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chronically-ghosted · 8 months

Text

Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera.

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right.

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?”

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face.

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.”

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?”

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now.

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate.

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it.

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer.

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again.

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.”

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.”

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten.

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down.

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.”

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?”

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen.

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly.

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes.

“You better go help your sister, Orion!”

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck.

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time.

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket.

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.”

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face.

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face.

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?”

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.”

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.”

Oh, you are going to kill him.

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg.

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face.

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck.

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek.

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes.

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?”

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match.

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee.

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face.

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter.

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much.

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?”

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs.

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home.

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away.

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal.

Goddamn it.

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?”

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?”

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?”

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?”

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb.

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears.

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?”

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking.

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder.

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,”

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back.

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?”

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.”

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch.

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves.

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife.

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.”

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,”

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?”

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.”

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling.

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.”

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,”

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.”

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts.

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.”

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub.

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises.

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.”

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen.

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit.

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.”

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.”

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can.

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white.

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.”

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.”

“Mhmm hmm.”

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones.

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way.

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again.

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly.

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now.

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again.

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.”

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks.

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.

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the-rio-grande-duran · 2 months

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Lisa Frankenstein x Creature

Summary: Creature get's his turn with the back massager. This is a little different from the og concept but I hope you guys like it!

18+ Smut Under the cut

Lisa was speechless. Not in just a heady post orgasm way either although, holy shit. Like, why was he so good at that anyway? Did he practice? Do vibrators feel good on guys? Is that a thing? Suddenly the confidence she’d been gaining vanished as she remembered how woefully inexperienced she was at this. What are you even supposed to say to someone who made you cum. Can’t say thank you, that’d be weird. And just saying goodnight seems rude…

“ Okay your turn!”

Lisa had gotten pretty good at interpreting her friends noises by now but this particular choked garble was new. His face though. That was easier to read full of shock and something deeper she didn’t recognize. She laughed in an attempt to diffuse the tension but it sounding even worse than his choking sound.

“ It’s cool friends help friends. I’m not gonna just leave a friend hanging ya know?” , Jesus why is she saying friend so much. “ Like I know blue balls is bullshit cause Taffy told me but if you wanted to I could I mean we could…”

Lisa trailed off. She felt more on display than when she was screaming at the top of her lungs. And it didn’t help that he was staring. He was always staring at her. Like she was doing something both fascinating and confusing. And he was still holding the massager. Gripping it hard like a lifeline in a storm.

“ Easy there you might break it”, Lisa teased taking it from his hands. It was warm covered in her slick. A sight she felt strangely proud of as she looked at it. “ Need to clean it before you use it though.” Like with his tongue. Lisa dropped the toy like she’d been shocked. “ Um actually how but just an old fashioned back rub huh?”, moving behind him quickly. His skin was cold even beneath the pajama shirt. Muscles tight and stiff from years of disuse. Plus a few weeks cramped in a closet.

“Jeez you really do need a massage”. He sighed contentedly in response. Lisa worked diligently as she could before admitting defeat. “ Ok I can’t- you just you have to take your shirt off.” Lisa worried the poor boy’s neck would snap with the speed he turned to meet her eye. “ Oh what now you’re shy? You weren’t shy when you were, you know. But if you want me stop-”

Lisa inhaled his damp earthen smell as the shirt was thrown in her face. Wasn’t dirt supposed to smell bad? It didn’t. It smelled like the forest after the rain. Like a a sky that had cleared just for her. She was taking to long to take the shirt off her head.

Huh.

Well, it wasn’t like Lisa hadn’t seen shirtless boys before. She’d been to to a pool for God’s sake. But seeing a shirtless boy and having a shirtless boy in her bed. Well that was very different.

He was full of scars. Some were red the only part of his skin that really looked alive. Others were dark and deep a few even looked like they were still open ready to bleed. But most of them were pale hard to even differentiate from the rest of him except by touch. Lisa felt the slight raise of them beneath her fingers.

“Do they hurt?” His head tilted from side to side like he wasn’t sure. “Well tell me if I’m hurting you cause that’s kinda the opposite of what I’m going for here.” His nod is accompanied buy an exhale through the nose. “ Don’t laugh! I’m trying really hard.” He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture letting her continue.

“ I didn’t realize how fun touching someone would be. When I imagined it I always just kinda assumed the guy would be in control,” Lisa mused. She felt him tense under him at this. “C’mon man, it’s 1989 you can’t get grossed out by a woman being in charge.” , Lisa said crossing her arms. He looked at her then even going so far as to turn around. “What?” He took her by the shoulders then looking even deeper in her eyes. “ Oh! Really? Well that’s, that’s very progressive of you.” He shrugged nonchalantly but his smile looked deeply self satisfied.

“Does that mean I can boss you around?” His brow rose playfully as if say, you already do. Lisa’s laugh was genuine this time her confidence returning. He did kind of just let her do whatever she wants. It was freeing to not have to listen to whatever crap people thought was good for her. To get to decide. And not just for herself for someone else. Someone who looked at her like he did. Like he would be grateful for whatever she did. Like she was a fucking gift.

“Lean back.” He followed immediately, instinctually eyes never leaving hers. He had such pretty eyes dark brown with those long lashes. She wanted to touch them. His breath caught as Lisa gently grazed each lash with her thumb. She touched his cheek next it was softer than his back. No scars.

“Open your mouth.” He was slower at this request. Nervous. Lisa traced small circles as she waited. She wouldn’t rush him. He gasped as his lips parted. Soft enough she didn’t even hear it, just felt it tickle her skin. “Good boy.” Her thumb skated on his bottom lip causing him to grip the sheet in response. Lisa couldn’t help but giggle at how easy he was to fluster. Beneath her thumb his lip jutted out poutyly.

“Sorry! I’m not laughing at you. It’s just it can’t feel that good I’m barely touching you!” He scoffed in obvious disagreement. “I just wanna make sure you can handle it if I keep going.” His nod was adorably eager. He really would do whatever she wanted.

Lisa leaned in giving him a soft kiss before biting down on thespace where neck meets shoulder. Smiling to herself as she heard him moan in earnest. Deeper and needier than his little gasps from before. She bit his chest next not even bothering with a kiss first. Just teeth. She was trying not to break the skin but wondered vaguely if he’d even mind. Looking at his face she didn’t think so. Eyes closed, head thrown back as he arched into her. Disappointed didn’t quite cover the look on his face as she pulled away.

“Sorry I just I need it to be my turn again.” She said grabbing his hand. Lisa shivered as ice cold fingers slipped beyond the waistband of her unnderwear. He looked for permission before moving any further. Lisa guided one of his fingers inside her in response. She already felt fuller than she ever had before with just one finger. She reached for him. Gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave marks.

“More.” The finger inside her curled as he pushed another inside her. Lisa tried not to scream. Shoving her palm in to her mouth to stifle herself. He moved then so slow it made her want to cry. “ Faster. Please.” It was still too slow so Lisa started grinding down desperately. Panting as she used his fingers.

His other hand found her clit unbidden. Tentative and curious as Lisa moved even faster. “Yes yes” Adam’s movements were slow. A delicious contrast to Lisa’s pace and she knew she wouldn’t last much longer. She grabbed his chin looking at him. “ You’ll let me do this again won’t you?” Nod.

“Good, I think you’re my new favorite toy”

#lisa frakenstein creature #lisa frankenstein fanfiction #lisa frankenstein fanfic #lisa frankenstein 2024 #lisa frankenstein #lisa swallows x creature #lisa swallows

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years

Text

𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 ⎹ 𝓕.𝓛.

❝ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ⤻ twisted wonderland / @dollsotome-library

❝ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ⤻ floyd leech x reader ( f! )

❝ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⤻ nsfw! none of my writings are meant for anyone under the age of 18, and any minors interacting will be blocked on site.

❝ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ⤻ literally all smut because i’m a whore, oral sex / face fucking, semi public sex, spit kink, orgasm denial, degradation, floyd should come with his own warning

❝ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⤻ 1.5k / mini musing

❝ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ⤻ i do not consent to having my work reposted / translated / stolen in any capacity for any reason. please reblog and leave a comment to support content creators! my work is very rarely proof read so mistakes may be present. all characters / pairings i write for are 18+ with no exceptions. enjoy!

you could stay like this for hours.

sure, your knees were tender from being dug against the floor for so long, and the corners of your mouth were starting to ache; your jaw tight and sore, and your arm was getting tired from the relentless pumping.

but then, he moaned like that and none of the discomfort mattered anymore.

you could stay like this for hours as long as it meant he kept making those sounds.

a soft, breathy whine of your name, and your eyes flickered up. they trail along the length of his torso, tracing the join of his purple button down until it ends and the taut, slick skin of his sweating, heaving chest began. you’d already marked his porcelain flesh with teeth and tongue from collarbone to earlobe, leaving thick, purple marks in the shape of your kiss, and your gaze leap-frogged from lovebite to lovebite upwards over his clavicle and neck. he always wore your signatures with pride, brandishing them like brand new tattoos for all to see. now was no exception— he catches you staring and his mouth twists into a wicked smirk, flashing sharpened teeth.

“You like to watch me, angelfish?” he croons, golden gaze glimmering. “Wanna see how good you can make me feel?” you would’ve nodded, if your head wasn’t bobbing— mouth full of his cock. still, Floyd expected some kind of answer, so you manage a garbled mhm and pair it with a flutter of your lashes, begging him to give you a show. in the dimmed glow of the Mostro Lounge, he was celestial, bathed in aquamarines. long legs spread, kicked out for you to fit right between them. once the lounge closed for the night, it had been all too easy the moment he plopped down at one of the empty tables for you to follow and drop to your knees.

it was almost pathetic just how wrapped around his finger you were.

“Haaa…” it’s a shaky exhale, his lids slitting when you swirl your tongue around the swollen head of his cock, teasing the most sensitive portion with the very tip of your velvety muscle. to ensure that not a single inch of him is neglected, you squeeze your fist around his thickness, pumping from the very base to tip, kissing the side of your hand with each stroke. you’re gifted with a drizzle of precum for your fervent flicking— the rawest form of his desire intoxicating you the very second it coats your tastebuds. “That’s it,” he whines, and even though you want to close your eyes and savor him, you’re entranced by the visage of him writhing in the chair, his jagged pearls grinding with his jaw sewn tight, “Like that… please…” you were already obeying, pumping faster, sucking harder. it wasn’t so often that anyone made Floyd this docile or hopeless, and you would be lying to say that it didn’t make you feel like a goddess.

that was, of course, until you felt the weight of his hand on the top of your head.

you half expect him to push down, force his entirety down your throat. it wouldn’t have been the first time, and so you allowed your jaw a moment to relax, so maybe (fingers crossed) you wouldn’t gag on him this time.

but Floyd’s willowy fingers comb through your hair, grasping the very roots to urge your head back. his cock slips from your swollen lips, and you lean back, falling on the cool, hard floor on your bum. you hadn’t noticed how wet you were until you felt the damp patch of your panties shift against you. you did love sucking him off.

Floyd is beaming; grinning ear to ear in the sleaziest way, his eyes twinkling as he hunches forward, leaning close. “Lemme see here, open that pretty cocksucker!” he exclaims, breathing hot air on your lips until they hang open in acquiescence. your own breath is heavy and excited, the tip of your tongue hanging out over your bottom tier. “So submissive,” Floyd purrs, “and you love every minute of being my bitch.” he didn’t have to ask— he knew you did, and he emphasized his certainty by shoving his free hand into your uniform skirt and panties so abruptly that you squeak and arch your back when he cups your sex.

“Flo—“

“Shut up,” he mutters, but his tone isn’t malicious. he’s staring at you with the fondest, hungriest eyes you’ve ever seen, “you’re so cute, angelfish!” his tongue slithers out swiping over his teeth, before curling under yours. at first, you think he wants to play, and you twist yours, but his lips envelop your tongue, instead, and he suckles on it as he rubs you, the tips of his first two fingers zeroed in on your clitoris to coax it with hard spearing to swell further. you mewl, grinding your hips in sync with his massage, riding his fingers until they’re soaked. Floyd grins, dragging the edges of his teeth over your tastebuds before he lets go, taking a second to stare at your countenance. your eyes were closed, mouth open wide and tongue dangling for him, and lusty whimpers drip from your tiers. “Is it so sensitive?” he teases, excited and he chortles when you nod, “Look at you, getting all worked up from just my fingers. You’re just so easy it’s both pathetic and adorable. I could do anything to you, couldn't i? I could get away with anything as long as I keep playing with this little pussy.” he wasn’t wrong, either. you were rubbing yourself on his hand like a bitch in heat, begging to cum and moaning for him, and all he had to do was sit there and let you.

you definitely weren’t expecting what happens next, however. his tongue disappears back into his mouth and he works it around for a moment, before his lips pucker and he launches a mouthful of spit into your open cavern. you flinch when your lips are peppered with his saliva, but resist the urge to lick it up; instead, allowing it to dribble down to your chin in thin strips.

“Wanna… cum…” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering. you were already on the cusp, your stomach knotting up, muscles pulling taut, back arching. you could feel it tugging at you, eager to spread like wildfire and engulf you. Floyd watches you, even more enthralled, and suddenly snatches his hand away, leaving you unfulfilled. you whine, eyes wide and disappointed as your hips quiver. “W—wait—“

“I don’t want you to.” Floyd replies, careless as he brings his hand up. he spreads each digit in front of your face, showing you just how messy you were. his fingers were coated in shine, and strings of slick web them together, “Teasing you is so much more fun.”

“Floyd!” you whine, sitting up on your knees and rubbing your thighs together in hopes to stimulate you enough, but it was too late; the pending orgasm had already melted. “Please!”

“Nuh uh,” he answers with a roll of his eyes, smearing his sticky fingers over your open mouth, forcing you to taste yourself and making a bigger mess of your face, “and stop using that warm fuckhole to bug me about it and wrap your lips around my cock again.” the hand that had been idle in your hair pushes your head down again, and you welcome him into your mouth again with a gurgled moan. “Azul and Jade will be back soon, and you know how much they love to ruin our play time in the lounge, so hurry up and make me cum.” you look up at him, eyelashes wet, as he uses the grip on your hair to dribble your head on him until you’re drooling, bobbing helplessly, and your moans are broken clucks. Floyd takes one look at you like that and exhales in adoration, “and I’ll take you back to my room and tie you up with my scarf. Then, I’ll tongue fuck your greedy, little pussy until you cry.”

#floyd leech smut #floyd leech x mc #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech imagines #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x mc #twst x you #twst smut #twst imagines #anime #otome #Disney

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forlorn-crows · 9 months

Text

and so it goes

an aftercare fic to this one by @miasmaghoul. started out as some cute little musings about how absolutely sweet rain is to mountain after spending the entire night degrading him, turned into some weird 1.6k thing with subdrop and rain giving mountain the support i wish i had some years ago. im sorry if i've ruined the included billy joel song for you now, but it's so mountrain and i wont be hearing otherwise.

Pairing: Mountain/Rain

Tags (TW in red): edging, dom/sub, degradation, aftercare, subspace, subdrop, emotional hurt/comfort, mountain needs a hug, i wanna tear my hair out with how perfect they are,

Words: 1652

(or below the cut)

Rain’s kept him on the edge for so long, he doesn’t know if he can form the words he so desperately needs to. They sit heavy on his tongue, the appendage much too dry and big for his mouth as the water ghoul works him over with skilled and precise hands. After Rain came—a result of riding Mountain’s cock like nothing more than a toy used for his own pleasure, keeping the earth ghoul hovering on the edge of orgasm with his magick so he wouldn’t bust immediately like he was wont to do—Mountain was offered a short reprieve as he caught his breath, the vice-like grip on his pleasure retracting some.

Between the whimpering and the sniffling, Mountain probably only got one full lungful of air in before Rain’s hands were on him, stroking his stiff dick and squeezing his balls. He had nearly cracked his back with how fast he arched into it, gripping the sheets so hard his claws tore through them.

He’s close again now, balls aching, cock straining. He can hear the blood rushing through his veins, feel every stroke, every caress, every swipe of Rain’s thumb or grip of his fist. It’s agony. It’s unholy. It’s so sinful that Mountain’s fully past any coherent thought at all, floating in nothingness, skin buzzing with pain and pleasure alike.

“ S-sir, ” he slurs.

“Oh, he can speak,” Rain says cruelly. “Ask for it, and then you can cum.” The hand on his balls squeezes harshly, wringing a voice-cracked moan from Mountain’s throat. A bead of precum spurts from the head of his cock.

“Pl–ea–ssee,” he strains. “Been— hnnn —good.”

“You have,” Rain admits. “But I need a little more,” he coos, “just a little more. Need to know you really want it.”

Mountain sobs, a high, wounded sound that says everything about how deep he is. “C’n I cum, sir?” he blubbers out. Really, he’s going to cum in the next two seconds whether Rain allows him to or not, but it rushes on that much faster once he manages to spit out the request for permission.

Rain grins, all fang. Devious. Sinister. “Then squirt, whore,” he growls. His wrist twists just so, and Mountain is gone, cumming so hard his lungs burn and his throat goes raw from shouting some garbled excuse for thankyouthankyouthankyou .

Mountain's down too deep to see how much he shoots over Rain's hands, over his own stomach. Each kick of his cock wracks his entire body and tears a cry from his lips. Rain's saying something that he can't hear. But through the haze his words are sweeter, slower—if Mountain strained he could hear the praise. But he doesn't.

Rain watches in real time his mind power all the way off, eyes squeezing so tight the tears spring from the corners and his entire face turns a rosy pink. He runs soothing hands over his thighs, hoping he can at least feel the intention behind it. Soon, his cries turn to whimpers, and he melts boneless into the bed, breathing hard and deep.

It's not long after that the raspy breaths turn to snores, sleep taking him before he can even lift his head to look at Rain.

He wakes to the feeling of a cool towel against his skin. Mountain blinks open bleary eyes to see Rain gently wiping it over his chest, cleaning up any trace of mess lingering there.

He hums, smiles crookedly. Mountain's still floaty, not quite all there just yet.

"Hi love," Rain says warmly. "That feel okay?"

He nods. "S'nice," he mumbles. His voice vibrates with a purr he too slowly realizes is coming from his own chest, low and rumbly and content.

Rain laughs, a sweet, melodic sound. "Still feeling good, hm?"

Mountain's eyes track up to his face, slow and sluggish. He blinks. "Wha'?"

Rain laughs again. He places the cloth aside, leaning down instead to place equally cool kisses onto his face. Mountain chirps in surprise, purrs getting louder the more kisses he receives.

"You stay down there as long as you'd like. As long as you need. I'll be here," Rain assures.

When he sits back up, Mountain has a lovestruck look on his face. It's cute, Rain thinks. His big puppy. He tells him as much, cooing down at him until he blushes and buries his face into Rain's stomach, purrs so loud the water ghoul can feel it buzzing through him.

Rain cards his long fingers through Mountain's hair. He moves in rhythmic, hypnotic little patterns, scratching around the base of his horns and behind his ears every so often, just as he likes. Mountain's tail beats against the mattress everytime, to the water ghoul's delight.

"Rain," Mountain mumbles into his tummy. His arms curl around his waist, hugging him closer.

Rain intertwines his tail with the earth ghoul's. "Yes, my love?"

Mountain gives a pleased trill, peeking up at Rain with sleepy, affectionate eyes. "Will you sing t' me?"

"Of course, anything you want."

"The pretty one?" Mountain specifies. As if he ever asks for a different one.

Rain smiles. "The pretty one," he agrees. Mountain gives a pleased rumble and tucks his face back into Rain's stomach. The water ghoul isn’t sure why Mountain’s always referred to it as such; it’s really nothing particularly special. Though, Rain supposes, it’s become special to them. He takes a breath and softly begins to sing:

Mountain sighs and gives another pleased rumble, shuffling closer and curling his entire body around Rain’s crossed legs. He cradles the earth ghoul’s head with one hand, running the other up and down his back.

In every heart there is a room

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds from lovers past

Until a new one comes along

And every time I've held a rose

I spoke to you in cautious tones

You answered me with no pretense

And still I feel I said too much

My silence is my self defense

As if on cue, a shiver runs down Mountain’s back as Rain’s voice pitches up. He smooths over the goosebumps as he continues:

It seems I only felt the thorns

And so it goes, and so it goes

And so will you, soon, I suppose

Rain hums the melody where the piano would play, glancing down at the ghoul curled around him. His shoulders start to shake, and he sniffles into the water ghoul’s shirt—attempting, but failing, to be silent about his tears.

But if my silence made you leave

Then that would be my worst mistake

So I will share this room with you

And you can have this heart to break

Rain stops. “Mountain, love, what’s wrong?” Immediately he shakes his head at the question, whining quietly. “Hey,” Rain urges, petting back his hair. “I’m here for you, can you try to tell me?”

Hurts , Mountain pushes into his mind.

“Where does it hurt?” Rain asks gently.

The earth ghoul pulls back an arm from around his waist, gesturing to his own chest. Rain can see his face screw up, a silent prayer to stop the oncoming sob that threatens to work its way out of his throat. In here , he says. He points weakly to the side of his head too. And here.

Mountain drops his hand down and the tears start in earnest, his entire body shaking as they worm their way out.

“Oh, love,” Rain sighs. He curls in on himself, draping over Mountain’s head and upper back. He can’t risk detangling himself just to get comfortable, less the loss of contact make him spiral further. “I’m here. It’s alright, just let it all come out.”

‘M sorry. Even the voice from his mind is watery, remorseful. All at once he crashes, the endorphins finally running out and shifting into anxiety and shame. He sobs into Rain’s torso—awful, gut-wrenching noises that shudder from his body involuntarily. Sobs that make Rain’s heart simply ache .

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers into Mountain’s hair. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

Was I good for you? The question hits Rain like a ton of bricks; he knows how Mountain is feeling, of course he does. It’s an unfortunate symptom of floating on a high for so long, of letting Rain do absolutely heinous, disgusting things to him in the name of pleasure. That doesn’t mean it hurts any less to hear, especially in such a meek, small voice.

“Shh,” he soothes. “The best. The best I could ever ask for. You always, always are.”

Mountain bawls, shaky arms gripping him like a lifeline. And Rain just holds him. Holds him with all the love he can muster, all the stability he can offer. There’s so much more he could say. But it goes unsaid, doesn’t need to be said.

Once Mountain calms a little, the sobs turning more towards hiccups and sniffles, Rain sits up again. “Not going anywhere,” he reassures before Mountain can protest. “Do you want me to tuck you under the blanket?”

The earth ghoul scrubs his face into Rain’s t-shirt in an effort to signal yes .

Rain combs through his hair. “Okay, love, I’m just gonna reach for it, and I’ll tuck you in.” He grabs the comforter from its crumpled heap at the foot of the bed and drags it up to Mountain’s huddled form. “There we go,” he soothes, adjusting it so it’s tucked nice and snug along his backside and draped half-open at his face.

Mountain chirps quietly, the closest to a thank you he can muster for his mate.

“Anything for my love,” Rain answers, placing a soft kiss on one of his horns. It may not be enough to make the unpleasantness go away, but for now it helps ease a little more of the hurt. Mountain shuffles close and sighs.

For now, it’s enough.

#the band ghost #ficlet #not really but w/e #fanfic #ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #mountrain #mountain/rain #rain/mountain #tw subdrop #aftercare #Spotify

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junggunz · 10 months

Note

You know when I rereading your DG smut of request number that type "I have a lube and condom in the night stand". My brain just imagine the finished scene would be basically a bunch of used condom that balloon up from the DG's nuts that is tied at s/o ripped stocking like a scoring of how many round they have done.

the way that i read this and then needed to meditate on it before i said something is crazyyy. like i was gonna treat it like a regular thirst and just be like 'haha yeah dg has god like stamina. he could be a porn star for real' but the more times i read over this ask, the image kept getting stronger.

and boom now we have ✨dg crumbs✨

cw: gn!reader, reader is mentioned to be wearing lingerie heh, implied multiple rounds, very very short smut lol, stoplight/traffic light safe word system, kinda fluffy idk

It never fails to amaze you how DG seems to remain in a perpetual state of being camera ready.

Behind closed doors. When he first wakes up. While working out. And even when he’s pushed both you and himself to overstimulation. The amount of stamina this man possessed was a ridiculous feat on its own, but the way he manages to look like he’s only done some light jogging after giving you several Earth shattering orgasms all in succession of one another is crazy to you.

“Can’t…Can’t take anymore.” You gasp, in disbelief of how unforgiving DG’s thrusts are even with your tight, spasming walls trying to squeeze him out.

“Is it really too much?” He mumbles into the sweat slicked column of your neck, playfully biting the flesh and painting yet another love bite on you.

His hands are under your body, pulling you off the mattress and against his sturdy frame. One hand cups the plump flesh of your ass, groping it roughly to ensure you meet every single one of his animalistic thrusts while the other rests on the small of your back as a means of support.

The sound of his question has you second guessing yourself. So dazed and fucked out; it seemed like you couldn’t even recall what your own threshold for pleasure was. Pain and elation have been so muddled together, your mind and body just feel like a humid, swampy mess of perspiration, cum, drool and tears. Moans reduced to just a series of garbled whimpers and quietly babbled obscenities, DG eyes shift to your face; pulling back to take in your current state.

“Safety light.” The two words fall from his lips in a more serious tone, his eyes boring into yours as he awaits a response. Like a beacon of light in your clouded brain, he saves you from drowning in the sea of lust he had cast you out into.

“Red…” You mumble softly, slightly embarrassed by the fact you had become this overwhelmed; knowing how much DG relished in pushing your limits.

But he doesn’t protest when he finally unmounts you, leaving you to lay in the sweat and cum soaked side of the bed for now while he occupies the presently cleaner but still disheveled space beside you. Only now, are you able to realize just how long the two of you had been going at it.

Neatly tied off and decorating the elastic of the garter belt holding up your stockings, you count off…one, two, three, four—five very full condoms hanging off your lingerie like some sort of display to commemorate how even after an entire marathon of sex, he still has so much cum to offer.

Body buzzing and feeling like a heavy wooden box of bees, you half expect to look over at DG and see him up and ready to go again. Instead, you find him laying in bed with the sheets covering his modesty and the most tranquil expression gracing his beautiful features. Though, between the two of you—he was the very established artist— the sight of him like that makes you want to take him as your muse.

It feels like eons go by as you admire his beauty, but only a few moments pass before his gaze meets yours again.

“Do you want to keep going? Or should I get a bath started for you?”

#lookism x reader #lookism smut #dg x reader #dg smut #dg scenarios #junggunz.txt

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quinloki · 5 months

Text

Eustass Kid - Honesty

Reader style - she/her AFAB Time slot - After Hours Client Name - @swampstew CW: Shibari, fingering, pet names

“Keep talkin’ sweetheart.” Kid commands, turning your arm behind your back and wrapping rope around it.

“Nothing hurts.” You reply, voice a little tense.

“Don’t just tell me if it hurts, tell me how it feels.” He insists, chest pressing against your back as warm breath tickles the back of your neck. “What’s stretching? Flex your fingers and toes.” One large hand wraps around you, opening wide against your belly. “Tell me you’re wet before I find out on my own.”

“Haa, shit, I wasn’t until you said it like that,” you huff, squirming against the ropes. “Fuh-fingers and toes are good, and… and there’s definitely a stre-stretch in my shoulders - Kid, Kid!” You gasp as his hand slowly travel further down your stomach.

“Keep talkin’.”

“Ah-aaahhhmmmm-bout what?” You whimper, squirming against knots you couldn’t hope to undo on your own.

Kid’s teeth caress the turn of your ear. “How it feels. Be honest, lil’ mouse. What’s the rope against your skin like?”

The question seems to bring the sensation to the forefront of your mind. “Sah - soft, soft for the most pah-part, but also there’s pruh-prick-prickly bits.” You stammer, squirming and gasping. Every movement is a reminder of how well you are bound, how exposed you are, and how much more exposed you’re becoming.

“Please, please, touch me,” you gasp, trying to bring your aching pussy closer to his fingers.

“I’m already touc-.”

“My clit, Kid, please make me cum!” You cry.

“Ooooh? You’re usually so shy,” he purrs, turning you around easily and letting you fall onto the pillows beneath you. The frog-tie shibari rope work as your arms bound snug against your back, the heels of your feet tucked against your thighs, ropes triple and quadrupled to keep them from biting into your skin, while still holding you easily in place.

The new position puts you face to face with him, and that sure, cocky, leering grin isn’t cutting you any slack. “You like the way I make you cum?”

You nod. “Yes.” Blood rushes through you, need winning out over embarrassment.

“You don’t see other escorts.” He muses, pressing his index finger against your clit. The pressure sends a shiver through you, but he doesn’t move it. “Just me.”

“Is, is that bad?” Your eyes aren’t on his now, fixated on the single, deep dark crimson painted finger pressed against you.

“Nope.” He assures you, finger finally starting to make lazy circles against the throbbing bundle of nerve. “You don’t just like the way I make you cum though, do you? Be honest, and I’ll reward you, Mouse.” You can feel another finger slipping along your slit.

You nod again, gasping as the snaps of pleasure as he rubs you the right way. “I… I lie-like you! I like you, e-even if I shuh-shouldn’t! Oh fuck!” You throw your head back as two thick fingers push into your pussy, and Kid’s thumb starts rolling against your clit, applying more pressure than his finger had been.

“Why shouldn’t you?” He questions, voice even, grin crooked.

“Y-you’re… I mean, ri-right there, gods,” Pleasure addles your thoughts, skilled fingers bringing you close quickly.

“I’m what, Mouse?”

A strained whimper beats against your teeth, and tears garble your vision. Fear twists your guts, worry that this might be your last session with him, your last words. As though you’ve broken some unspoken rule and you can’t take it back.

“Perfect. You’re perfect,” you gasp, struggling to speak against the growing orgasm. “Who the ha-hell am I, tah - ta’ be me an’, an’ want you?”

You don’t notice the look on Kid’s face, not that you can make out much with your eyes wet. His fingers and thumb move faster, and you can feel him leaning over you.

“Cum, little mouse, cum like the good girl you are.” He demands, and despite your blurred vision you swear you can see those amber eyes crystal clear. The only thing clearer are his words, and they travel straight to your loins like lightning.

Sucking in a breath as the orgasm crests, Kid’s lips crash into yours suddenly. His name, your moans, are all devoured by hungry lips, and a tongue intent on stealing sense and sound from you. Dizzy from pleasure and a lack of air, your flushed face and heavy breaths are a mix of embarrassment and afterglow.

Once your eyes focus on him, you see that devious grin slip along his lips. “We’re gonna hafta have an honest talk, you and I.” He says, softness coming into his eyes and smile. “But if yer gonna be my Mouse? You can’t talk down on yourself like that again.”

One Piece Host Club AU drabble event runs through December 2023

#One Piece Host Club AU #December Drabble Event 2023 #One Piece Fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #eustass kid

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adelaidedrubman · 5 months

Text

wip. w. wildfr. wipfire. whatever

h-hi. i was tagged by my friends my loves my dearests @cassieuncaged @socially-awkward-skeleton @corvosattano @direwombat to share some. some wip, thank you! i am still biting my nails about publicly sharing wildfire but. feeling empowered by spite + bullied and goaded by zak so. a widdle wildfire. warnings for canon typical violence and johnjess typical obnoxiousness

“My God —” his voice found a way to drill into her ears, garbled and drowned out by the hitch-pitched drone that lifted from her spine to pierce through every fold of her brain and make it tremble against her skull. “Is it really that easy for you?” Her fingers curled around the coarse fleece collar of the nameless blonde man’s shirt, draping his corpse over her waist and across her back to absorb the sudden rush of gunfire from her right. She tilted her head and hunched her shoulder to keep the radio pressed against her ear as she propped herself back up by her elbows to peer over the length of her rocket launcher and aim at the peggies to her left.

“It is,” she answered plainly, glancing back to the blurs of human forms scattered and closing in behind her to twist at the waist and fire her last few bullets in their direction, hoping they struck. “Tell your big bwother to make his stump speeches even scawrier next time — I’m sure it’ll make the canon fodder he sends out harder to kill, if he —” she pulled the trigger to an empty clack of metal, hurrying to rip her axe from the ground to hurl at the woman storming her right without lifting her thumb, sending her voice to the depths of her chest and half-faking hoarseness before she spoke again, “if he gravels his voice a bit more.” “I mean taking a human life,” the static of his voice grew clearer, as if the origami thin metal foil of the speakers folded tighter and sharpened to better reach her ears. “Do you never even stop to think about it? What it means to rip the earthly ties from someone’s soul and offer it for judgment to a power beyond your control?” She kicked a leg up just in time to strike the peggie storming her from behind in the crotch, flipping onto her back and clasping her bullet shield corpse to her chest like a lovingly cradled teddy bear as she crawled sideways to retrieve her axe from the woman’s skull. “I think a lot about what it would feel like to kill you,” she mused idly as she swung to bury the axe’s blade into the stomach of the stumbling man, then pulled back to jerk it free. “But I can’t dwell on that now — I’m good, but not do this one-handed good.” “You really care that little?” he pressed, the deep boom of aerial gunfire in the background nearly drowning him out. “About you?” she asked, fumbling a hand along the corpse to feel for a spare gun. “Sure.” “About innocent people,” he supplied with a satisfying crackle of the speakers beneath the weight of his anger. “Not just the ones you’re slaughtering now, but the ones you’re condemning to death with your actions.” “I didn’t fucking send them out here!” she snapped, daring to sit up for better vantage, propping the dead weight of the body up beside her. “That’s on you.” “Then I suppose it makes no difference to you that you’re killing people who only want to save you? Who have no intention of taking your life in turn?” She rolled her eyes, hunkering behind the corpse as the next round of bullets whistled through the air — how many times had they been through this exact argument? And how many more bliss bullets could these fuckers have? “If I had the fuckin’ benefit of a stockpile of tranquilizer bullets and a massive underground torture dungeon to keep people in, maybe I’d be in the ‘take one prisoner for every ten I bleed out and turn into roadside sculptures’ business, too,” she retorted between peeking over her shield’s cover. “Until then, I’m in the ‘doing what I have to do to not get dragged back to the torture dungeon’ business.” A fading of gunfire, winding down until the only sound she heard was the harsh, steady ringing in her ears. She raised her head to lock her eyes on the source of the shots. “Oh, what a clever observation.” His overdone sarcastic laugh betrayed a manic edge. “You know who in my so-called ‘torture dungeon’ would get an absolute kick out of your irreverent wit?”

sending a mandatory tag to @henbased and no pressure tags out to @afarcryfrommymain @josephslittledeputy @florbelles @g0dspeeed @unholymilf @belorage @cassietrn @galaxycunt @8bitpizzacoupons @strangefable @shallow-gravy @roofgeese @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies @corvosattano @socially-awkward-skeleton @shellibisshe @blissfulalchemist @deputyash @confidentandgood @captastra @voidika @just-another-wasteland-merc @poetikat @stacispratt @orionlancasterr @v0idbuggy @jackiesarch @quickhacked @strafethesesinners @firstaidspray @clicheantagonist @henbased @nightbloodbix @thedeadthree @miyabilicious @simplegenius042 + like/unlike HERE to opt in/out of wip day tags!

#did i ever mention i fucking hate writing action?#wip

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catieconqueso · 9 months

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Of where we'd end up at the end of it...

An Apollo x Grace Oneshot (4k words) I wanted to explore the Veil a little further since its really only mentioned as this ominous thing that happens when a new Idol rises. So here's a not-so-quick one shot featuring Grace dealing with the effects of the Veil.

Usually I only post my writing on Ao3, but since there's no Stray Gods tag yet, posting this here instead. (Please be nice! I don't usually post my writing here!)

She’s still sitting on the couch, clutching a cup of iced coffee that’s more water than coffee, when the light switches on and bathes the apartment in soft golden light. “Grace?” Freddie’s standing in the doorway stuck somewhere halfway between the doorframe and shoving her keys into her back pocket as she stares at the only occupant of a room that should have been empty. “What the hell are you doing here?” Grace doesn’t answer, not at first, just stares blankly at Freddie as she flicks her wrist over and over to swirl the liquid in her coffee cup as if it were the only thing keeping her from floating away. And it was. “Didn’t know where to go,” she finally admits after a period of silence that has just begun to border on uncomfortable. “And I still had my keys, so I thought…” She trails off, the thumb of her free hand stroking along the golden sun hung around her middle finger.

“Gods, Grace,” Freddie exhales as she toes off her boots and climbs onto the couch beside her. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why didn’t you call?” She doesn’t need to ask who ‘we’ meant, not with the two dozen missed calls and texts left unseen on her phone—Freddie, Kaz and Brian, Oracle, even a voicemail from Persephone, who’d merely informed Grace that she’d go to the Underworld and kick her shade’s ass if she was lying in a ditch somewhere. And beneath all that had been a single text of garbled capital letters and punctuation that had begged her to please come home. That it was okay that she was mad at him, that he just wanted her to come home. “I…” She begins, throat aching and raw from hours spent choking down tears and screaming into whatever pillow was closest. “I…” She starts again, swallowing thickly over the lump of emotion that threatens to choke her, but the words won't come out no matter how hard she tries. Some Muse she was, unable to string together a couple sentences worth of an excuse so she could go back to wallowing in her self-pity alone. So instead, she hands Freddie the coffee cup. Grace tries to ignore the way her hands shake as she does so. She tries even more to forget the name written in looping ink that taunts her from between Freddie’s outstretched fingers. “Grace, what are you…oh.” For all her trying to hide it, Grace easily clocks the exact moment when Freddie’s confusion devolves into pity. And then into hesitant worry as she tucks the cup into the couch cushions beside her.

“The barista asked for my name,” Grace explains, thumb still working impatient circles into the gold ring on her finger. “And I said it was Calliope.”

It had been such a little thing, an off-handed moment that shouldn’t have meant anything— a slip of the tongue. And it's not like she didn’t know this was coming, not with all the gentle touches and easing into the newness of it all. But she’s starting to lose more bits of herself day by day. She’s taken to drinking tea in the morning instead of her usual overly sweet coffee, even though a month ago, the bitter taste of it made her want to puke. And that the sound of ocean waves has begun to remind her of a summer spent some time in the 18th century wrapped in the warmth of the sun while lying naked on a bed of sand. That the scent of the newly sprouted cherry blossoms lining the entrance of Olympus reminds her of Paris in springtime, even though she’s never even left the country. But most of all, it's that two days ago, she looked in the mirror and for a split second didn’t recognize the face looking back.

It’s how it works. We all went through it, kid. Persephone had told her that night over too many glasses of whiskey beneath the neon lights of the Underworld when Grace had taken to drowning out the feeling that she was a stranger in her own skin with whatever booze she’d been able to get her hands on. Didn’t Apollo warn you?

Of course, Apollo had warned her. He’d spent every waking minute preparing her for the moment when Calliope would come rushing in like the tide on mornings they’d gotten up early to watch the sunrise. Just gotta let it happen, Grace. I’ll be there waiting on the other side when it does. Stupid, sweet Apollo, who’d been nothing but achingly gentle when Grace wanted nothing more than to rage against the shit hand that fate had dealt her. Had soothed the storm that swirled inside her when all she could think about was ending the cycle just so the next Calliope didn’t have to watch helplessly as everything that made her Grace slipped away. “Oh, Grace,” Freddie breathes out as she settles a warm hand on her knee with a watery smile. “I…” Freddie swallows, testing her next words on her tongue before she lets them free in a rush of an exasperated sigh. Cause it's not like this is the first time Grace’s disappeared for a few days, only to reappear as though nothing were wrong, still riding on the tail end of a bender. “Does Apollo know?” Grace shrugs and sinks into the couch cushions as though they were swallowing her up, and she wishes they would. “We’re not exactly talking at the moment,” she admits with a pang of guilt she hasn’t felt since she was a kid and her mom caught her sneaking out to go to some concert with Freddie.

“Grace,” Freddie repeats, fingers stroking along the swath of bare, pale skin that peaks out from beneath the hole worn into denim over her kneecap. “I think you should…” “I know Fred,” she interrupts, again letting her thumb trace over the golden sun, “it…I said some real shitty things to him, not sure he wants to see me.”

He wanted her to come home so he could take care of her 'cause that’s all he did— he took care of her when all she wanted was someone to see her, to hear her. Had pacified the storm in her until it was nothing more than a breeze and had reduced her walls to rubble so that he could easily crawl inside. When he tried to clean up the broken pieces of the mirror, of her cracked and broken sanity, she’d thrown it back in his face. Called him a coward, had accused him of wanting Calliope and not her, that he’d stuck around to ensure that every last piece of her was replaced. And patient, kind Apollo had remained silent as he wiped the gore from her knuckles with gentle touches and soft presses of his lips to her bloodied skin. But they both had been too stubborn to apologize. He’d once warned her so long ago outside of the Underworld that Idols liked to hold grudges. And they’d both become so good at holding onto theirs like a lifeline in a swirling sea. So instead of speaking, of putting the weeks of fear and confusion into words, she grabbed her jacket and left with a half mumbled excuse that she needed air. Had spent the next two days splitting her time between the Underworld and the uncomfortable leather of the couch in Persephone’s office.

“Persephone kicked me out,” she explains when Freddie presses the cold beer bottle into her waiting hands. “Said I either had to deal with my shit or start paying for my drinks.” Grace pauses to take a comforting swig of alcohol and finds that the taste makes her teeth ache. Yet another thing Calliope’s taken from her. “And instead of going home, you decided to break into my apartment?” Freddie sips gingerly at her beer as she fixes Grace with a look that says she can see through the bullshit, excuses, and lies. “Said I still had the keys.” Grace folds in draws her knees up to her chest, and settles her chin on the rough fabric of her denim-covered knees. It's all she can do to shield herself from the words that tumble from her lips. “I’m losing myself, Freddie,” she admits, her words rough and ruined by the tears that track down her cheeks. “And I’m scared.” Freddie doesn’t answer, instead wraps her in a warm embrace until Grace stops shaking and her breaths are no longer heaving, choking sobs. And Grace is thankful that, for the first time in three days, she no longer has to pretend that everything is okay. That she can finally put into words the aching, raw feeling in her chest that she’s tried so hard to drown out with whiskey. They don’t talk, don’t need to. Not that she wants to. She’s had enough of talking, of rationalizing every little thing that’s been happening to her. For the first time in three days, Grace permits herself to feel anything other than the bitter numbness she’s masked her fear with. And she drowns herself in it. It's not until hours later that she resurfaces from her grief, warm and blanket wrapped amongst the sheets of a familiar bed.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice roughed by lack of sleep and three days of worry. The same worry he wears in the swaths of purple beneath his eyes and the unruly stubble that creeps down his neck. “I…I…” His hand rubs the back of his head and musses the golden curls that have been reduced to snarled tangles where they hang limply over his ears. He’s nervous, she thinks, watching as he repeats the gesture before fisting his hands into the fabric of his pants. “It’s good to see you.” He leans forward to settle his hand on her bare leg, where it peeks from beneath the blankets, but she’s faster as she draws her legs back beneath them before she can feel the heat that radiates off him. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear and one of his t-shirts, which, all things considered, was a blessing because Grace was certain her clothing reeked of cigarettes, booze, and the Underworld. Apollo sighs in reply and lets his palm settle over the still-warm sheets where her legs once rested. For a moment, his eyes flutter closed like he’s a junkie, and the warmth of where she’d laid is enough to soothe his craving to touch her. But there’s an ocean between them now, more profound than the one that swells and ebbs outside the bedroom window where she’d once felt safe. And the thought of his too-large, too-warm hands on her makes Grace want to crawl out of her skin.

“How did I get here?” She sits up, greeted by their bedroom that still looks exactly as she’d left it three days ago. His shirt still haphazardly hangs across the dresser from when she’d ripped it from his shoulders and tossed it over hers, and her bra’s still tucked halfway out from beneath the chair he sits upon. Both tell her it's the first time either of them has set foot in this room since she stormed out. “Freddy called me.” Called Oracle, she thinks, cause even with her patient prodding, Apollo still balks at the idea of using the simple flip phone she bought him. She knew he’d been desperate to find her when he’d resorted to texting her himself. But that’s not enough to soothe the rage slowly creeping up to settle on her shoulders. “Gods, it… it's been three days. I thought maybe you…you’d…that…” Apollo’s voice cracks with the weight of his guilt as he looks at her with the kind of desperation that quiets her storm. Her already broken heart rents and breaks as the weight of his words settles heavily on her shoulders. He’s already failed her, Calliope, once before, again, and it would break him. Maybe it's the year spent in the company of the god of prophecies, but for a moment, she’s granted a prophecy of her own, a hazy vision of Apollo soaked in sunlight as he walks into the sea with no one around this time to save him. “Sorry,” is all she can manage to say as she sinks deeper into herself. “I meant to call.”

“Meant to call?” His visions gone golden as his anger wells up, raw and fierce. “Fuck, Grace” he growls, hands tearing through his hair, “I…I thought you were dead!” Her own anger crackles beneath her skin in response to his because all they do anymore is fight. He’s the god of the sun, golden flames lit by the festering rage between them, and she’s his muse, her passion, the kindling that he burns through. “Obviously, I’m not,” she shoots back. Suddenly the rooms too hot, too stifling, and the blankets a band of iron keeping her tethered to the bed, to him. She throws them off, throws off the crushing weight of the guilt that threatens to snap her already fragile shoulders. “Not sure why you were so worried.” “Cal…Grace,” he starts, stumbling over the name. He’s just as unsure of which face she wears as she is. Today, it's Grace, but she knows that that won’t always be true in the future. Eventually, Grace will ebb with the tide of the Veil until all that’s left is Calliope. He’s done it a hundred times before, acts like it's nothing, that she should surrender to it all without putting up a fight. But Grace? This is her first time, and she feels like she’s constantly drowning beneath the weight of the eidolon in her chest. And Apollo’s the lifeboat she can’t quite reach. “You need to talk to me,” he sighs, hands, at last, settling on her bare calves, and Grace finds the warmth of his skin is just a touch more soothing than revolting.

“Nothing to talk about,” she answers, hiding behind the mask of monosyllabic answers. “It's fine,” she adds though she knows it to be untrue. It’s become easier and cleaner to lie to him than to lean on the still-strong bond that’d formed between them, and Grace’s found that a lie was often the most straightforward answer. Cause she doesn’t want to look at him and see disappointment reflected back where once shone love and pride. He doesn’t buy it. He never buys it. Instead, Apollo wordlessly slips into the bed beside her, his too-warm body curling over hers as though he could shield her from it all. And she lets him, too worn down and exhausted to protest, when his arm settles around her waist and pulls her against the hard planes of his body. “Talk to me, Grace,” he whispers softly into the crown of her hair. “Please.” Her shoulders finally snap at the weight of his words, so tender and warm, and she begins to cry. It feels like all she’s done is cry. Like somehow she’s thrown a lifetime of emotion into the past week and has come out the end worn and raw, with only her tears left to show for it. Breaking down still feels foreign, even after a lifetime of grief condensed into the span of two years, and she folds into herself in the hope of quelling the bitter tears that track down her cheeks to pool in the cleft of her collarbones. “I don’t,” she sobs, sinking into his embrace, “I don’t know how.”

Apollo’s patient, kind as he holds her, the only sound breaking the silence between him are his soft mummers of comfort and her hiccoughing sobs. “Shh, I have you, darlin’,” he breathes softly into the skin where her neck meets her shoulders. “I have you,” he repeats, fingertips gentle as they curve over the swath of her belly from where it peeks from beneath her stolen shirt. “Don’t need to talk just yet.” She thinks of using her powers for a moment, that she might be able to put her thoughts into song than she can words. But she does need to talk. Needs to get out the words that hang heavy in her chest. “I’m scared,” she finally admits when her tears no longer strangle her words. “Apollo, I’m so scared.” Her admission is deafening, her heart pounding in her ears. She’s always been the strong one, the rock, Grace, who everyone can depend on to swoop in and save the day. Vulnerability doesn’t come easy to her, even in front of Apollo, who’s seen her stripped down to nothing so many times that she’s lost count. Apollo, who’s laid himself bare in kind, even though she’s only ever held him at arm's length when he asked her to do the same.

“Shh, Grace,” he repeats, arms tightening around her as if he could shield her from the Veil itself. “I know you’re scared, but you need to talk to me.” He shifts her gently, as though she’s made of glass, until they are face to face. It's then that she realizes he’s been crying too. “I…I called myself Calliope today,” Grace answers, suddenly ashamed that such a trivial thing’s caused an ocean sized rift between them. It's not like any of this came as a surprise. It's not like she’s had a year of Apollo’s patient tutoring to prepare her for the eventuality. But that didn’t make the fact that she was slowly slipping away any less jarring. He chuckles, though it's hollow, forced. “The first time’s always the worst.” They’re not quite touching anymore, the ocean that separates them swelling up between the gaps where their skin should be flushed and entwined. “You’ll get used to it.” But she doesn’t want to get used to it, doesn’t want to feel like a stranger in her own skin. The thought of hearing Freddie or Persephone, or Gods, even Apollo calling her Grace, and her no longer recognizing her own name made her want to puke. It made her feel like she was that last bit of pencil that hadn’t been erased yet. It was inevitable, but waiting for it to happen, Gods, that was the worst part. “How,” she challenges, her anger towards him, Calliope, and Fate itself flaring hot and scorching beneath her skin. “How do I get used to not being me?”

Apollo smiles, gentle, patient, and soft, as he brushes her dark hair from her cheek, the touch coming after what feels like a lifetime of waiting. “By letting me in, Grace,” he answers, shifting so his lips can whisper soft over her own. His hand is warm as he cups her chin and forces her to look him in the eye. And for the first time that night, she meets his cool gaze willingly. “By not doing this alone.” Grace melts into the touch, lets herself feel safe, lets the weight of the past three days slip away until she’s light as air. “I…what if you don’t love me when I’m her?” It feels strange to put it into words, the dark thought that lingers about the edges of her. It used to be a seed, tucked into the earth unseen, but it's festered, grown into vines that wrap around her wrists, ankles, and, worst of all, her heart.

She’s fed it with the doubt she pretends not to see in his eyes when they get into a fight. Feeds it with the knowledge that between him and Calliope is a lifetime of fighting and reconciliation. With the fear that no matter how hard they try, it still won’t work out in the end. That, like Calliope, she’ll be alone. “If it didn’t work before, why now? Why are we any different, Apollo?”

Apollo kisses her instead of speaking, drawing her beneath his weight with warm hands heavy on her waist. “Grace,” he murmurs, facial hair tickling her skin as he peppers kisses along the curve of her jaw. “You are kind,” he pauses to press his lips to each of her cheekbones, “and caring,” another kiss to the tip of her nose, “and braver than anyone I have ever met.” His lips are soft when they meet the skin of her forehead. “And for all her fire, Calliope could never burn away all of you.” He chuckles as he settles his full weight atop her, stunned when she lets him. “You’re too stubborn for that.” “That doesn’t mean anything,” she grumbles, too warm beneath him. Apollo, God of the Sun, burns hotter than a furnace as Grace relents and every bit of her sinks into him. “You said yourself, eventually, she’ll take over.” “And,” he answers, words muffled as he tucks his head into the crook of her shoulder, “I also said I’d be here the whole time.” His teeth are gentle where they nip at whatever bit of her bare neck he can reach. “And that this time it’d last, but you seem to have forgotten that detail.” “Apollo,” she warns when his hand slips down her side to trace the curve of her hip. “Grace,” he parrots with a smile just as dazzling as the golden rays of sunlight streaking through the curtains. “Do you want to know something?”

Grace groans and wiggles her hips until she finds a comfortable spot beneath him. Difficult considering all of Apollo’s muscled bulk dwarfed hers by about a mile. But If Apollo’s in one of his romantic moods, well, then she’d better be settled in for the long haul. “Not sure if I do,” she grouses. “Think you might want to hear this.” Apollo pauses to tangle his fingers in hers. But fuck, his hand fits perfectly over hers, impossibly warm and just a shade too large. “You know that Calliope and I always found each other, even after our eidolons passed to the next person,” he explains, thumb stroking over the matching sun rings they wore. “That even if she and I were worlds apart, our souls would always find each other again.”

“I’m not really sure what this has to do with me,” Grace interrupts, suddenly very much aware of the one-sidedness of their memories. Course, the slate would be evened out when the Veil lifted, but she still sometimes caught Apollo staring at her with an unfamiliar reverence that spoke to memories she had yet to unlock. Like the reason he always wanted to sketch her lying out naked when they’d awake in the morning after a night of making love. Or the story behind the song he’d sing softly into her hair as they dozed watching the sunset on the sand.

“Because you, Grace,” Apollo murmurs. “My sweet, kind, brave, stubborn Grace. You’re the only one who’s captured me wholly, body and soul. We won’t have to find each other because we will never be parted. Not even the Fates would be enough to take me from you.” “You’re only saying that because you’re the one who insisted we get married.” She rolls her eyes at this slip into melancholia that’s sweet enough to make her teeth ache. But her heart still swells until it's impossible full at the love that shines in his eyes as he tilts his head down to capture her lips in a tender kiss that leaves the pair of them gasping for air when they finally part. “Grace or Calliope, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” Apollo’s gone soft, less stoic in the years since she’s met him. She knows he hates the romantic streak she’s carved into him, but it doesn’t stop the grand declarations of love he likes to wax to her at least once a day. And the longer she spends with him, she finds she doesn’t hate them, not at all. “Til the last star burns out of the sky.” “But what if it doesn’t work out,” she asks, guilt and doubt still lingering in her thoughts. Despite his assurances, she suspects it’ll be a while until they finally subside. “What if it stays the same?” “Then we’ll work through it together,” Apollo answers as, at last, Grace relaxes beneath him. “And if you still don’t believe me, I promise you that I’ll be here the whole time.” Grace smiles in earnest for the first time in three days as she finally surrenders to the joy and love that radiates off him like rays of sunlight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

#stray gods #stray gods the roleplaying musical #stray gods apollo #stray gods grace #grace x apollo #fluff and angst #one shot #but its like super long #please be gentle with this one #don't usually post my writing on tumblr #stray gods persephone #stray gods freddie #stray gods calliope

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brandyllyn · 1 year

Text

This Time

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader [no use of y/n. 3POV]

Sequel to Next Time - but I think it works as a stand alone

Words: 2.8k

My Masterlist

Rated: Teen. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff.

Smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt, Jack frowned at his reflection in the Bronco’s side mirror. The material was a soft grey, short-sleeved with pearl snap buttons. It was one of his favorites, good for a casual day out, having a beer with friends - a utilitarian shirt.

His frown deepened.

Making an effort to look away, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to make the lean against the truck as casual as possible. Wear the same thing as last time, she’d said.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t like surprises, he enjoyed them as much as the next person. He just liked to be informed, that was all. How could he protect people, do his job, if he didn’t have full information?

“Hey Jack.”

Her soft voice startled him out of his musings and he jerked his head up to see her. His mouth froze on his greetings, the words garbling in his throat.

Lord have mercy, she was wearing jeans. Jeans that looked like they had been painted on her, framing soft thighs and an ass he felt a sudden irresistible urge to bite. She had on a loose blouse with one of those camisoles with the thin straps underneath.

And she was smiling. At him.

The beauty of her knocked him on his ass and he completely missed his opportunity to meet her, to walk with her and open the car door like a gentleman. Instead he scrambled inside and flung himself across the bench seat, grabbing at the passenger door handle and giving her a sheepish smile as she slid inside.

“Lord, you’re pretty as a speckled pup.” She raised an eyebrow and he gave his head a sharp shake. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

Damn it to hell, how was he messing this up already? Again.

“It is,” he turned the key in the Bronco and set it to drive.

When she had offered to plan their second date, the old school gentleman in Jack had balked. He’d been raised to believe it was a man’s job to do the romancing. To plan the outings, pay for dinner, make the moves.

Then again, their first date had gone so poorly he hadn’t objected when she’d offered to plan their second. Only some of it had been his fault, in his defense. He couldn’t have done anything about the tornado.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Head into town, then north on New Circle Road”

They chit chatted on the drive into Lexington, a little over an hour with light traffic. Plenty of time for Jack to learn more about her. She wanted a pet, but worried her job at Statesman would interfere. Never been married, although she made passing mention of a proposal that perked his ears. She asked him questions about his hobbies, and then made appropriate follow-up noises of appreciation about the Bronco when he said it was refurbishing older vehicles.

“It’s very shiny,” she smiled and he choked back a laugh. Maybe he should have mentioned his ever so slight obsession with World War II documentaries instead.

She gave no clues to where they were going, nodding slightly when he got off the highway onto Route 4 but aside from that remaining mum. When they turned on to the city streets north of town Jack almost asked but held his tongue. Stadium signs rose to their right as she directed him into a half empty parking lot. Even as they approached the stadium, he didn’t ask the question that bubbled in him. Not until she handed two construction paper tickets to an older lady and led him inside.

“Baseball?”

“The Lexington Legends,” she chirped back, slipping into the sparse crowd and looking back to see if he followed.

He did, his gait slipping into an easy saunter. Earlier, he’d have laid all his money they were going to a museum for the day. Maybe some kind of art gallery.

“Never figured you for a baseball fan.”

“I’m not really,” she shrugged, eyeing something over his shoulder as she came to a stop. “But this isn’t baseball. It’s minor league baseball.”

“Other than the obvious, what’s the difference?”

“Baseball is about the sport. It’s about winning and all that.” A soft aha noise left her and she grabbed his hand, slipping her fingers between his and dragging him to a vendor. “But minor league is about having fun. It’s a carnival with baseball as an excuse.”

Glancing up at the sign he smiled, “Funnel cake?”

“To start,” she answered with a decisive nod. “After that they have one of those things set up where you hit baseballs and win prizes.”

“A batting cage?” His interest was piqued.

“Yeah, that,” she said distractedly.

He didn’t have her attention. She was practically salivating as she gave her order, not just the cake but deep fried Coca Cola and a lemonade to go with it.

“Shouldn’t be possible to fry a liquid,” Jack mumbled, licking powdered sugar from his fingertips. “But damn if it ain’t good.”

She beamed back at him, reaching up and using her thumb to wipe at the corner of his mustache. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.” He managed not to shiver at her touch - barely. “But I have to admit it’s not what I expected.”

“Well,” she turned her back to him, leading him to a nearly empty set of bleachers. “One of the times you were asking me out you mentioned going to the state fair. If I remember right you tried to lure me with fried Oreos.”

“I did,” he nodded.

“And I know you play on the distillery’s softball team so I figured it wouldn’t be the most boring venue.”

Staring at the first baseman, Jack tapped the heel of his boot on the steel bleacher. “That was pretty astute of you.” Ducking her head she concentrated on their food and Jack eyed the field. “You rootin’ for anyone in particular?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I don’t even know who the teams are.”

Shutting his eyes for a moment Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me, sugar, that you brought me to a baseball game solely for the food?”

“Well, I brought me solely for the food. But I thought you might like the game.”

“You are…” he searched for the word. Finally he settled on a huff of laughter, sliding the funnel cake from her hands and ignoring her protests. He leaned over and pressed his nose to her shoulder, “… somethin’ else.”

“Is that good?” She asked, one hand snaking over to his lap and the fried strings of dough. He picked one up instead, straightening and holding it out to her.

“Is to me.”

The Legends were playing a good game - relying a bit too much on a strong pitcher in Jack’s opinion, half the team couldn’t bat for shit - but he didn’t protest when his companion tugged on his arm in the third inning with a pleading look in her eye.

“Pickles?”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Fried?”

“Of course.”

“Lead the way.”

It was probably coincidence that the vendor was right next to the batting cage. And Jack couldn’t resist those pretty eyes when she bit her lip and glanced over at the stuffed animals hanging from the fence.

“Want me to win you one, sugar?”

“You think you can?” she asked with a tease on her voice.

He hummed an affirmative, rolling his shoulder under his shirt. It ached sometimes after the distillery league games, but it had been fine lately, certainly fine enough to knock out a couple homers and get the purple dog looking thing she was staring at.

“What do I get?”

She tapped her lip thoughtfully at the question. “Third date?”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling out a five and handing it to the guy without preamble. Her giggle followed him and he gave the bat a trial swing before setting his stance.

Crack.

The first ball was a foul, sailing almost straight up and into the tarp. Jack jumped back to avoid being brained and grunted. He’d gotten used to the underhand throws of the softball league. He’d need to re-evaluate.

Whiff.

Fuck, he hadn’t even touched the second. He felt the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and took a swing at the third. It felt solid as it connected, a low hit midway down the far tarp. A solid hit in a real game, but not enough to read as a home run in the cage.

He had another five in his hand before the ball stopped rolling “Again.”

Another foul.

And another.

A low drive to a non-existent third baseman.

“Again.”

“Jack,” her voice sounded too soft and he didn’t look at her.

Two hits and a miss, one that should have been a home run but the damn game clocked it as a triple and Jack gritted his teeth against the argument that rose in his throat.

“Jack, come here.”

Shoulders sagging he turned to the fence, taking a step to it and frowning. “Sugar I-“

“A kiss.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Win me the dragon and you get a kiss.”

He blinked again and darted his eyes to the purple stuffed animal. Is that what it was? A dragon?

Wait.

A teasing smile pulled the corners of her lips up, a touch of powdered sugar still dusting the lower one. She’d be sweet, he knew that. And soft.

“Hell yeah,” he muttered, thumbing another bill at the kid running the cage. The prize wasn’t worth twenty bucks but that wasn’t the point.

Crack.

Three home runs, a light and siren going off each time.

She looked skeptical. “Did you batting cage shark me?”

“Did I what?” he spluttered, pointing at the largest version of the dragon for the worker.

“Batting cage shark, like a pool shark. Pretend to be bad so I’d offer you something?”

“Yes…?” he said slowly, drawling the word out and squinting slightly. It was a better explanation than anything he had. He handed the stuffed animal over, taking the nearly gone pile of fried food from her.

She frowned as she wrapped her arms around the ridiculously large toy. After a moment her face broke into a grin. “Liar.”

“I simply lacked proper motivation.”

Shifting the toy in her embrace she leaned towards him. “Are you going to collect?”

He traced his eyes over her face and settled a hand at the base of her spine. “Later.”

The spluttering sound she made at that warmed his heart.

“I’m assuming we don’t have dinner plans?” Jack asked as he held open the Bronco door for her. He took the dragon from her with one hand, patting her thigh slightly as she buckled in.

“Are you still hungry?” she responded incredulously.

Grinning, he leaned into the back of the truck, setting the plush down and pulling one of the lap belts across it. “Not a bit, I was just checking.” Dragon secured, he slipped into the front seat. “Where next?”

He didn’t expect it to be a bar, a dive bar at that. She was a fancy gal - she’d shown for their first date in a pencil skirt and heels for Christ’s sake. Then again, the last time he’d told her he was going to ‘Show her the town,’ so maybe that was just a miscommunication.

“You dance?” he asked after they got their drinks, leaning in a dark corner a little away from the speakers.

“A little,” she shrugged. “Never had much of a chance to learn.”

“Not interested?”

“Two left feet.” She laughed and he shifted closer. “It’s also a lot to keep track of. Counting, which direction to go…”

“You ever have a good partner?”

Without giving her a chance to answer, Jack swung her into an easy two-step, the live band doing a passable cover of an old George Strait song. She stumbled at first, but he kept a steady hand on her shoulder blade, giving the direction she needed to match his movements.

“Quick, quick, slow slow,” he muttered down to her helpfully and she glared back up at him.

Despite his teasing, she followed him like a dream, letting him guide her in a large circle around the floor. There was no looking behind her, no fighting him. With the gentlest pressure from him she turned slightly, keeping the rhythm and facing forward by his side, their interlinked arms ahead of them.

“You’re a natural,” he smiled, guiding her into a turn so she was facing him again.

“You’re a good teacher,” she smiled back. He kept an eye on their drinks, making sure no one messed with them, but that only took about 5% of his concentration. The rest he could focus on the woman in his arms. She was settled into his embrace like they’d done this a hundred times before, his fingers spread behind one shoulder while he traced his thumb over her other hand. He knew the song was ending soon and he gave a silent prayer for another two-step.

Instead, a car engine revved and a twangy guitar intro followed. One any cowboy worth his salt would recognize, and he smiled. “Ever line danced?”

A shake of her head and his smile turned into a grin. “I’ll show you.”

It should have been easy, this one was a classic for a reason. A simple grapevine, a toe tap or two, some clapping and a booty shake.

She was hopeless at it.

“No that way,” he huffed, turning her waist with one hand.

“One, one-two, one, one-two” he tried to help out as she double tapped and looked lost.

The third time she spun into him he gave up, pulling her close. “You weren’t kidding about those two left feet.”

“I told you-“

He shushed with her a turn, swinging her out of the way of the other dancers and back to their waiting drinks. “I thought that was modesty.”

She snorted, stirring her drink with a straw.

He did eventually manage to get her through the electric slide, but they did much better in the partner dances. Jack didn’t mind, any excuse to get his hands on her was welcome.

It was raining by the time they left, rushing to the Bronco while Jack tried to hold his hat over her head. They were laughing when the doors shut and he did his best to ignore how the water made her blouse stick to her skin.

“Home then?”

A nod and he shifted into gear. He jumped in surprise when her hand slipped into his, drifting up to cradle his forearm when he needed it to change gears. He liked it, even though her fingers were cold, and once they got on the highway he entangled their fingers together and chatted about absolutely nothing.

She was sleepy by the time they got back to the compound, leaning back in her sleep and fighting to keep her eyes open. He shut the truck off, frowning when her hand slipped away after he was forced to let it go.

“I’ll walk you up.”

“You’re not going to claim that kiss?” she asked with a small frown and pout.

“Nah.” With one hand he swept his hat off, turning and settling it in the backseat. “I figure I’ll save it.”

“Save it for what?”

“Third date,” he informed her with a grin. “And my second chance.”

A soft smile came over her face and Jack couldn’t help but press his fingertips to her jaw, rubbing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “But Lord you do make a man think twice about his convictions.”

“Oh do I?” A sly, sultry look replaced the shy one. “Maybe your convictions are in the wrong place.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thumb slipping down to trace her lips. “You’re enough to tempt a saint to sin.”

Her laughter warmed him, and his focus was so pinpointed on her smile that he missed that it was moving closer until it was almost a surprise when those smiling lips were pressed to his.

Lord he was right, she was sweet. And soft. Her mouth brushing over his with the barest of pressure. A groan escaped him, one hand clenching in the hair behind her neck. He wouldn’t push, he wouldn’t. But if she wanted to rub that body of hers against his and lick at the seam of his mouth who was he to deny her?

They were both panting when she broke away, and Jack’s jeans were fitting a bit tighter than normal.

“Next Saturday?”

“Tomorrow.” The word choked out of him and he winced. “Don’t make me wait a week to see you again, sugar.”

“Brunch?”

Yeah. Yeah he could do brunch.

“My place?”

In her house? Where her bed was?

Ain’t no way he would survive that.

“How bout we go out somewhere? You got any pretty Sunday dresses?”

The smile she gave him was dazzling, and a little mischievous. “I think I have something.”

Lord have mercy, what had he gotten himself into now?

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Songs from the saloon: George Strait - I Just Wanna Dance With You Brooks and Dunn - Boot Scootin' Boogie

#jack 'whiskey' daniels #kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you

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kiwiaok · 2 months

Text

so… about kevin being the embodiment of the obsessed artist trope…

is he not an icarus? evermore unable to be ordinary, seeking only extremes? either by glory or by death will kevin day be remembered, not by mediocrity. seeking greatness he fell into the sea while shedding his feathers, with molten wax slipping through his garbled, crushed fingers. a fallen raven, a bird whose place was no longer among the skies. (and what a curious choice; to pick a raven out of them all. a bird burdened with the aches of wisdom and transformation, the harborer of both destruction and creation. the link between what’s mortal and what’s divine)

what is kevin if not an artist, succumbed to the love for his craft? is exy not his muse? is he not forever changed by that which he worships? doesn’t obsession seep through every crack of his skin? does he not strive for perfection by any means necessary? be it through blood, sweat, and tears or by accepting riko’s iron regiment (and how interesting his story would be had he not found out about wymack!! had he recovered and stayed at the nest! how fascinating would it be to read about kevin in this whiplash-like setting!! are you upset kevin? are you? yes or fucking no? yes? say it kevin. louder, louder, kevin)

kevin’s entire being is exy-orientated. he’s an artist that would happily self-destruct chasing perfection in his craft, desperate to reach it even if just for a second, even if only by his very fingertips. (and that’s even without considering the aspect of his mother’s ghost that’s woven in between every stitch that makes exy what it is. would you not wring yourself dry to excel at the only thing that holds the remains of your mother’s warmth?)

there was sense somewhere in my ramblings, some beginning and ending, though I lost it. what matters is that kevin is an obsessed artist and I love and hate him for it dearly, as I said before. but above all else, I envy him. I long to be passionate; to eat, breathe and sleep something, to consume it and in turn be consumed

#if you saw this post before #no you didn’t #anyway #is it obvious that I like literature?#also don’t even get me started on black swan and riko&kevin #bc that’s a whole other delicious can of worms #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #kevin day

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quicktosimp · 4 months

Text

Your Turn

Warnings: Sub!Spider, Mean!Reader, Dacryphila, Cum Eating, Drooling, Overstimulation, Anal Fingering, Pegging, Degradation, Spitting

Part 1 here

A/N: This has been in the works for a long time now! I am so happy to give @fuckyoumakeart their gift, and I am sorry it has been so late ❤️❤️

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I sighed in disappointment.

Looking down at Spider, he lays on his back, and his chest shakes with each breath. His arms spread wide above his head, wrists bound, chaffed by his struggling against the ropes. The same goes for his ankles, lifted high, forming a V. Spider’s body was soaked in sweat as he moaned around the gag, spreading his mouth wide.

“I told you no, and did you listen? No,” I groaned, swiping a lone finger and smearing the mess Spider left on his stomach after cumming, “I just wanted you to be a good boy so we could have fun tonight, but now I have to think of a punishment,” I pouted at him.

Playing with the pool of cum on his stomach, I got an idea. Looking at Spider’s face, I easily unlatched the gag from him, letting it slide off his face. Spider worked his jaw, easing the ache as his drool dripped off his face.

“Please, baby, I tried, but it was just too much; please don’t make me do this again,” Spider’s words were quiet as he tried to find my eyes.

I giggled as I scooped as much of it as possible into my palm, dragging it over his face, “Trying isn't good enough. Now, hold this for me,” I waited for Spider’s mouth to open before tilting my hand and pouring his seed into his mouth.

Spider’s mouth filled with cum, covering his tongue. He tried to keep himself from flinching at the taste, not wanting to upset me.

“Aww, now that’s a cute sight. I like it when you obey me,” I wipe the remaining cum on Spider’s cheek before turning back to between his legs.

Long and muscular, flexing in their bonds, Such a beautiful sight to behold. I couldn’t help myself as I rubbed around the underside of his knees and racked my nails down his thighs, leaving trails of raised red skin. Spider’s legs trembled under my hands as he attempted to moan around his full mouth.

I chuckle as I continue, tracing patterns on his thighs and legs, making Spider squirm from the pain, even as his cock twitches on his stomach. Getting tired of this game, I took my hands off Spider’s legs, watching as he lifted his hips, attempting to seek my touch.

“I love how you’re so needy,” I hummed, skimming my hand over Spider’s prone body but not giving him the relief of touch, “If you’re so desperate, maybe I can make it better,” I mocked him.

Spider’s cock was still an angry red from cumming not long ago. It hadn’t even had time to soften. I take his dick into my hand, wrapping my fingers around the shaft. Spider’s whines increased in pitch as he tried to wiggle away from my touch, only succeeding in fucking himself into my hand. His moans garbled from the cum in his mouth mixed with his drool, sliding down his face.

“Aww come on, baby, I just want to play with your cock some more. You know I love playing with it. Now be a good boy and stay still,” I cooed at him.

Spider forced his hips down and stilled as more of the thick liquid spilled from his whimpering lips.

With my free hand, I smile at him and pat his face, “Good boy.”

My grasp was feather-light, but that didn’t stop Spider’s whining as I played with his oversensitized cock. He did everything he could to keep still, even as tears spilled from his eyes and his hips fought to stay in place. I stroked his cock from base to tip, feeling it twitch in my hands, unsure whether it wanted the touch or to escape it. Spider’s moans and whimpers kept me entertained as I played with him. Slowly his cock started leaking pre, adding to the mess over him.

“Maybe I should make you cum from this, just some gentle teasing. Your body is so fucking greedy. I bet you could cum from this,” I muse, wondering if I wanted to pull another orgasm from Spider so soon.

A sob forced its way through Spider, slattering the cum and drool over his face and neck, leaving him covered.

I yanked my hand off of him, “Look at you! That was so disgusting!” I screamed in outrage, “I asked you for one fucking thing! And you couldn’t even do that correctly?” I sneered at his filthy face.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop it! I’m so sorry!” Spider begged as more tears fell from his doe-like eyes.

“I keep hearing you say sorry, but that doesn’t clean up your mess.”

“Please, I’ll be good, please, Tìyawn, let me be good for you,” Spider’s voice was wet but determined as he begged; in a way, I couldn’t help but believe him.

Releasing that I was being a touch too mean, I figured I could give him another chance. I slowly walked over into our shared bathroom, needing to grab a quick tool.

“Okay, Spider, I’ll let you be a good boy for me,” I said softly, moving back between his legs. “But first, I have to clean you up a little,” I said, showing him the object I had received.

His bright red electric toothbrush held high, covered in minty toothpaste. The look on Spider’s face was beautiful. I knew he wanted to protest, but unwilling to push me further, he nodded obediently.

“Yes, Tìyawn, whatever you wish,” He swallowed loudly as fear covered his face while I slowly moved the toothbrush to his weeping dick.

At first, I rubbed the gel-like substance over his cock, smearing it along his shaft but not letting him feel the bristles. Slowly I moved up, spreading it over his cock head, then I waited because I knew it wouldn’t be long.

And I was right; Spider’s face slowly morphed into one of pain and pleasure as the coldness seeped into his dick, covering every inch and engulfing him in the sensations.

“Oh, Eywa!” Spider’s deep brown eyes were wide as he rolled his hips, trying to escape the cold.

“Nope, not Eywa, just me,” I laugh at my own joke before placing the toothbrush back on his cock head, starting to scrub it.

“Oh fuck, n-, shit, fu- oh!” Spider’s moaned as his eyes rolled back, his head hitting the bed with a thump.

“It’s a good thing that was soft. Norm said even a light bump, and you’d be back on bed rest. I’d have to tie you down to make you behave, but that’s not too different from right now, is it?” I rub my cheek against his thigh before sinking my teeth into his flesh, leaving a ring of purple. “Maybe I should do that anyway? I like having you all tied up for me. Nothing more than a pretty moaning slut. Just a cock for me to use when I get horny, not that I’d use it now, though…”

Despite the obvious agony he was in, Spider’s cock was yet again leaking pre, bubbling at the tip before I brushed it away again, mixing it with the foamy toothpaste. His dick was an angry red as it throbbed erratically in my hand. I swiped the toothbrush over the tip again as more pre spilled out, leaking into the pool on his stomach.

“Yes! I-I’m yo-your cock!” Spider’s words were barely understandable over his moans.

“Such a good boy, knowing your place, cause that’s right, you are my cock,” Grabbing his dick, I stroked it harshly, uncaring of the speed and pressure, “Now cum!”

Spider’s moan was choked as his back arched, and his seed spilled onto his stomach, his hips rolling into my hand, fucking the last ropes of cum out of himself. Not nearly as much came out of Spider this time; most of it came out earlier. I slowed down my pace but not relenting as I continued to stroke his cock. And his moans soon turned to whimpers as Spider tried to get away from my touch, bucking and twisting his hips to get away. But I was relentless in my efforts, ensuring I had wrung out every last drop.

“P-plea-please! S-st-op!” Tears flowed down Spider’s face as his screams echoed throughout our room.

I slowed my pace down, savoring his wines before I stopped letting go of his dick, “Fine, if you must spoil my fun,” I signed dramatically as if I didn’t already know what I was going to do to him next.

“S-s-soo-ry,” His pitiful whine came out.

I laughed at him as I prepared the object I had ready, stepping into the straps and tightening them accordingly. I grabbed a clean glove, ensuring none of the toothpaste got into it. I may be cruel, but that would be a tad far even for me. And finally, I grabbed the large bottle of lube. I smacked Spider’s thigh, gaining his attention, as his breaths were still unsteady from his orgasm.

“Remember this?” I asked, letting the thick silicone cock rub against his thigh.

Spider tensed his asshole, remembering the feeling of being spread open on this cock. How sore it left him, but the pleasure it brings, and even Spider knows the pros outweigh the cons. I can see it in his eyes as he licks his lips. Probably remembering the taste when I fucked his mouth after fucking his ass last time.

“It’s your cock,” He answered breathlessly.

Smirking, I leaned over his, rubbing the fake cock along the cleft of his ass, “That’s right! Good boy! Now tell me, where does my cock belong?”

Spider licks his lips as he stares into my eyes. His own are red and wet from leftover tears, “Wherever you want,” His voice was reverent as he relaxed again into his bonds.

“You really are my precious,” I gently pat his thigh.

I opened the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount onto my fingers. I warmed the lube between my fingers, spreading it around before I brought my hand down and rubbed at Spider’s puckered hole. A breathy moan left his lips at my gentle touch. I continued to rub around his tight muscle, spreading the lube around and easing his hole open for me. All I could hear were Spider’s soft breaths; his head was thrown back, and his eyes closed in bliss. I inched my finger inside, wiggling it around until my palm met his ass. I eased my finger out, purposely avoiding his sweet spots, before thrusting it back in. A cute little whimper left his mouth as I continued my actions, feeling Spider tense around a single digit.

“Such a good boy, but we both know you can do better than that,” With that, I eased in a second finger, and I watched as his ass swallowed my fingers, nearly drooling at the sight.

Spider hissed in a breath, “Oh fuck.”

“That’s it,” I cooed, starting to move my hand a bit faster.

Spider’s cock twitched weakly, interested in the attention, but spent after cumming twice. He started to rock his hips, trying to get me to go faster.

I smacked Spider’s hip, making him still, “Tell me, baby, use your words and not your slutty ass. What do you want?”

“More, please,” Spider moaned as I sped up my fingers.

I cocked my head to the side, “More? Okay, I can give you more,” and I squeezed in a third finger.

I spread my fingers around, wiggling them around, as his walls flutter around them. The feeling of his body submitting to my hands is addictive as it loosens, begging for more.

“Such a pretty asshole, I could play with it all day,” I mutter, more to myself, but the responding moan tells me Spider liked the idea just as much.

I removed my fingers from his hole, much to his disappointment, “No, please, more.”

I ignored him as I popped the cap on the lube again, pouring it across the silicone cock, the deep blue of the silicone now shining. I placed the cap's top near his hole and poured more lube out, and pushed the remaining in with my fingers.

“Come on, pretty boy, open up for me,” I grab Spider’s thigh with one hand and my strap with the other, lining the tip with his asshole.

Spider’s eyes were blown wide as I slowly pushed in, watching as the tight ring of muscles gradually gave way to the cock head until it finally popped past his rim and closed around the shaft.

“Eywa!” Spider shouted as his back bowed.

I chuckle as I glide the rest inside him, pushing until my hips meet his ass. My thighs became sticky from the spilled lube. Needing to tease him a bit more, I grind my hips into his, giving him a slow, warm pleasure, which is not what he wants.

Soft grunts escape from his mouth, “Please,” He whispers.

“Please? Please what? I like you using your manors, but you gotta tell me what you want,” I grinned as I lazily ground my hips.

Spider gulped, “Will you please…” Spider trailed off as his flush intensified.

“Words Slut!” I demanded.

Tears pricked at his eyes, “Please fuck my ass,” his words were no more than a whisper, but it was enough for me.

“Gladly,” I pulled out completely before slamming it all back in.

“Oh!” Spider exclaimed, his eyes crossed.

I kept the pace, no matter how difficult it was, hearing each broken moan as I punched it out of him.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” Spider’s body rocked with every thrust.

“Good boy,” I grunted over my movements, my nails digging into Spider’s thigh.

I angled my hips so the cock was angled upward.

“Oh fuck!” Spider screamed, and I knew I found the right spot.

I aimed for that spot over and over again, and Spider’s cock twitched each time. Sweat built over my body, sliding down my neck; my legs ached with each thrust, but watching Spider made it all worth it. Spider’s face was a mess of tears, drool, and cum, and his mouth slack from the continued moans. Spider thrashed his head from side to side as he pulled on his bonds, his chaffed wrists becoming redder. His chest was covered in sweat and old cum, red from his flush, as he heaved each breath. Spider’s thoughts were covered in my nail marks, and his ass a delicious red from my thrusts, sticky with lube as his asshole stretched around the large blue cock. And his cock was red, twitching, unable to get hard again, yet was leaking pre.

“You wanna cum, baby?” I growled.

“Ye-es! Wa-nn-a, w-wa-nna cum!” Spider gasped out, his eyes rolling back.

I leaned over his chest and grabbed his cock in my hand. I fisted his cock to match the speeds of my thrust, and Spider’s moans turned to screams.

“No! Pl-ple-ease! To-to much! Gon-nna cum!”

“Then cum! Cum for me!”

Spider’s body became tense as dribbles of cum left his cock, unable to produce anymore. He held his breath as he went completely silent. But that didn’t last long, as I continued to stroke his cock harshly. Having cum three times, the pleasure was unbearable.

“NO! Stop! No more! Please!” Spider begged me, shaking his head.

I let go of his cock, and pushed the silicone back inside fully as I reached over him and grabbed his face, “Remember this the next time you do something stupid,” With that, I spat in his mouth, which Spider eagerly swallowed.

I untied the straps but left the cock in his ass. I walked over and climbed over Spider, leaving my pussy in front of his face.

“Come on now, don’t be selfish.”

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

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