dark and mature 18+ content. Minors do not interact. 

Bucky was honestly skeptical at first. 

As you were still getting used to your new home he knew better than to fully trust you. 

But you were just so fucking irresistible and adorable. 

Sometimes he didn't know just what to do with you.

"Just trust me, sir!" Your tone was determined but demeanor shy when you had hurriedly pecked his lips and scurried off into the walk-in wardrobe after prying his hands off you. 

The night was quite silver with the moon on full display, the inside of your room dimly lit as Bucky took a swig of his chilled after dinner beer. 

When you took longer than was comfortable for him doing whatever it was that you were doing, he called out to you. 

"Puppy? What's taking so–"

The older man's voice locked in his throat and he had to do a double take when you did appear. 

Your cheeks were a bright red as you nibbled on your bottom lip, hips swaying but posture stiff as you came into his view. 

Bucky's hand reached for his neck in realization when he noticed the article– the only article on your otherwise nude body.

You sneaky little thing. 

He had been so busy and stressed because of his recent mission that he hadn't noticed when you had slipped his dog tags off him. 

A small smirk made its way on his face as he felt his cock harden instantly, feeling his head spin a little at the seductive way you leaned against the doorframe of the wardrobe, toying with the chain in as much a sexy manner as you could muster.

Just like that, Bucky made his resolve. 

Even if you had been sneaky (and he would definitely have to do something about it to nip it in the bud), it had been to give him a show. 

And who was Bucky to refuse you finally coming around and doing something out of your own free will. 

Or, at least, as free as it could get given your rather coercive circumstances. 

"Come here, puppy" his voice was dark and strained as he held back pouncing on you with all the force in his body and crushing you with the violent passion that was surging like electric currents within his being right now. 

He always held back on you for he knew you were far too fragile to take his raw might. 

"Y- Yes sir…" You obediently answered like you had been trained to do so as you made your way to your captor and owner. 

Bucky bit his lip as he sipped on his drink again, reaching out towards you before he twirled the dog tags around the index finger of his metal arm and gently pulled you in, resuming his earlier position on the bed. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as your lips brushed against his. He had brought you in until you were bending over his form. Your heart was starting to thrum.

Excitement. Anxiety. Need.

"Puppy, you naughty, naughty fucking thing" Bucky rasped after making out with you a little. 

The older man didn't speak before he pressed his lips onto yours and when he transferred the beer in his mouth to yours, you knew why he hadn't praised you yet. 

The drink burnt its way down your throat.

Your nose scrunched a bit at the strong taste of his beer.

You weren't really allowed any adult beverages so they were almost foreign to your taste buds at this point. 

"N- Need you, sir~" you were becoming more and more hormonal by the day and the man wasn't complaining. 

"Is that why you put up this cute little show, huh? To seduce sir into playing with that sweet little pussy that's always so needy for him?" You couldn't help but lower your head and nod sheepishly, blushing under his dark and hungry gaze. "Aren't you becoming a cute little horndog?" 

He couldn't help but smirk at the way you whined under your breath, both aroused and embarrassed.

"Aw, you don't like that, puppy?" He gently tugged at the makeshift leash. "Don't want sir to tease you?" You softly pouted as you shook your head and avoided his gaze. "Awww…" Now his hand wrapped around the rest of the chain and he jerked your head closer. "Then what do you want, puppy?" 

"Y- You, sir…" You shyly looked up at him through your lashes although just for a second. "Want– need you… so, so bad."

"How bad, puppy?"

"Very bad, sir…"

He loosened up his grip but didn't let go of the silver chain. 

"Get on up here and show me." You didn't need to be told twice. 

"Yes sir!" You were eager as you scrambled onto his built thighs, whimpering out a shaky moan when your wet sex exposed itself due to your position and grazed against the material of his pants. "Oh…" A sound too vile for your personal comfort escaped you as you settled yourself on his lap, the upper half of your body being forced to bend towards him due to his hold on the chain. 

"You like that, my little baby puppy?" Your mouth was agape as you could only nod, your own thighs trembling as you begin to slowly rub yourself against the grainy fabric of Bucky's pants. 

"Love that, sir. Love it so much…" Your hand shakily grasped his metal one that was holding the chain for support, hips increasing their speed with this newfound stability and balance.

"Good puppy… good girl… good fucking girl" Bucky praised as he wrapped his hand around the chain once more, toying with one of your boobs with his other hand. "That's it, babygirl. Just like that… rub that slutty pussy all over my jeans like the desperate little toy that you are."

Fuck, he was too good with his soft, breathy praises as he stared up at you, mouth agape.

Your heavy breaths were restricted next and you could cum right there and then. As the oxygen slowly dissipated from your lungs, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and back arched when he suddenly twisted one of your nipples, eliciting a loud squeak from you. 

When he finally let go of your windpipe and eased his hold on the chain, you whined upon coming to your senses when you realized that he'd lifted you off his lap. 

You needed him so bad. 

He was way too good at fucking you.

Though Bucky quickly shut you up with a wet kiss as he lowered you onto his cock next, remaining his hold on the dog tags all the while. 

Your hands were removed from his bicep and metal arm and bound behind your back with his free hand that wasn't guiding you with your makeshift leash. 

Bucky loved to restrain you; there was just something so hot seeing you tied up completely helpless at his mercy. 

"That's right, fuck yourself on my cock. You look so fucking pretty when you're all dumbed out like a silly little puppy slut up on my cock…" His words had you clenching as you rocked your hips, moaning as loud as you could, shame forgotten and disposed of. 

"P- Please…" You begged, too weak and sensitive to increase your pace but in desperate need to do so. "Please, sir… please… Need you… so bad… please…" Bucky tightened the chain one more time, this time not letting go until your flushed face had turned red, veins bulging out against the skin of your temples. "Th- Thank you, sir…" You whispered out like you'd been taught to do so. You were so close. Your head was about to split with emotion and anticipation of what was coming. "... L- Love you so much…" The man froze for a few moments. 

He had not taught you that yet.

As oxygen was allowed back in to your brain, you almost halted when you realized that Bucky was quietly staring up at you now and had let go of both the chain as well as your hands. 

Your brows furrowed, since you hadn't even realized what you had just confessed. "W- What's–" 

But the man beat you to it. 

Before you could ponder over it and possibly change your mind.

Bucky had tackled you onto your back.

The movement caused his thick cock to bang all the way inside your cavern, causing stars to appear in your vision. 

"I love you more, puppy." Trapping both your hands above your head like he had done you -mind and body-, he resumed his hold on the dog tags and began pounding into you like an actual animal. 

You best believe he did not stop for the rest of the night. 

So what if you passed out a couple times?

You loved him, so he was sure you didn't mind. 

[yorutsuki]

「 ✦ Frustrated Pleasures ✦ 」 (SMUT +18)

Boothill x reader

↳ How did it all end up like this? You, on his bed, spread and a senseless fuck doll. The once sly and cool demeanored ranger to a hot, sweaty and panting mess—yearning to get his frustrations out.

[ gender neutral reader; they/them ]

Warnings: Sex, degration, slapping, overstimulation.

Tags: @volliix

──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

Your sweet moans filled Boothill's ears like music while skin to skin contact filled the roams empty silence.

"God {Y/N}.." He panted, thrusting back in. His cock dissapearing once more into your overstimulated hole—making your nerves feel a overwhelming rippling sensation of pleasure.

Just a while ago, Boothill was as sly and neutral as he always has been and now? He was mercilessly ravaging you like a dog in heat.

Just how did that happen?

Acheron.

Simple as that, you mentioned her name once and just like that, here you were, spread upon the mattress and fucked senselessly by the Galaxy Ranger.

"B-Boothill, s' too much !" You whined out, clawing into the pillow even harder as his shaft touched your sensitive spot perfectly. "Did I say you...can speak, you fucking slut..." He hissed between breaths and thrust, slapping your ass.

Your breath hitched at the painful pleasure from the contact yet ultimately tried your best keeping quiet.

"This.." He grunted, fastening and hardening his pace. "-is what you deserve, ya?" He chuckled before tugging your hair, it acting as a leash of sorts. You moaned out a sob of yes's. "Good fucking slut." He praised with a chuckle, letting go of your hair, moving one hand to your hips and the other to your wrists, pinning them above your head to the pillow.

You moaned out as you felt a deep knot form in the bit of your stomach. "S-shit..you cummin' already?" He panted. You only whinned in response.

He chuckled once more, going faster n' harder, slamming his cock deep into your needy hole—earning a deep moan from you as the knot got tighter.

"I'm gonna-!" You hissed out as your eyes rolled back but felt the pit of your stomach drop as you felt him pull away, leaving your hole throbbing in desperation for the pleasuring feeling once more.

"W-why, p-please I was—I was so close..!" You whined, trying to move your hips for friction. "P-please-!" You were shut up with a small slap to the cheek. "Shut the fuck up." Boothill seethed, "get on your stomach." He demanded, his tone cold and sweaty.

Obliging, you rolled over before you letting a yelp out as you felt cold metal hands lift your hips up. Without warning, you moaned a grunt as you felt him enter back in, filling the empty feeling once more. Without hesitation, he started moving his hips at a quick pace—the knot returning once more.

As he moved he chuckled into your neck. "Your going to be my little fuck doll—rid all of my frustrations, into your little cunt, yeah?" He breathed out, grunting at just the thought.

"F-fuck im close, you are too huh darlin'?" He panted. You could barely comprehend his words. All you could do was weakly nod asyour jaw parted from the pleasure.

"Hell..then fucking cum." He demanded, his pace going faster with every thrust. He could feel you clenched desperately around him to relieve the aching feeling.

"Oh God-!" "If you think God's going to be here, your a mistaken fool." Boothill commented with a chuckle. Before you could even process words, your body seized as you moaned loudly, cumming around his cock—your walls fluttering in a rhythmic pace.

"There we go.." He grinned before fastering his pace to reach his edge—overstimulating you in the process.

"Yes, fuck, fuck, fuck...!" He grunted loudly as he emptied his load within you. His thrusts slowing down until he was emptied out.

Only the sounds of your beating hearts and fast needy breathes filled the room. You were exhausted, your energy had depleted immensely and your lungs still worked to catch their much needed air.

Unfortunately for you, the galaxy ranger was no where near done—his frustration still lingering like new.

Your eyes widened in terror as you felt him roll you over once more before lifting your lower half up to meet with his still hardened length. "Didn't I say you'd be my frustration dumpster?"

..........

A/N: What the hell did I just write.

...

Ok before any miscommunication occurs; yes, i'm a minor. Yes, it does say +18. This fic was supposed to be a little thing to prove to my friend that smut isn't that hard to write and to get clout; a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do 😔 (This is my first time writing smut-) It may not be the best but it isn't the worst..I think-.

This is the only smut fic i'll be doing on this page until I say otherwise. You can think i'm a hypocrite for making this, but any harsh and negative comments will be deleted as I have already explained why this exists. If you need me to explain further, i'll answer questions.