#mm;event

[undercoverpena]

heyyyy! could I request Javier Peña for the #mmvalentinesevent with “I… thought I lost you” {14} and “Never do that again. Please” {15} from the injury prompts?? you do angst so well!

take me to yours

javier pena x f!reader (dea!agent)

warnings: reader gets injured, mention (brief) panic attack, post-injury panic. || wc: 3.8k || also, i’m dedicating this to @yeyinde who i know didn’t request this, but listens to me rant and rave about this man 🤍

A bead of sweat ran down his spine as time slowed to nothing.

It was the sound of her voice that made it. Birthed it. It doing a number of other things to him. His spine tensing as something twists. Sticking painfully into his abdomen—similar to the blade of a knife.

Hey, Javi. I’m real sorry to bother you, but something doesn’t feel right here. What? I don’t… I don’t know, it just doesn’t.

She never calls—not in the day. Not even when night kisses the city and he expects her.

Their conversations had started as fleeting. More said around breaths as hands explore fabric to unveil skin. Then they had grown into stolen moments, huddled in file rooms and down the side of buildings.

Now she had called him.

Not anyone else: him.

Anyone with you? No. I’m… I’m alone. Shit—my car. It won’t start. 

The sweat had begun building at the nape of his neck when Javi had heard her voice. A reaction flooding through him almost instantly—far too quickly.

Something he’d have to unpack later when he wasn’t under the watchful eye of Murphy or holding her voice in his hand. 

The bead had hung on for dear life, growing under the tension as he tapped Murphy, and stormed back to the car.  

I didn’t know who to call—and it’s you and me, right? Look— Fuck, Javi. I think they’ve seen me. Bonita—

Something strummed inside of him. It shifted, changed. All violent and unpredictable.

It played on his nerves and organs. It made his hand shake as he rammed the key into the hole, the engine roaring to life—ignoring the questionable stares from Murphy. 

All he focused on was the nervousness in her tone. 

The worry. 

The one he expects from others, but never from her. Not the woman who’d burned her lips against his, mixing tequila and whiskey as he pressed her back against brick; not the woman who raised her chin when someone talked down to her. 

The tone and the fact she’d called him.

I’m coming, Bonita. Alright?  What do I do, Javi? What do I do— Do not go into that house, Cariño. We’re coming, okay? We’re—

That same bead of sweat slid under his shirt collar when he saw the holes in her vehicle. The same ones he had heard being fired at her when the call went dead. How it had been accompanied by a gasp, the last noise he’d heard from her. 

The one which unlocked a fear he hadn’t known he even had for her.

His fingers gripped her truck door. His eyes taking in the phone discarded on the passenger side floor. A bullet firmly in the place keys once were. It lay in a pattern of shattered glass—all of the pieces twinkling under the bright sunlight. Appearing like stars which had fallen from the sky.

It was everywhere, shards that were dragged to the other door—the one half-open that Murphy stood at.

He can’t meet his eyes. Not yet.

Instead, he sweeps his gaze over the backseat does he spot her denim jacket. His stomach lurching.

He knows without thought it’s the same one she’d had on earlier. The one which had spent weeks hanging on the hook near his front door from a time when she’d “forgotten” it.

I’ll get it soon. Don’t worry, I’m not sneak moving in.

Now, it’s covered in the softest spray of drying red.

Complicated. That’s what she had said about them. When she’d been busy reapplying her lipstick in the bar’s bathroom. His fingers having zipped up his jeans, meeting her eyes in the dirty mirror. We’re complicated. You and me. 

He hadn’t argued then, and he didn’t now. 

The sweat had finally dripped. Followed by so much more. It all burning a path down under his shirt. 

His hand swipes across his jaw as he meets Murphy’s gaze—trying not to crack under it. Even as one thought loops continuously, almost making him fearful of even speaking:

Where is she, Murphy?

Images conjured, appearing one after the other. Her bent in odd places, her eyes devoid of life—her soul, her sparkle. 

The bead began its path down his shoulder blade until it finds a home at the base of his spine. Collecting with the others, his fingers brushing his hair back, following his partner's eyes to the house. The one with its door wide open, banging against the inside wall as the warm breezes swipes against it. 

The one he told her not to go in. He takes a breath. 

The two of them fall into a line—one practised and drilled into them from training. One the two of them do countless times as Murphy gestures and he follows.

Javi is too busy trying to banish the thoughts which threaten to boil him over. The ones where his mind conjures her in positions he’ll never be able to forget; holes in her he’ll never be able to fix. 

It takes more than one breath, but two, until he feels a semblance of calmness washing over him. 

It’s quiet, eerily so. Each time their sole hits a loose floorboard, they expect a sea of bullets. Ones which never come.

Not as they clear the hallway, moving into a room with matted chairs and dead bodies. Alcohol, copper and cigarettes staining the air, all sliding past the hair in his nose into his throat. 

He should be thankful she’s not amongst them. But, he’s not. Not as he sees scarlet red spreading across the rickety wooden floor, some even with handprints, some of it even on the walls.

That same pain twists in his stomach. The silence between the two agents remaining, thick and uncomfortable. A mist falling, something churning in him that he fears Murphy can feel too. 

I’m coming, Bonita. 

He meets Murphy’s eyes. The two swap the same hopeful sentiment: the blood won’t be hers.

The tip of his boot kicks at one of the men, and his heel slides the gun from the second—content they’re both bathing in their own blood. All very much disposed of, taken care of.

He’s set to move, to follow Murphy when Javi sees a third gun, one that’s like theirs. A dread ballooning, growing so large it almost consumes him.

“She could still—“

“Let’s clear the rooms.”

He doesn’t mean to snap—didn’t mean to spit the words at him like poison.

It’s just… his breath is all mattered and clinging to his throat. A thing inside of him unfurling. It spreads itself through him. It tries to drag him into darkness, tries to make the corners of his eyes see speckles of red. 

The cracks in his walls widen as he begins to unravel. All of the well-kept emotions suddenly not remaining in their cage, escaping in bursts from him until they’re all out, hammering away at his bones. 

It’s Murphy who suggests they split, taking the next few rooms. Be quicker to find her, won’t it?

He doesn’t argue—can’t, argue. Swallowing the thickness which is doubling with each passing moment. 

The shell of the house whistles in its emptiness as Javi scans for beautiful eyes and a kind smile.

He tries not to feel anything when he doesn’t. Tries not to linger on the fact that as every second pass, the likeness of him hearing her voice grows thinner. It burns into him, twisting something in his stomach as the first room he clears is spared of death. 

Gratitude—glee—almost escaping with a sigh as he moves to the second. 

The second is the sight of disaster, but he’s not sure of what kind or magnitude. 

The stench hits him first. The smell of torture, cigarettes and sex. The matted mattress in the corner is stained with things he only casts his eyes over, the body in the centre of the room demanding his attention. 

He spots several body-shaped holes in the plaster, ones he hates the realisation that they match her height and frame. He sees the smallest amount of drying blood on what hasn’t crumbled to the ground from the force, the contrast of the once-magnolia plaster stark against the dark floorboards. 

The man in the centre is more than dead. The hole in his neck had stopped leaking at some point, having begun to congeal against the floor and the man’s shoulder. More holes in his chest, stomach and thigh follow a similar pattern. 

Javi spots the knife—the culprit of what had done the damage. It’s lodged in the decaying skirting board on the opposite wall, likely kicked there through fury and fear. 

His mind sinks into itself. It pulled open drawers he’d rather keep closed, yanking out past reports and horrid tales, seeing it like a horrid mirage playing out across the dust and debris. A part of him having already carved out space for her, and yet—

She may not be around to fill it. 

We’re complicated. You and me.

Protocol recounts in the back of his head.

His fingers twitch at his side, needing to be busy.

He should go to the car, and call ahead. He should check out the wallets of the deceased, and see if they’ve done damage against Escobar—she’s done damage.

Javi does none of that.

Instead, he puts the safety on and sheathes his gun in the back of his jeans, fingertips sliding against his thumb as he stares at the dead man in the centre of the floor. 

He waits. His teeth return to peeling the skin from his lip. Suddenly busy recalling the ways he could have kept her safe. The main one being he shouldn’t have allowed her to leave his bed. His hand should have slid over her hip, slid his thigh between hers and married his lips to hers until they both forgot about alarm clocks and responsibilities.

The sight of her this morning is what he wants back. The way her eyes had smiled more than her lips. That her palm had pressed against his cheek, laughing at something he’d said. 

It’s why he doesn’t leave the room now. Not wanting to stumble across her bent in a broken way and devoid of any life behind her eyes.

Needing, almost praying, for Murphy’s voice to carry through the house. 

That tone—that particular voice which said she was breathing, that she hadn’t been taken from him too. 

“Javi?!”

His boots sound on the floorboards before his name has stopped echoing around the emptiness. Eyes taking in Murphy, him leaning against a doorframe, gun in his bulletproof, hands over his arms. He shoots a look, one that earns him a jut of his head.

“I’ll call ahead. Give you both a minute.”

“Yeah, sure. T-Thanks, Murphy.”

He pats him as he passes—his partner. The one who likely knows too much, but Javi suddenly cares that much about.

His focus on the room. The one with no scent. The room where the plaster is peeling and the floorboards groan under his soles.

Occasionally, speckled shimmers of sunlight dance over the room from the hole-bitten curtains. The cracked window blowing a warm breeze, sliding over the cobwebs and the creatures that likely hide inside the walls.

He sidesteps around the slanted wardrobe, eyes finding her in the corner—spine pressed against two walls. She looks so small, so unlike the person he’d bid goodbye to this morning.

Her knees to her chest, arms around her calves, chin resting. But, it’s her eyes he focuses on. How they’re blurred, lost—that she’s fractured and withered at the edges.

Her clothes splattered in red, splotches on her skin. None of it bothering her, she’s being haunted by a moment they’ve not let go of.

“Bonita?”

She blinks. It’s quick, the way she banishes her thoughts as she drinks him in.

Realisation dawning, covering her face and body language as though he’s the sun at the start of a new day.

Javi is slow as he coming down in front of her, knees protesting as he does so. Her shaky smile growing, wearily placed joy spreading across her features.  

“H-Hey, Peña—you came? I know. I know you said you would-d, but… I’m glad you did. Really glad. Didn’t know if you’d find me. Anyone would find-d me. You know? You do, know. I know—”

He cups her chin, swiping his thumb under it as she swallows. “Hey, look at me. There she is… Bonita, you’re in shock, ok—”

“I am?” 

It’s forced nature not meeting her eyes, choosing to nod instead. His eyes assess the cut above her head, noticing how it’s become tacky—somewhat healing in various shades of red and black. He turns her face, surprised she allows him to, watching her eyes slide from him to the space behind him. 

The minutes before their arrival trying to steal her from him, almost doing so until her palm plastered around his wrist, surprising him. 

“Had to sit down… just for a minute. So tired, and then I couldn’t… I couldn’t get up—“

“Cariño…” His thumb strokes her cheek, the one blooming in the bluest shades of a rainbow. “Hey, keep those eyes on me.” 

His hand tilts her face, spotting the slight swelling around her eye, her gaze blurring, altering. 

“You should see the other guy.” 

“I did. All three of them. You did good.” 

She swallows and it looks like it was harder to do than he cares to think about. “I-I did?” 

“You did, Bonita.”

Her eyes close, a second longer than they have been as her chest tries to rise and fall. “I channelled m-my inner P-Peña. What would P-Peña do? And h-he’d make sure they never g-got up-p… especially when…”

He should let go of her chin, and drop his hand back to his lap. He doesn’t. Just stares instead, taking in the flecks of her one good eye and the way her breath seems to be coming back to her. 

She places her hand on his arm. “I’m okay.” 

“You are.”

Biting the inside of her lip. “They’d spotted me.”

His heart slows, and almost stops. Just for a moment—so brief he could have ignored it, but he doesn’t. “I heard, Cariño.”

Not sure if he’ll ever be able to drink away the sound.  

“Thought… not him—not Escobar. But, someone… y’know? Important. That we could tick off. Red cross over their face. You know? You know, of course you do. But, I don’t think they was. Important, I mean?” Her lip trembles, the size of it sprouting the same as her eye. Tears welling up, sitting in her eyes as she furiously doesn’t let them fall. “Even for the way they… they really wanted to hur—kill me.” 

It drops, his stomach. Practically almost falls out of his ass into the floorboards.

We’re complicated. You and me. 

The fear he’d managed to stifle, darts through him again like wildfire. Scorching all the parts of him, fanning its vine-like fingers through him, tangling around organs as it flexes and tightens, making it hard to breathe. 

He acknowledges what it means—what she means to him.

He does.

Javi knows she isn’t just someone who has kept his bed warm or been there when he’s needed to fuck his frustration out; she’s not someone who he just looks for around the building. She’s—

“Where’s Murphy?” 

Her breathing suddenly difficult—challenging. Her hand slides under her blouse, eyes dilating, blurring before his eyes all over again.

All he can think is she shouldn’t have been here alone. Shouldn’t have been asked to come here without someone like him, like Murphy. 

“He’s outside. You good to walk?” 

She nods, just about. 

His brain latching, furiously clutching to the fact she’s alive—breathing.

He hadn’t lost her—she hadn’t been taken from him. Not yet. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe could be true when he’d seen her truck. When they’d walked in and heard nothing—not even the wheezes of someone’s last breath. 

You like her. He thinks. You like her, you like her, you like her. 

She’s taken to the ambulance the moment they exit the building.

It allowed him a horrid moment to take in the tips in her jeans, the way her once white blouse was stained to ruin. How she limped, ever so slightly—something he hadn’t noticed from near carrying her against him out of the building.

As soon as she was taken from him, he hated how far away she was. His hands lighting a cigarette, and then another. Able to speak clearly to those who asked him things.

But, it didn’t quiet his thoughts or calm his frayed edges. 

“Carrillo says he can handle the rest, you coming?”

There’s a look in Murphy’s eyes as he asks—all-knowing and cocky. He hates it—despises it. It feeling like a test.

Javi wants to roll it up and shove it down his partner’s neck. 

“Um, no. Think I’ll stick around here.”

Nodding, Murphy casts his cigarette down. “I called it.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Did. Look after her, yeah?”

He jostles under the slap of Murphy’s hand on his back, half-rolling his eyes as he tries to ignore the frustration building. The fact all of it, his feelings, are rising to the surface in thick bubbles. And he’s not able to keep a lid on it. Not the way he feels or how much he’s showing it. 

Me and you.

He lets his eyes find her again. 

Having tried not to let her out of his sight the moment the medic had taken her from him. She’d searched for him too, having been examined by the shut doors—desperately looking for him, calming when she seated at the edge of the ambulance having found him. She soothed him too, stopped the storm from taking over and rendering him more useless than he feels. 

It’s why he waits, and spends far too long avoiding going over until her head turns and shifts. The sight of it making him worry, panic.

Then he follows her line of sight, seeing the sheet-covered bodies, and his legs cut through the people and trucks until he’s standing before her. 

It pulls her back to him. Her eyes landing on him. An easier smile able to spread over her lips as she leans her head against the inside of the vehicle. 

“You causing trouble?” 

“Me? No. I leave that to you, Peña.” 

He placed his hand on his hip, foot up on the ambulance's step as she watches him. Takes him in as he does her.

The bruising has developed, spreading in thick shades which shouldn’t have ever touched her skin, never mind had the chance to blossom out over it. 

“You gotta go to the hospital?” 

Slowly, she leans her head against the side of the vehicle. “No. But, I can’t be alone, so I suggested this guy called Javier could keep an eye on me. Just has to make sure I don’t faint or pass out, vomit and something else, I kinda stopped listening.”

“Cariño.”

Her tongue sweeps out over her lips. “What? You don’t want to keep an eye on me, Javi?” 

More than fucking anything. 

Never wants to let her out of his sight again, if he could. Wants to press her body against his until no space remains, letting her breath fan out over his face and her heartbeat pelt against his ribs. 

“Javi…?”

Lifting his head, he meets her eyes. A more detailed conversation happens in the stare, one with words that fall with ease. Each is perfectly articulated, chosen and spoken which makes all of this easy. Not that she’s easy—not that the two of them are either. 

We’re complicated. You and me. 

They are complicated and messy, and brilliant. He knows it—feels it even. How complex it is that she even managed to get under his layers, weave herself into his life to the point he’s not sure if he could breathe as easily without her. 

He knows, on some distant level, he felt it more before today. That it had begun festering months ago, blooming into something sweeter and nicer than he’d ever allowed himself to have only once—if ever. 

“I… thought I lost you…”  

Slowly, her grin drops. Her lips spread out into a line—either in surprise at his confession, or at the truth of it. His words remaining, hanging, settling between them—not dancing up into the sky. 

Even as he heard them, he didn’t regret them. Even if it widened the gap in his carefully curated walls.

It takes a lot to render her silent, he’s learnt that. He’s found ways, but never with words. So, watching her mouth open and close is a sight to behold—somewhat waiting for a trophy he’s never sure will come. 

“Who’d annoy you if I went and died, Peña?”

“Knowing you, Bonita? You’d find some way to fuckin’ haunt me.”

It’s low, but it’s there—her laugh. It brushes through the air to his ears, both of them tuning in for it, needing it. It settles a part of him—one which hadn’t believed she was out of the woods. Somewhat expecting at any moment for her eyes to roll back into her head and her soul be whisked from him, without him having much say in it. 

“Javi… I should thank you. For coming for me.” 

It takes all of his self-control to not let the words he feels slide out. Seeing something in her eyes too. Something hidden, stuffed down. Something likely akin to how he’s feeling. 

“You called me, Cariño. I’ll always come.”

Her lips slide into a smile, one softer, more genuine, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of it. “Because it’s you and me, right?”

His chest tightens. A thought growing, mouldering—that he doesn’t deserve her, isn’t good enough. It rises like a tide, filling his throat as he watches her lean forward, easing herself down from the vehicle. He tries to force how he feels back down, swallowing back everything and anything—

And then her palm brushes his cheek, soft and innocent. 

“You’re coming to mine.” 

She bites the inside of her mouth, lips pulling tight, nodding firmly. “Okay.”

He rolls his head on his neck, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he shifts his weight. “Never… never do that again,” he whispers, just for her. “Please?”

“What?”

He finds her smirking. Knowingly. “Scare me. I—I can’t… I don’t think I can lose you.”

She moves closer, letting him see the pale strips against her wound—the one that the medic likely fought to stick on. He notices the flecks in her eyes again, almost sees the reflection of himself in how wide and beautiful they are. 

“Take me to yours, Javi.”

Nodding, he swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran, honey, what are you doing in the newest Tears of Themis event?

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 34. M!Alex DoL (Breeding & Hybrids)

Pairing: M!Alex / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 3,959 Warnings: breeding, hybrids, heats, creampie, size difference, dubcon, pregnancy mention, mating, alex is a little mean but he doesn't mean it !!! promise !! Prompt(s): 04 — breeding + 02 — hybrid(s) Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: back to our regularly scheduled smut <3 ty for allowing me to experiment a lil yesterday, and thank you for allowing me to indulge in some delicious hybrid sex yummy yummy.... !!!!!

There are certainly times that being a hybrid benefits him. Namely when it comes to his raw strength, and how it ties nicely into his career. Farm work ain't easy, y'know! But for him, and his natural born durability, difficult tasks are a lot easier to complete. It's nice to be not have to worry about the sheer amount of manual labour involved in his line of work, waking up each and every morning with the sure knowledge that whatever the day throws at him, he'll be ready for it. Lifting, weeding, fixing, building— thanks to his bull-like strength, nothing can even hope to stand in his way.

Another benefit is how much he can relate to his livestock. Sure, some may give him funny looks considering that he's a hybrid just like them, why should they bow to his feet? But he makes it abundantly clear that he only intends to care for them, a mutually beneficial understanding shared amongst beasts; not in the least because he can empathise on such an intimate level with them. Able to better help, attend to, and look after his stock as compared to a non hybrid farmer. Really, they should be thankful that it's his feet they must abide by, and not some unknowing, unhelpful human farmer. He understands their struggles like no other, because he experiences them in kind.

There are, of course, cons to the whole ordeal. One of which being his temper, or was it temperament? He never was the brightest, couldn't never get the difference to stick. How it can rise to terrifying heights, surprisingly fast, too. Stubborn as, well... As himself. As a bull can be, huffing and snorting and aiming his horns at anyone, or anything, that steps out of line. Innate intimidation working both for and against him, though he'd rather admit the former. Because a tall, imposing, intimidating presence is good around the farm, especially inside the barns. Tail swishing behind him, nostrils flared knowing that his mere existence is enough to get all the other hybrids back in line in a moments notice.

However, perhaps the greatest con of all, in spite of all the amazing positives, is that: he's just an animal at the end of the day. Just like the stock he cares for daily, a primal beast, a slave to his instinctive chains just as much as the rest of them.

Try to hide it all he wants, it's no use when he has someone as pretty and small as you near him at all hours of the day, helping on the farm as much as your little human hands can offer, leaving him feeling all fuzzy and thankful inside of his chest at the way you wipe the sweat off your brow. A pretty little thing like you is all it takes, really, for the animal within him to buck and gnaw and chew at his willpower until it's all too late. The immediate attraction he felt towards you hidden at the back of his mind resurfacing from a mere glance from you, a connection so strong that he's been unable to look away since your arrival on his farm.

It's that time of year again, isn't it?

He'd tried to keep himself contained. As naturally as possible— ain't got time to head into town for anything like medication or the likes, left to seethe by himself in private, avoiding your usual kind conversation in favour of petting himself into oblivion when he thinks you can't see him, or when you're too busy with one of the many useless tasks he's sent his favourite little farmhand on today. Anything to get you out of sight, though unsurprisingly, never out of mind.

Compared to him, you're tiny. A soft bodied little girl he can't help but to stare at, a yearn so deep in his heart to claim you as his own once and for all— and that's not just his instincts talking, though they certainly aid his drive. Over the course of your time spent on the farm, days and nights spent with him, he's came to appreciate you as a person, too.

One of the good ones, he promises his stock.

And while he can fuck around with his hybrids on any given day—he's done so before, particularly before you entered his life— there's just something about you. An intrinsic understanding that though he could break you in a mere second, still you cling to him for support. Staring up at him with those big puppy eyes he oh so adores; not that he's ever said as much before, often rendering him a blushing mess despite your smaller than his stature, build, and overall presence on the farm.

You're a good worker too, which gets to him. Honest with a strong work ethic, better than some hybrids he's came across. Like you're trying to prove yourself to him or something, which would be cute if that was the case. Y'need not prove yerself at all, sweetheart. He wants to coo softly at you often, fisting his fat cock to completion every night to the thought of his favourite little human between his meaty thighs with the look of adoration on your face. God, how long he's wanted to see you just there, those doe eyes fluttering back up at him, struggling to take his hybrid cock down your throat as— Well. You get the point.

Mans smitten, though the pill is a difficult one to swallow. Him, with a human? Look, he's not got anything against you per se, it's just not something he's ever considered possible in his lifetime. Resolved to picking a cute little hybrid all for himself one day once the farm was settled, and yet here he sits on his porch pining for someone half his size and half his breed. But that's just it, isn't it? The fact that you're so tiny compared to him, so easily picked up and thrown down, unable to escape his too big cock as his heat creeps up on him in the golden hour. It's too enticing, to see you prance around his farm without a single clue of the things you do to him. A curiosity, he lies to himself. Fate, his heart corrects.

"Fuck..." Escapes him, petting at his cock some more as you finish up tending to the plenty plots around the farmhouse, his brows knitting together in concentration, of you walking his way with that big cheesy grin on your face that he silently loves, or his big open palm stroking the outline of his bulge? He's not so sure. All that he knows for sure is that his cheeks feel a little warmer when you're around, that your scent invades his senses the closer you get to him, almost clouding his judgement as you take to sitting beside him, his cock twitching privately in response to the loud sigh you let out upon finally being able to relax.

You're so... God, so fucking annoying. The way you so effortlessly overwhelm his senses, his nose twitching with frustration as he huffs in your intoxicating scent. Can fucking smell your cunt from your side, tip leaking all over his pants with need. It's— sure, he's in heat. Breeding season and all that, not that you're fucking aware given how carelessly you bring up your shirt to reveal your soft tummy to him— oh, just a little bite? Just a small one, just to get a taste? Cleaning up the rest of your sweat that he'd rather lick off for you, exhaling heavily through his nose at the innocent look you wear when regarding him. But it's embarrassing how down bad he is for you, how out of all the perfectly good hybrid options presented to him throughout his life, a weak little thing like you gets to him the most.

"You good, Alex?"

Part of him wants to laugh, barked down at you with utter disrespect for how fucking stupid you're being right now. Dumb little girl, exposing yourself to his bull side so easily, on a silver platter up to his grinding teeth. But he's only half the animal he's acting right now, choosing instead to clear his throat before responding, staring you down with hazy eyes. He doesn't want to frighten you, really.

"Yup." Is all he allows himself to admit, tucking his cock into the waistband of his pants when you take a gander at all of your hard work; impressive, he thinks to himself. You're skilled, and it annoys him for some reason.

"You sure? You don't look too hot..."

The amount of worry in your tone irritates him, worsens his already agitated state as he goes to stand out of your way, intent on taking care of the tight ball of need nestled deep in his tummy until you reach out for him, little hand burning an imprint on his tense arm from the fire coursing through him.

It's craving. Longing to make you his. He's never truly felt so fucking heated before though... Even when fucking his stock when his heat got too strong to bear, he's never felt so vulnerable, and then it clicks in him. He wants you to depend on him too, to look for stability in his arms, to mark every inch of your pretty skin as his so that he never has to worry about another heat again. Unable to ignore the growing creep of want in his chest with every inhale of your scent— the best he's ever smelled, annoying in how sweet and perfectly suited it is to his tastes. He knows what it means, he's been avoiding it for as long as he can. But the way your hand comes up to his forehead, the back of it gently resting against him, as if checking your child's temperature— you just don't know when to quit, do you?

Not that he's any better, immediately sat upon your tugging request, allowing you to touch and poke and prod at his warm cheeks, concern lacing your expression at the way he huffs and puffs before you. Look, see how he's trying to hold on to the last remnants of control he's got, but you just keep pushing. Leaning closer, pouty kissable lips just begging for a tongue shoved between them, his eyes rolling back and shut when you hum in sincere thought for him.

And it's like something snaps in him when he feels your hand on his thigh. Propping yourself up to assumedly get a better look at his flushed complexion, unwinding the tight ball of restraint within him in a mere second as his hands fly out to your waist, easily pulling you onto his lap to show you exactly what's wrong with him. Let you feel the way his big fat cock throbs against your tummy, nails digging in to your hips and arms flexed to keep you pinned in place on his lap.

You've got to know that wrapping your legs around his waist only encourages him, right? Even if you've only done so out of assumed obligation, his clouded mind and rock hard cock take that as an invitation to thrust against you. Just once or twice, the sopping tip of his cock fucked out of his cock in the movement, much to your surprise apparently as a rushed gasp escapes you.

"'M sorry..." He mumbles, though nevertheless pushes your body back, letting you perch precariously at his knees so that he can unzip his pants and free his cock. "Jus'... Um, gotta mate with you."

Not once has he worded it like that, carrying you up to his bedroom without waiting for your answer because of how downright desperate he is to show you how serious his intentions are, undressing you on the way and discarding your clothes recklessly across the old house until he's able to toss you onto his bed.

You unlock something so needlessly primitive within him, the bed dipping under his weight as he removes his top, revealing his tight and toned body for your glassy eyes to gawk at. Fuck, and the sight of you under him like this? How easily and readily he towers over you, safely twice your size as he hovers above, bull tail swinging back and forth in piqued interest at the way you seem to cower under him.

He'd like to look after you properly, wants to treat you the way you deserve, but that'll have to wait. He's unfortunately too fraught with uncontrolled need right now, greedy for his first fuck, to empty his taut balls into your little cunt to make it all creamy for him.

"It's— ah..." Automatically, he starts to jerk at his exposed cock. Letting his precum drip all over your front, a puddle of pre soon forming at your belly button from just how strong his heat is, how strong you've made it, your scent screaming breedable even as he looms over you, leaving him a little dizzy with desire. "It's because you smell so good, I can't— I mean, I tried to hold back but..." but the lust pooling in his tummy is too much to bare, and the way you're looking up at him with such expectation only encourages him to continue, and just seeing you submit so pliantly under him triggers his impulsive behaviours, and—

Mm... There's no use making excuses now. His inhibitions lowering with every passing second that his big cock hovers above you, the wide eyed look you give him back as he slaps his tip against your tummy a little, pressing it right against you, hissing at how good it feels just to even glide his tip against your skin and; "Look," He implores, following your vision down to his heavy cock as he continues to stroke pre out for you. To mark you up with his stink. "Look how big it is. Don't think it's gonna fit all inside..."

And when he looks back up at your pretty face, he's greeted to the sight of your adorable pout. As if you were just as saddened by that fact as he is, nonetheless drawing his hips back to give in to his baser instincts with a final stroke of his cock.

"S'okay. Will stretch my mate out real good, jus' give it time." He promises you, and despite the lewd intentions behind his heat stroke ridden words, he means it. For someone as soft, pliable, easily throwable, and sweet as you, he's willing to wait and train you to take his full size. After all, he's decided that you're his mate now, so you're gonna have to learn eventually. Or rather, nature has willed it so. A scent so alluring, so entrancing? He's but a man, after all. Giving in to his desires as he threatens to shove his cock all the way in at a moments notice.

He'd just rather you wanted too, is all. But it's not that important.

Not like you can escape him anyway, one hand on your hip, the other by your head to keep himself steady. He's much too strong for you, and so much bigger too in every respect. Try to escape his iron grip and he'll easily be able to tug you back down to meet his cock, letting his tip rest against you for just a moment as he steels his nerves.

A shaky sigh later, and his mind is settled. To prove how serious he is, he gives you a concerned look. Pained, almost, from how eager he is to prove himself to you.

"You're gonna be such a good mommy, little mate."

No time to fully recognised your confused expression, already pushing his cock inside of your perfect little mate cunt without warning. Just the tip, really, soaking your insides with his plentiful pre and you're already clawing at him. Nails digging into his tensed up arms, stroking his ego so well, just like how your cunt massages his tip expertly, little cunt sucking him off just the way he likes, like you were fucking made for him, attempting to drag him in further and further despite the way your walls struggle to stretch around his fat girth. Too fucking big for little girls like you, instinctively dipping his head low with a wince when your cunt squeezes him unfairly well. Fucking into you raw feels too fucking good, it's almost embarrassing how much he loves it already. Just the tip, and he's a mess. Panting heavily, periodically squeezing at your side to keep himself focused enough to feel every single clench of your insides.

"Here," He hums, almost begs for you to hear his words in spite of the pheromone haze settling thick in the room. "Hold on t'em. It'll help."

Not only in keeping you grounded enough to feel every agonizing inch of his fat cock splitting you in two, but also more selfishly, he likes it when his horns are grabbed. Feels like you're relying on him a little more, little fists wrapped around his tough horns as he hunches over you like some sort of predator, his body completely encasing your own in the sheer size difference as he humps his tip into you a little too fast for his liking. He doesn't mean it, he doesn't wanna hurt you, it's just that you feel so fucking good, fuck. Like he always knew you would, your hole eagerly doing her best to accept his throbbing cock, the tip finally popping all the way inside with a sickly squelch thanks to his dominating efforts, your cunt soaking his cock with every tiny thrust he offers your small, frail body.

And it's difficult for him to hold back like this, to keep himself in check when you're whining so pretty for him like that. All shy and choked, a mix of pain and pleasure as he takes to rocking your body up and down his cock rather than thrusting inside, the hand on your hip doing all of the work for you as you hide your enjoyment in the sheets below.

He'd love to see you struggle to take his cock, but he understands your reaction. Some hybrids have difficulty, too. The first time can be overwhelming, fucking you selfishly over every throbbing vein of his heavy cock, got him all twitchy and leaking inside of you, doing his best to help ease the glide inside but he only ever truly manages to stuff half of his cock in you before you're tapping out.

"Okay, okay," He grits his teeth at your surrender, allowing you some leeway for managing to even take half of him, a soft cooing tut escaping him at the affection he harbours for you. Pretty little mate, you'll get there eventually. Especially considering it's only the first night of his heat; he'll break you in soon enough. "I'm gonna— Ah, fuck, sorry—"

What he tries to tell you is that he's gonna move, provide you with ample opportunity to fully stop before the point of no return; but his body has other ideas. Pulling his hips back mid speech only to fervently thrust forward again, a brutally unfair pace settled from the get go as his instincts truly take over and he simply cannot fucking help himself from indulging in your meagre, shivering frame. A true treat to a bull like him, pampering himself with heady thrusts and loud grunts, every fast fuck into your over stretched cunt matched with tandem tugs of your pretty body down, made to meet him in the middle, his bed squeaking under the sheer weight of his fucks forwards.

He knows he's made the right choice in mating with you as soon as you start to squirm under him, gasping his name like some sort of mantra for him to drink up, his usual cocky smirk now replaced with an open mouth for him to moan and groan just for you. Drooling precum into you, saliva pooling in his mouth at how tasty your smell has become, how fucking strong it gets now that he's fucking you so full, the knowing that he's only half way inside understandably leaving you a little on edge given how just half his cock is all it takes to have you creaming so well around him. A little ring of it half way up his cock, your relatively tiny hands tugging on his horns as if asking for something else, but you're too stuffed with cock to voice it, aren't you baby?

It's okay, he's a good mate, he can intuit what you want. What you so desperately need, just like him, right? Like a good bitch in heat, you want the same thing he does.

A nice, warm, sticky creampie, huh?

And oh, the way you're sobbing for it so nicely, begging wordlessly with half babbles for more, allowing him to rock your body up and down with every greedy thrust his hips roll into you automatically, driven to impregnate you out of pure need. Like a reflex, or impulse. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as you pull his face closer to your own by way of his horns, his tail flapping behind him in impatience.

Someone as nice and tight as you was made for breeding, right? Little breeding bitch, all for him. Rubbing his nose against your own, taking a greedy inhale of your sickly sweet scent before imprinting his own with opposingly gently nuzzles against your cheek— always mindful of his horns.

"Look at me." He commands, voice rough and throaty from the amount of effort it takes not to just ram his whole fat cock into your perfect little pussy like how he wants to, lifting his head up just a little so that his forehead rests against your own and you can see just how much he wants this. Wants you.

"Want ya t'look at me when I get'cha pregnant."

And to prove his suspicions, it only takes another greedy stoke inside your cunt for your walls to clench down hard around him, mommy body begging for his strong bull seed, yeah? Feel so good cumming around him like that, God, he's not long to follow. Finding it difficult to continue thrusting into your tightly squeezing hole, and yet nevertheless allowing her to milk him as his full, thick seed shoots against your walls. Dumping a fat load right against your cervix, fucking it back into you with relentless thrusts— unintentionally, he just can't stop himself from seeking the too good feeling your cunt swallows his cock with. Thick cream seeping out from around his cock as it gushes out of you, turning your ass and thighs all tacky with his seed when he lowers his body further, keeps you as close to him as possible so that his load is more likely to stick to its intended purpose.

And like that he remains. Heaving against you, he keeps you there for a good minute or so until the wave of pleasure rolls over him and he's offered a miniscule amount of clarity. Enough to view your battered body, how sloppy and messy and stupid you look under him, a silent beg for more on the tip of your tongue as you smile dumbly up at him.

"Already?" He sneers down at you, rubbing his thumb across your cheek with a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose. "Fucked stupid? Oh," His cock twitches inside of you again, warming in your stuffed little hole, keeping his cum plugged inside for your own benefit. Still, he wants.

"We've only just started m'afraid."

[intr0verted-weird0]

Mint Eye Idol Project 🎸 2023

[fishfishfruit]

happy entei research week(s)

[camelspit]

the keepblr fandom has been too normal recently. clenching my jaw desperately waiting too see what happens next

[clanofjones]

Happy New Years to @g0gglez-eyeballz! Here's your gift of one of the turtles in an action pose for the @mutantmayhemgiftexchange!

I hope this year is a great one for you!

[ezra-trait]

day 01: THE FINAL GIRL – for @windbrook's SLASHED CAS challenge

[kirstenonic05]

[fatebinds]

starter for @noirhistories ( for ari !! )

"you showed up dressed like that?" his dramatic tone seems completely out of place considering... he's just dressed normally, all things considered, but that's likely unsurprising. "you're never going to get any action that way. that is why you're here, isn't it?"

[undercoverpena]

Hi Jo! Love the idea of #mmvalentinesevent! Could I please request Ghost x Rain, and specifically Rain freaking out because Ghost was reckless and risked his life for a USB? Was that when Ghost fell in love? Happy Valentines xx

retrieve it.

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (rain!reader)

an: a huge thank you to @ave661 for allowing me to use this beautiful image. i’d written the scene, seen the render, and it was like two worlds colliding in the most brilliant way. thank you, i adore you

wc: 1.6k | an: no warnings, little anxiety/worry. i changed the prompt a little, as i wanted to do them established already for v-day ♥️

It mirrors it. The mission that first made you realise you didn’t just admire him, but had feelings for your lieutenant.

It was the one that haunted your nightmares, more so now, than it had done at the time. The one which shattered your small world, making it hard to think of anything but him.

He almost became a ghost. A real one.

Something he knows, but won’t admit. Likely knowing there are more times than he can count where it’s been that close or worse.

And you should be listening as Price gives the rest of them a role, a part to play. You don’t hear him, don’t even take the file from the table. Everything was the same, anyway.

You’re with Soap. You’re the one staring down the scope—you’re the one protecting his six. You’re drowning, dazed…

Words are simply circling, but not sinking in. Your nose heightened to his deodorant suddenly, to the way his skin smells when you’re nose is pressed against his chest. You’re not even close to him. But your body reaches for him, clings to him—attempting to smother the building worry:

People aren’t that lucky.

He’d walked from it last time—fire whipping around him, scorch marks having kissed his clothes and exposed skin. It’s not that you ever focus on, but the minute that felt like an hour when he wasn’t responding. When his radio crackled, and you realised that you liked him—that you cared, that you—

You’re panicking a whole metre away from him. No way close enough for him to tell. But he does. His eyes lock with yours under the balaclava, digging his pupils into your skin: I’m here, I’m here.

But for how long?

They all tease Soap for being the first to rush into danger, to throw himself on the grenade. But, Simon isn’t that different. He’s more methodical, having likely come to a calculated conclusion rather than reactionary, but he still throws himself against danger. His isn’t to be a hero, but to pay a due—one he doesn’t even owe.

It’s why you keep replaying Price’s words from minutes ago—

We can’t fuck this. Ghost. You’ll b’going in alone, y’retrieve the USB…

Price knows he’ll do it. Knows without fucking question. It almost makes you a little mad at your captain.

Because Ghost will pull apart buildings, rip through people, and willingly throw himself into flames for the mission—for the cause.

It’s all you can think of. It’s all that plays in your mind. Untangling and tangling again, like a pair of headphones which have been in your pocket for too long.

“Meeting adjourn—“

You’re out of the room before anyone else. Your boots slamming and echoing down corridors, t-shirt suddenly too tight, belt too restrictive…

Panic.

That’s what you feel. It makes your arm throb, it makes the scars littered along your skin burn. It makes you want to claw—practically consuming you. Filling you from the ankles to your forehead, suffocating you, wrapping its hands around your heart and lungs as it squeezes and squeezes and—

You almost slam through the door. The one which leads to an empty room—a former office. A desk and a chair are all that remain as evidence that they belonged to someone once. A desk and chair you and Ghost have made use of when you truly need time alone—no interruptions, no risk of being caught.

You could seat yourself in the chair, but you slide onto the desk. Pushing your back against the jagged brick, letting your feet hang, moving them forwards and backwards.

Calming.

It works, sometimes. Roots you. You trying to keep yourself level-headed. Breathing in and out, trying to stuff it all down, and yet, you’re failing—badly. Mind tumbling, falling aimlessly through your neck, chest and stomach.

You can’t lose him.

It’s what builds inside of you, occasionally being drilled like a woodpecker against your skull. You had thought the same then, and didn’t—hadn’t. But, the helplessness never eased, even when he held you close. The emptiness you felt, when he entered the building, but took so long to come out.

That same emptiness has worsened over time, developed into something thicker and harder to ignore. It multiplies, in the same way, your feelings for him have.

Rain doesn’t wash away ghosts, but it falls similarly to how you have for him. Quickly, significantly. It sits on your chest when he stares at you in silence, when his calloused touch brushes over your cheek, softly, intimately.

None of them knows.

None of them would have even considered that you love him, and that he… feels something close to it. They don’t know. None of them understood the anger he felt when your arm was dislocated; none of them comprehended why anger had burst out of you when he was nearly shot because of shoddy intel.

They don’t know, because they don’t have it: a secret which erodes in your chest, one that makes it hard to think. You sigh, and then you hear it—footsteps, one’s which seem to slow your pulse back to a regular rhythm.

He always has that effect on you. The same as he always finds you.

It almost makes you wonder if he’s akin to a heat-seeking missile. Never missing, never too far away from locating you. You’d ask him, whether he had a sixth sense, but you’re not sure you can talk.

Ghost says nothing as he steps in, but he’s rolled his sleeves up. His ink and veins on show as he walks towards you in silence, the door meeting the frame the only thing to shatter the quiet.

Before he came to your home, Ghost stalked towards you. Since then, he walks. Each movement he does towards you is more rounded, less jagged.

“In and out.”

He says it so confidently you snort. He’s always confident—it’s Simon who isn’t.

Ghost is clinical, emotionless, and withdrawn—and rightly so, for the things he’s had to do. It’s Simon who can’t consider the possibility that someone is waiting for him—the former not allowing himself to consider he’s worth it.

“Rain.”

You lift your chin at your callsign, finding him standing in front of you. His bare hand slowly slid over your knee, your legs parting—just enough to let him move a little closer.

It’s gentle, almost confusingly so. The two of you rarely share these moments, the quiet ones, the ones where so much is said, but with eyes and softer gestures.

You focus on the scratch fabric of his trousers catching on your inner knees and thighs as he steps between your legs, nudging the desk you’re placed on.

He says nothing, and neither do you.

A flash of memories fluttering like the wings of butterflies: him at your one-person table, him in your bed—your sheets; him finding you in the showers, him bringing you a can of Coke… just because.

It’s his palm sliding up the outside of your thigh that makes you really meet his gaze. Not afraid or ashamed of the tears brewing in them, your lips parting, but the words don’t fall—don’t roll from your tongue…

I need you alive. I need you.

Your hands, though, take hold of his top—burning the words as hard as you can into the fabric, hoping he hears you. Not sure if you can spit them out. Even if your heart is bellowing it, furiously banging on your ribs to get him to hear you.

“It’s not like then.”

“No?” you murmur.

He shakes his head, silent, but direct.

“You’ll do anything to finish a mission.”

He nods, tracing a circle on your outer thigh, making your skin tingle. “I will.”

“You… you put yourself in danger, and… I admire it, fuck I love that about you, but…”

“I have you.”

You feel your brows furrow before you’re even sure you hear him. His words smothering the ones from Price—the ones which hadn’t dislodged for prayers or hopes. Only him.

He swallows, lifting his other hand to your cheek, holding your eyes on his. “I have you, and you like me alive.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, sharply. Nodding softly against his palm as he sighs.

“In and out.”

“In and out.”

He gives a curt nod, slowly lowering his forehead against yours, fingers strumming your thigh and your cheek.

“Plus, your scope will b’on me,” he gruffly whispers.

“I-It will.”

He strokes his thumb over your chin. “Then I’ll be fine.”

You hate his confidence, the pressure which falls in flecks onto your shoulders.

“No one I trust more to have my back, Rain.”

“You’re just saying that—”

He lifts his head, tilting your chin up, staring down into your soul through the blacks of your eyes. “Not to you. I never say… not to you, alright?”

You nod, rolling your lips as you sigh. Unsure whether you should say it, let the words kiss the air, until they fall from your tongue all the same—

“I love you alive, Simon.”

His eyes widen at the chance in word. The noticeable difference from like to love.

Your hands balling up against his clothing, his hand gripping your thigh. Perfection. That’s what you think as you hold on for as long as you both can, making sure he knows you mean them. Your words.

Then you feel it, his heart hammering more purposefully against your wrist, as you clutch onto him a little tighter.  

And then, he lifts the fabric from his chin, letting you see soft pink and stubble, before he kisses a reply against your lips, over and over again.

One which burns in all the right ways; one which you carry with you, as you make sure he’s safe as you stare down the scope.

[metanarrates]

watched a majora's mask analysis earlier today with my fiancee. my verdict is that I actually really enjoyed the op's interpretations, but that I wished that they talked more about mm's literal level and what one can get from it, rather than talking about those events as if they are strictly metaphor. yes, of course the metaphorical layer of the game is rich to dig into, but it's also such an open-ended and surreal game that it's difficult to nail down every single distinct metaphor that can be derived from its events. which is why I consider it necessary to discuss the way the literal layer presents itself and what sort of motifs and ideas exist there as a baseline before you begin looking at it as metaphor

[limielle]

weinlesefest

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 02. Whitney (Stuck & Watersports)

Pairing: Whitney / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,747 Warnings: watersports, piss, male squirting, creampie, exhibitionism, stuck trope Prompt(s): 08 — stuck + 17 — watersports Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: i think from now on i'll include the prompts in the title too just because thinking of titles is hard and this makes it easy to know the contents at a glance lmao. anyway. YAYYY ANOTHER WHITNEY PROMPT. i love my boy so much thank you for this blessing of being allowed to write for him <3

and i was so excited about this one specifically because YOU KNOW ME SO WELL BESTIE AHHH. thank you for allowing me to indulge in smth so nasty hehe <3

Despite showcasing time and time again his proclivity for cruelty, he's once again faced with the inevitable sight of your backside— God knows what your front is facing, probably just some dirt, but he can't find it within himself to care all too much when your ass shakes from side to side in your pathetic attempts to free yourself. Down on the ground where you belong, you're real cute, y'know that? Like a spell on him, he watches. He can almost convince himself that you meant to get caught, only because you look so pretty under him like this. His eyes narrow in on the way your skirt inches further up your waist with every accidental tug against the jagged fence holding you down, the little yelps you let out when metal scratches against your skin sends shivers down to his cock.

Of which is hard, unsurprisingly. The filthy degenerate he knows he is, of course he's hard when you're bent over and defenceless— it's how he likes you best. Just a dumb little girl looking for any excuse to get fucked, is that it?

"Need help?" He asks rhetorically, because it's rather clear that you do, in fact, need some help. All the wiggling around your doing is only helping you undress, and he's sure that's not what your main goal is. But far be it for him to complain when you're offering yourself up to him on a silver platter, intentionally or not. Like the pleasure-seeker he is, he leans into his more hedonistic ways and pinches at your thighs. Just because he can. Because he wants to hear you pout.

"Duh." You respond with another shake of your hips, a useless attempt to swat his prying hands away, and he immediately tuts at the attitude you've adopted.

His gaze zeros in on your ass, squatting down behind you only to flip your skirt up the rest of the way, sucking on his teeth sharply at the sight of your cute panties. Good girl, he thinks to himself. But he'd rather die than say his praise out loud. No, no, dumb sluts like you don't deserve praise for getting themselves in such obviously bad situations, do they?

He instinctively hooks a finger under your panties, knuckles brushing up against your pretty little slit before he pings the fabric back against your most sensitive parts. A sneaky smirk splayed on his lips when you yelp in return. "Is this helping?" He asks, unable to hide the smile in his words when he repeats the bullying action again, knowing that he's really only making your situation worse. Isn't that just so fun, though?

"Quit it! Whitneyyy—" You whine in annoyance, but his messed up mind easily recognises the high pitched tone as excitement. An undeniable thirst for more of his teasing, right? And you're in luck too, his cock twitching for attention in his pants; tenting in your direction. He'd only asked you to steal some cigarettes for him, and if you were determined enough to get free from the fence, he's sure you could in a heartbeat. Does that mean... You want him to tease you?

Surely, right? Slipping under the fence is easy enough, he's done it countless times before himself. Though, when cocking his head to the side to properly assess the situation, his palm coming down to lazily rub at his leaking tip over his clothes, he notices just how stuck you really are. How your clothes threaten to rip if you were to move too much in one direction, and he knows you haven't got enough money to replace another school shirt given that he ruined the last one. Filthy slut, this is your own fault.

"C'mon," He leers, shuffling to get his cock closer to you until it rubs against your ass all hot and heavy, a satisfied sigh escaping him when you gasp at the contact. You're so fucking hot it honestly annoys him, the way you're completely unaware of how inherently lewd your pretty little body is, beads of precum rolling down his length to stain his pants sheer. You'll have to clean them up later, preferably with your tongue. "I'll help ya out, but y'gotta pay up first."

It's clear what his intent is through how his rough hands find home on your hips, keeping himself stable from his squatting position just as much as he's trying to keep you pinned in place. A gentle rock of his hips forward against your clothed cunt and he's already reeling from how good it feels to be in control like this, nails digging into your soft skin as if he were mounting you like a dog.

"I— I mean, sure, fuck, whatever Whitney. Just help me before we get caught, okay?"

He muses about your usage of the word we, internally deciding that if anyone were to show up in the middle of his bullying, he'd simply act the fool to your thief ways. But nonetheless, he continues. He'd continue whether or not he had your consent, but it's easier when you're not fighting back.

Humping his cock against you always feels good, his attention drawn to the growing wet patch on your cute panties, and how his mouth salivates with a want to taste. He's not sure if it's from himself or your hole, but it's pretty to look at nonetheless. But he's meant to be a punishing you anyway, not indulging in his oral fixation. A reminder that he owns you, and that if you fuck up in his presence, you'll be swiftly reprimanded.

"So pretty," He hums to himself, a light heat rising to his cheeks at the recognition of his praise, biting down on his bottom lip out of embarrassment for a mere moment before correcting himself. "But so dumb." A laugh follows, crawled up his chest and forced out his dry throat.

He angles his cock down with his thumb, letting his hips rut against your hidden hole only a few times before impatience takes hold of him— and the fact that your hushed voice reminds him not to get caught. Not that it matters to him whether or not you get in trouble for stealing, it's just that he'd rather be the only one to see you so exposed and helpless like this. Possessively grabbing at your ass to spread your cheeks open, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull at the slight sight of your pretty holes.

Fuck it, he thinks. You rile him up so easily, and he hates himself for it. How the smallest glimpse of your asshole has his balls tightening, the mere thought of fucking your cute little cunt causes his muscles to tense in anticipation. So fucking annoying how just by existing you manage to coax him into further degeneracy, a little tempting wiggle of your ass being all he needs to quickly tug his bottoms down and shiver into the cold air that kisses his tip.

He better shove it in already to warm back up.

"Hurry up Whitney!" You whine, and the urgency in your meek voice causes a shiver to roll down his spine. "Are you trying to get us—"

Fuck, fucking shut up, a harsh pull of your panties later and he's shoving his cock inside of you with only his copious amount of precum and your meagre amount of slick for lube. The silent yelp he fucking knows you want to let out crawls under his skin, settles nice and thick in his tummy as he bullies his cock inside of you with quick snap thrusts. Only coating his length in as much lubrication as possible, a little pain is nice, but he isn't aiming to actually hurt you. Doesn't wanna damage his goods, yknow? So he continues the shallow thrusts until he can easily glide his cock all the way inside, balls deep in your pretty little hole with a soft pap!

But there's no time for him to allow you the chance at growing accustomed to his fat length, drawing his hips as far back as possible without actually pulling out, his drooling tip left inside your tight cunt for a single second before he buries himself back in, again and again, starting out with such an unfair pace that it even leaves himself breathless from how good it feels, how your walls squeeze around him that bit tighter given his rough treatment, rushed huffs of air filling his ears as he humps into you from behind.

"Tryin' to—" He chokes on his words, drooling precum all over your warm insides with every greedy thrust of his cock, in love with how you're unable to do anything but sit there and fucking take it, God, he could cum on the spot if he thought about it for too long. The view of your arched back, gaze flitting to the way your hands dig into the dirt below as if it'd give you any semblance of stability when he's pounding you so hard your ass smacks back against his hips. "Tryin' to get us caught?" He barks laughter down at you, though is quickly humbled when your walls squeeze around him again, cunt sucking his cock off so well, fuck, like you're begging for him to fuck deeper. And he's all to eager to give you exasctly what your body is asking for, throwing his weight behind every fuck forward and pulling your ass back down against his cock. "Maybe— Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Fuckin' slut."

It's as if he's talking about himself though, feet firmly planted at either side of your knees, his hands sliding down the small of your back to hold onto your waist securely, pumping his cock into you from the dog mating angle he knows you like. Such a nasty girl, aren't you? Need him to breed your little angel cunt? It's what she deserves, isn't it, for making him feel so heavenly.

His upper body follows every thrust, causing him to practically rest on top of you as much as he can, the metal from the fence digging into his skin with every loud smack of his hips against your ass, every wet squelch of your hole being forced to accept his fat cock.

But he can't deny how obviously into getting caught he is too, the thought alone causing his cock to tremble inside of you with excitement. Look at her, this is my slut, hear how pretty she sounds when moaning my name like that? Deep seated primal instinct rumbling in his core when you whine and gasp for more, taking his cock so well that he's forced into huffing above you like he's in heat or something. It's gross, really, just how much he needs everyone to know how good you are for him, and only him. Obsessed with how your pretty cunt stretches to fit hit size, how he can feel every gush of slick from your abused hole drip down to his balls, God, how badly he wants to suck at your skin right now too. Taste every inch of your slut body as some form of thanks for letting him mistreat you like this. And for the way you like it too, soaking his thighs with your sweet slick he's hungry for.

He's soooo fucking into you it's honestly a little embarrassing, hoping to hump his affection for you away by stroking your insides exactly how he knows you like, and the fact that he knows you like it a certain way both turns him on more and frustrates him to no end. He's your bully for God's sake. But you're just so pretty like this, a messy little bitch in heat for his fat cock, keening into the ground below when he fucks his annoyances out in you with faster thrusts and a tighter grip on your waist. Turning you into a squeaky toy with the croaked moans his cock fucks outta you.

"Mine" He rasps against his better judgement. "Tell me, say that you're mine—" He ends up begging, enamoured with how quickly you answer his request with wanton whines and broken sobs of his name. An unfamiliar feeling soon establishing in his tummy, all tight and taut, threatening to snap any second as he continues to fuck through it. It feels similar enough for him to have an idea of what might be coming next, but he's too busy fucking into your slutty hole to fully register the consequences until they happen. And he's so close too, balls full and heavy of seed for his favourite girl, you've taken his perversion so well, you deserve a nice treat in the form of his load, don't you?

But what comes out isn't what he'd expected, a curt "Fuckin' close—" is all the warning he's able to give you before he's burying himself as deep as possible into you and sitting still. Only for a second or two, expecting ropes to shoot into your tiny cunt like always, but streams of yellow soon spurt out of your hole as he's forced into instinctively bucking into you again, sloppy fucks in and out of your stupid wet cunt as he experiences squirting for the first time in his life. Which is mortifying considering it's you that's gotten him to the point of squirting, but fuck if he doesn't feel so good, better than anything else— because he's effectively pissing inside of you right now, and knowing that he's dirtying you in such a disgusting way only prompts him into fucking with more intent, engaging his core in an attempt to relieve himself some more inside of his favourite slut.

"What— Feels weird, Whit—" You mumble, and he can't help but laugh. Still humping his piss back into your hole, the feeling of it sloshing around his cock with every thrust convincing him to continue. How disgusting, right? Downright deplorable the way he's using you right now, marking up your insides with the scent of his piss before his seed. He can only imagine your reaction to such awful news as he settles into a faster pace once more, determined to give you a load now that he's done taking a leak: gross. So fucking gross it ends up hot in his fucked up brain.

"Jus' sit there and be pretty, slut." He orders you, "That's all y'gotta do." And he's happy when you comply immediately given the edge in his voice. It's just that he's genuinely still so close to cumming, especially after such a vile display of affection, he only needs a few more thrusts before—

There we go, fully sheathed inside your piss soaked cunt for him to empty his balls into like he'd originally intended to. The innately crude nature of mixing his seed with piss has him rolling his hips into you regardless of his want to remain still, gently massaging your cunt walls with lazy fucks while he milks himself empty as some twisted sort of reward for something you've yet to learn about.

And it doesn't take him long to recover, never does. Pulling out swiftly only to cringe at the loss of warmth, and the view of the nasty mix of fluids dripping down your stained thighs. He'd better get you out of sight from prying eyes soon, determined to be the only one allowed to see you look so sullied like this from now on.

"C'mere," He gently tugs on your waist with one hand, the other pulling the scratchy wire up and away from your body to help ease you out of your stuck position. "Y'paid me more than I could ever ask for."

"What do you mean—"

"Jus' trust me, okay slut?" He'll keep it a secret for now. Try to use his new favourite toilet in future when you're similarly unaware, relieve himself in the best way possible in private. So hot just thinking about it, fuck— he might need to fuck you again on the way home. He'll even let you cum for the way you've accidentally accepted his newfound kink, brushing you off when you're free in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

And to keep your eyes from drifting between your legs, he places a chaste, but sweet, kiss to your forehead. "Thanks." is all he says before turning away to hide the predictable blush spreading on his cheeks.

[dustbon]

Alexa, play pyromania. Thanks.

✅ Earn gold in every event type:

Dinner party House party Birthday party Wedding ceremony Black and white bash Incognito costume party Weenie roast Spooky party Dance party Toddler playdate Kava party Keg party Mountain climb excursion Baby shower Slumber party Ranch animal day Ranch gathering Neighborhood potluck Pool party

[brainfilehasstoppedworking]

Takaaki: Funny how you show up for Taka's school events, but never mine when I was in school.

Toranosuke: Yours didn't matter as much.

Takaaki: *eye starts twitching*

Later...

Kiyotaka: Look, Father and Grandfather, I won!

Takaaki while having Toranosuke in a tight chokehold: That's great, Son! I'm so proud of you!!

Takaaki: Ain't that wonderful, Father-Dearest? (You better smile.)

Toranosuke while turning purple: *shakily gives him a thumbs up*