zombie-hickey
Vee
Horror Obsession
|MDNI|
[20] [Bisexual] [She/Her]
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actively resisting the temptation to have johnny tell the boys over a pint that he's also got himself a girl back home, one he can't wait to sink his teeth into since you're choosing to take it slow and he absolutely respects that and when kyle asks for a pic or something, it's you.
simon's girl.
the one who bakes dry chicken and watches nature docus.
and he's proud of all of his pictures, especially the ones that he took from outside your dust-covered bedroom window.
john just swivels in his barstool and aggressively puffs his cigar, kyle pats him on the back like nice but does she even know who you are and simon's not even there because he always goes to you after work.
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SHADOWS OF ROSE SCENERY 13 / ??
resident evil village: shadows of rose, 2022
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WALTON GOGGINS
as Cooper Howard/The Ghoul in Fallout (2024) Season 1
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expanding on this stupid idea...
two-dicked könig fucking your tight asshole and cunt at the same time.🩸
tw/cw; — non-con/dub-con, hybrid fucking, monster fucking, mentions of kidnapping. 18+
photo credits; x_bruisedpeach_x on x/🐦
you're not exactly sure how you got yourself into this mess. he's some sort of hybrid, with horns and dark eyes, gazing into your soul and possessing your body. he turns you into a fleshlight for himself and his own satisfaction, lifeless in his tight grip as he takes control over you every movement, pushing himself into your swollen folds, his other dick prodding at your tight asshole.
your back is against the wet grass, prior to a thunderstorm. it's still raining slightly, the light raindrops against your face, gazing dizzily into the night sky. your eyes look empty with no sign of life despite your beating heart, with könig pushing both of his large, hung cocks into you, his firm grasp only tightening when he slides himself inside, forcing your legs apart at his will.
it's a struggle, of course it is. being stuffed from both ends isn't exactly the comfiest thing ever, and you're sure as hell struggling to take every inch of his meaty dicks. your ass aches at the fullness, your stomach creating a bulge, disappearing and reappearing when he drives his muscular, sturdy hips into you. you're so small in comparison to the seven foot giant, his brute body hunched over yours to protect you from any other monster that lingers in the forest late at night, the smell of sweat and sex burning your nostrils. könig heaves and growls, a demonic and unholy sound emitting from deep within him.
your tight pussy clutches onto his heat instinctively, his heavy balls tight and full of load, that he'll shoot into both holes of yours. your body is weak with his thrusts only becoming more violating and humiliating, forced to be compliant with him as he takes over your mind, turning you into a set of holes simply for his own selfish benefit. the dark claws on his large, calloused hands dig into your flesh as he pounds into you, ploughing into your soft slit mercilessly, leaving marks that you'll remember him by, when you're locked away in a little cage for him, a captive in his grimey hands.
fuck, how is a tiny little thing like you supposed to takes loads of his milky, creamy semen? especially when it's fucked into your holes at a rapid and ruthless pace, leaving your form weak and defenceless beneath him, pleading for mercy through struggled whines and protests, his creamy stickiness oozing from the sides of your cunt, stuffed to the brim.
serve your purpose and become a slave for him.
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I know the König x secret admirer reader is not gonna be officially continued but I was wondering if you could maybe explore part of it😭 there’s a part that mentioned that König gets laid in the military and I was wondering how angsty it would be if reader found out?🤭
Yes of course! ^^ It would be angsty... and fluffy! These two are the silliest people who ever lived tbh 🩷🐥
König is young in this AU (around his early 20s) and wildly inexperienced compared to some of the other recruits his age.
His first time was with a girl who joined the army when König had been there for about 1.5 years already. Desperate as he was with hiding the fact that he’s still a virgin, he tumbled into bed with this lady after a night out at the bar. She thoroughly seduced him, and König’s instincts told him she was only looking for fun, but he went with her anyway because, well. Loneliness can kill you, you know?!
He tried to woo her a bit after that until it became quite clear that this woman was not planning to settle down anytime soon. If anything, she was looking for a new conquest – and it’s fine, totally fine, except that König had surrendered a tiny piece of his heart to her along with his dick... That’s just how he is, and it took him more than a few months to get over the fact that it was “just a shag” and he “shouldn’t take things so seriously”.
That’s also why he closed off from people again, decided to concentrate on work and training and gym – until our cute little angel stumbled into his life like the prettiest saving grace! König was a goner from the start because this girl's approach was very different, so gentle and sweet compared to grimy shot glasses and smudgy lipstick and raunchy jokes. It’s a given that he was a little shocked when she sent her that pic 🙄 reminding him of promiscuous women who are not looking for a soul but a body, but because he is what he is the first thing he did was crank things up a notch and send her a dick pic back…
Yes, he’s desperate, but he’s also an go hard or go home man and this time, König is relatively sure he’s dealing with a lovely, delicate soul. Someone who wouldn’t just leave him out in the cold after getting what she wants.
And everything is like a fairytale between these two until she finds out he’s not a virgin despite he seemed a bit… like one… (in this scenario I think reader is a virgin and she thought König was one too because of obvious reasons? lol) And it’s fine, totally fine for her as well, except that the image of König having the night of his life with some military babe is haunting her from dusk till dawn.
There’s bound to be some drama when she starts asking timidly whether she’s still there… Whether they see each other every day. If they talk to each other, if he trains with her, etc. What if they test rifles together, or go out again with the sniper crew and get drunk and König feels… a little lonely?
She knows he would never cheat on her, not in a million years, but knowing how much of a wet dog he is she can’t promise that she’ll be all calm and relaxed during weekends, knowing her boyfriend is out there, full of testosterone and heart, his heart somewhat susceptible to female influence… Maybe even good old seduction…
And what’s even worse is the jealousy, the envy.
What if she’s more badass than her? That doesn't take much... She must be fierce if she’s in the military, something completely different, a forbidden apple König might want to taste again. It’s maddening, and when she finally opens up about it to him, spitting it out one night when he asks what’s bugging his sweet angel, there’s a big fat silence that follows.
König can't even believe she has torn her heart to pieces over something like this, alone and upset and ashamed when she's a literal angel. He sits her nice and pretty in his lap and talks her ear off about how he has nothing against this woman, truly, but that she is nothing compared to his first (and hopefully last!) girlfriend. Their love could never be compared to what happened between him and that girl, these things can’t even be spoken together in the same sentence. If he’s completely honest, his first time was... disappointing. Awkward, humbling, a total drunken mess of which he remembers nothing except that the woman wasn’t completely present either and that he was ashamed that his first time had to be like this.
Honestly, he felt like he lost his virginity on the night when he came to see her. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, all he thinks about these days... It’s quite annoying, actually, because he’s supposed to concentrate on how the wind blows and that the ammo doesn’t get wet and that he’s properly concealed.
He could be lying in a ditch with dummy rounds whirling past him and all he could think about are her eyes and lips and giggling and tits and, and… that. How warm it is, how nice it is, how he would just want to curl himself next to her when he hops back to his bunk in the evening. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he dreams, her voice is what he hears. All the things she said, all those sweet, silly little things, chime in his ear before he sleeps.
And all the precious moments they’ve already spent together, the times he made love to her under the trees... There’s nothing like that in the whole world and if she thinks something else can top that she's even sillier than he thought. He could comb through all the continents and he would never find a girl like her.
So tell him again... Why would he go to a shot glass of saltwater when he has a jar of wild honey right here at home?
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Been seeing art of these two a lot lately, so I had to draw them!
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there's one way to könig's heart, and that's food. 🍰
bake him a batch of cookies and he'll fuck you on the kitchen countertop, your tight ass sore from his balls smacking against your skin. he's growling out, thanking you with sloppy kisses. könig's cock aches inside the tightness of your wet pussy, coating him in your creamy, pearly arousal.
könig wants you to ride him. pinning you against the wall and holding you up with his calloused hands cupping your rear, rutting into your glossy, drooling hole relentlessly while the cake bakes in the oven. the taste of strawberry frosting lingers on his tongue from teasing each other with it, the sweetness, his favourite taste (aside from the taste of your aroused cunny).
mix his love for delicious treats with your body and könig is on cloud nine. he loves when you drip and smear raspberry and chocolate syrup along your stiff, perky nipples so he can wrap his soft lips around them, sucking them while tasting the sugary goodness of the chocolate and the fruitiness of the raspberry.
könig will crush you by laying atop of you. he's curled up against you, your breathing heavy and laborious when könig humps and grinds his swollen, big cock against your slit. chubby!könig will spray whipped cream into your little mouth, tasting the sweet goodness on your lips, the cake cooling in the kitchen, waiting to be decorated.
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Soap (who you’ve never met before ever in your life) being your server during an anniversary dinner with your long-time boyfriend except he took one look at you by the host stand and decided he had to have you.
Calls you “sweet thing” while he unwraps a straw and puts it in your water glass for you.
Asks if you’re out with your brother (without making eye contact with your boyfriend) and even after you told him no, he still ‘makes the mistake’ a few other times during the meal.
Stops over way more than is necessary. Probably has the kitchen intentionally screw up your appetizer so that when you bring it up he can make you feed him off of your fork. For quality control, of course. “Cannae have a sweet thing like you wasting the talents of a pretty mouth like that on something below par.”
Your boyfriend is pissed. Sends back his food twice and makes such a scene that the manager comes over. When he throws accusations of an “overly fucking friendly waiter,” you try to smooth the situation over by saying that everything was fine. Your boyfriend gets so riled that he throws a fistful of cash on the table and tells you it should cover his meal and your ride home.
Soap swoops in while you’re sobbing at the table. Slides in your side of the booth carrying a scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with an obscene amount of whipped cream and a cherry. Squashes you up against the wall while he coos kind things in your ear. Like he’s reading off a script meticulously chosen to include all of the right things that make you let down your guard enough to agree to let him drive you home.
“Wouldnae hear of you driving yourself home in this state, kitty.”
And once he finally gets you back to his, he goes in for the kill. Keeps saying the right things, keeps wrapping his arm around you and pulling you right into his side, keeps pushing his face close to yours. So much so that it almost feels like it’s your idea when you- still hiccuping and sniffling softly- lean forward and close the centimeters wide gap between you.
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can i get keeper!simon whose only purpose is to the forgotten graves in the small town he resides in. he moves through the moonlit cemetery like a phantom, taking great care to only step on dew-kissed grass (a small yet impactful detail you've noticed). he wears a mask; not of cloth but something solid, firm. you've heard rumors, that it's to shield himself from the gaze of the dead while others say that he's a dead man himself, hiding decaying flesh and exposed bone.
every night, you watch him with a burning curiosity from your window that fogs up with every quiet breath.
his steps are measured as he approaches a headstone, placing his lit lantern on the dampened soil before brushing away fallen leaves and moss, revealing faded names. he reaches into his waistband and brandishes a knife with a blade the length of your forearm. it gleams under the full moon's silver light as it slices through the ivy that's begun to creep over the tombstone.
his solitary path leads him toward the leaning blackened oak tree with branches that resemble skeletal fingers, eventually melting into the shadows, completely out of sight.
you sit straighter on the windowsill, elongating your neck to see if you can get a glimpse of the man, or thing, that walks with the dead. nothing.
(he sees you, however. oh, how warm you must be with the glowing hearth behind you. how comfortable you must be in your simple, long-sleeved night dress.)
pretty little poppet. haven't your parents told you that curiosity killed the cat? or maybe he'll keep you for himself, a reward for all his hard work. grave keeping isn't for the light of heart, after all.
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thinking about being the new addition to tf141. you are an asset given to laswell by the CIA, a timid little thing but your aim is always on target, and you are quiet, tech savvy, and you do as you're told. (18+, dark)
just how lieutenant riley prefers. he dwarfs you. the first time you meet, your eyes nearly come out of your head from how wide they go. he's so large, and you feel so tiny compared to him, and even though he does nothing but a disinterested once over, it is obvious to the rest of the team that you might just be his favorite.
it's most obvious in the subtle touches. when you're getting ready to jump, ghost comes up from behind and tugs on your parachute, nearly topping you over making sure it's secure. when you're getting ready in the back of the humvee, he reaches over and buckles your thigh holster for you when he notices the strap is coming loose. you nearly choke when you feel his big hand between your thighs, and you stare up at him with wide eyes when his pinkie moves up the seam of your zipper when he tugs his hand away.
and then the way he's on your six is unlike anything else. like glue, chest pressed to your back, his gloved hand squeezing your waist as he moves you every which way he pleases because you're so small to him, so easy, and he growls under his breath when he touches the curve of your hips or the fat of your ass.
maybe you might enjoy it if he wasn't so fucking awkward about it. if he didn't stare at you without blinking. if he didn't adjust his cock in his jeans right in front of you. if he didn't grip you by the back of your head, tugging you any way he wanted as if scolding a kitten using the scruff of their neck.
you think the team would notice by now--that they would step in, tell ghost to back off, but they turn a blind eye. they tolerate this behavior, and you don't know if it's because ghost is so good at his job, they don't want to, or that they are so afraid of him, they refuse to say anything.
or maybe they approve. maybe it keeps ghost at bay. maybe it keeps a lion in his den. a spider in its nest. maybe indulging ghost in his fucked form of flirting and socialization is what keeps the foundations of this team right where it needs to be--and you realize, slowly, that maybe that is why you're here.
because ghost likes them soft, and they need to put a muzzle on their dog.
so when you feel him in the dark, slipping a gloved hand under the blanket that keeps you warm at night, he is pleasantly surprised to find you awake. and even more surprised to feel your hand slipping the soft lace of your panties right into his fucking pocket.
"they teach y'that 'n basic training? how ta give y'r knickers to y'r lieutenant, eh?"
"no," you whisper, and when you meet his eyes in the dark, he looks so hungry. he's untamed, no training, he's used to getting what he wants with no resistance. you turn over in bed, and you don't get to see the way he sucks on his teeth when you let your knees fall, revealing the pretty place between your thighs, soft and puffy and wet, just waiting for a good mutt to eat her up. "but i learned other things."
"tha' right?"
"yeah," you say softly, and you turn over onto your stomach, pushing back onto your knees right in front of him. he bends, leaning over until he's pushing his masked face right into the seam of your cunt, and you grip the sheets tight when he inhales deeply, a rumble following as both of his hands grip either side of your ass and spread you open for him. you're drooling, wetting the nylon fabric, and you gasp when you feel the wet, warm muscle of his tongue suck on your folds through the mask. it's lewd, and you're wetting the material so much it sticks to the strong lines of his face, but he continues, tilting his head to the side as he laps at the pretty slick that dampens your thighs.
"what'd y'learn then, swee'eart?"
not how to fuck your lieutenant. but...you did learn to keep them happy.
"h-how to be a good girl."
and you think you feel him smile.
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Idk if you remember but you wrote a small drabble where reader was konigs secret admirer and it's been eating at my brain ever since😭 would you ever consider making it an actual story?
Oh I fell in love with the concept too! Here's a part 2 to that little drabble, I humbly offer it to you with my fluffy little paws ^^
CW: 18+ smut, fluff. Nothing bad here, just sweetness. Ok maybe a tiny bit of biting and light angst because it’s König after all... (Part 1 here)
He still doesn’t know who the mystery girl is.
She likes to tease him with cute messages and a photo of her tits but won’t tell him her name or where she lives. The girl won’t come to meet him so that he can show her some love, nor will she agree to go on a date with him. She just responds to his pathetic suggestions with a bundle of emojis that are about to drive him crazy, and another message that says: “Soon!”
König has to fall back on the bed and go to sleep with a rock hard dick and a set of twitching, lonely hands. His dream of having a proper girlfriend was shoved on the back burner ever since he joined the Jagdkommando, but now there’s a certain girl inside his head, a new, even better dream he can’t repel. The next day is no better; he even forgets what he was supposed to bring home from the store, knowing his mom will only sigh and tell him they’ll survive without some ingredient they both know is very well essential.
He stands before the butters and spreads, trying to recall what his mother wanted when he hears a soft gasp further down the aisle. He turns his head and barely catches the sight of a woman, turning in her heels and rushing down the flour section, just somewhere out of sight.
Hope and curiosity spark inside him as he leaves the butter and darts after her, calling “Hey” and “Wait” between the shelves as she flits towards the cashier in mild terror. He chases her as if he were trying to catch a thief, and the girl picks up her pace, then slows down to a complete halt… and turns.
Lovely, fearful eyes behold him the immediate second she meets his gaze, immobile hands clutching a bag of croissants and a jar of chocolate butter against her chest.
He slows down his jog and arrives in front of her with a smile, but the girl only looks more and more afraid. Even her jaw is clenched shut, the spitting image of a prey who just got caught.
“You’re her, aren’t you? The mystery girl,” he asks, trying to make it clear as day just how excited he is to finally meet her in person.
Her eyes stay wide as she blinks, the little bag of croissants crunching a bit further in her grip as she tries to shield her vital parts.
“Are you done shopping…?”
Still no answer.
She’s shy, just like he is... Maybe even more so, which is incredibly endearing: the same girl who sent him a picture of her boobs last night, the same girl who had no trouble teasing him to the point of leaking cum all over his sheets is as shy as a deer when caught in daylight.
It’s so incredibly cute… He thought she was a seductress of the most dangerous kind, but here she is now, looking up at him as if he was some boogieman about to come and snatch her away.
His smile only widens as he looks at his little minx who just tried to run away from the individual she’s sent postcards and love letters to ever since they were kids… Who knew his secret admirer was a bashful little cutie who sneaks around the local store to get herself some sweets and snacks?
“Let me pay for those,” he gestures at the products in her hand.
Another awkward silence follows until she finally turns her eyes to the floor and nods.
Perhaps it’s not that odd that she sent him anonymous notes and talked to him in texts and letters if she’s this timid -- he of all people should know how tough it is to walk to someone he likes and tell them he wants to go out. But he can’t help but wonder if the girl is mute, or partly deaf, or both. He wouldn’t mind. As long as they understand each other, it’s perfectly fine.
She looks at him like he’s a god —or a monster—while he pays for her humble delicacies. She stares at him with eyes still wide while putting the groceries inside a tiny cotton bag she has with her, and says nothing when he extends his hand towards her.
“Here. Give it to me.”
He’s trying to act the part of a gentleman to the full, and she offers the floor a tiny smile while handing him the bag. It weighs less than a half kilo, but the gesture is all that seems to matter because she is indeed smiling, shy and pleased as he shoulders the so called burden for her.
“I can walk you home if you like?” he suggests while pushing the door open for her.
She steps out into the luminous sunlight, eyes squinting a little from the sudden brightness. Then she turns to him and says her first meek words.
“But... Then you’ll know where I live…”
“Ah! She talks,” he laughs with a full smile and watches with a spreading warmth in his chest how she starts to grin, too. She’s looking at the asphalt and her shoes but she’s smiling, incredibly beautiful and pretty, outshining even the prettiest summer day.
“Don’t worry,” he starts to banter with increasing confidence—when has he ever teased anyone, let alone been confident around a girl he likes? “I promise I won’t come howling under your window at night...”
“It’s… It’s not that,” she laughs and bites her bottom lip. “I still live with my mom…”
She starts to walk towards where he lives, and he follows, his long legs catching up with her with ease.
“There was the COVID, and my mom is a little unwell… And with the economy… I’m still a student,” she explains while they stroll down the street.
“Really? I’m a student, too.”
“Oh…? What are you studying?”
“How to kill people,” he shrugs, cursing his stupid carefree mouth immediately. “Fuck… Sorry. That was… I mean, I’m in the army.”
“It’s okay,” she smiles.
He sneaks a peek her way, and she indeed doesn’t seem to be shocked in the slightest. Far more frightened she looked at the store when he noticed her and began to chase the poor girl.
They proceed to talk about what he does and why, how he only just returned from a month’s training that included concealment training in the mountains. She seems interested enough in his choice of career, which he tries to make sound as striking as possible, far more intriguing than it actually is. He tries to appear a little too glorious in her eyes, fearing he won’t live up to the reputation and fantasy she has built inside her pretty little head.
What if she wanted him to be a doctor instead of a moronic soldier? Maybe she fantasized about a lawyer or a historian with whom she could have fascinating conversations… And he’s just babbling nonsense about weather meters and ghillie suits.
But her eyes are still smiling, always at him when he looks away and starts to talk with his hands. When they arrive at the little wicket gate leading up to her house, he notices she lives only about a kilometre away from his childhood home.
She was always here, and he never knew anything about it… His secret admirer, his passionate seducer, turns out to be a harmless, lovely angel who lives right in the neighbourhood.
She takes her little cotton bag and turns to open the gate, and his hands twitch and flex. Say something clever, his mind yells, ask her out for fuck’s sake… But he needn’t worry, for his precious girl next door immediately turns back and shields her eyes from the sun while looking up at him.
“I’m sorry… I froze a little at the store. I just… This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet...”
“No? What did you have in mind for us then?”
She drops her hand back down and gives him a little halfway shrug, embarrassed.
“I don’t know. I just… I don’t even have any make-up on...”
He risks to bring a hand to her face, his thumb on her cheekbone, sweeps a little arc there to let her know she’s fucking beautiful.
“You’re very pretty,” he says, and she raises her eyes back to his, this time looking like she’s being blinded by the sun even if he’s shielding her from it.
“I really liked the picture you sent me,” he says boldly, and for the second time this afternoon, hopes the earth could swallow him right then and there.
A pretty girl sends him one nice picture of her tits, and he has to be an asshole about it… She looks super uncomfortable, so flustered that she nearly guides her face away from his palm.
Fuck that he’s stupid… Must he always be such an idiot and fuck everything up?
“I’m sorry... I meant to say that–”
“I’m glad you liked it,” she rises on her toes and plants a quick, flustered peck on his cheek, then turns to the gate as quickly as a whirlwind. Opens it, and returns solely to give him a bashful, naughty little smile.
“I liked your picture too,” she says so softly he can barely hear it.
“...Oh,” he squeaks, cheek still burning from her kiss.
“Do you want to come and see me tonight...? Mom usually drops before ten...”
“I… I… Sure.”
…
It’s a catastrophe.
His old jeans barely fit him anymore, they’ve become way too tight around the thighs. He’s put on some weight during the past few years and made sure to go to the gym every slack hour he has at his disposal, which means he’s packed a bit of muscle here and there. That, along with the many outdoor trainings, have ensured his appetite remains even bigger than usual so it’s no wonder none of his old pants fit. The only ones that don’t look utterly suggestive and wrong are his grey sweatpants, which he wore to the store today. He can’t very well wear those on a date, no matter what all those thirsty TikTok memes say...
He sighs, and grabs the black military pants he had on when he came here, pairing them with a simple black T-shirt. That’s all he has in his drawers: black, black, black, a few white ones that have some food and coffee stains on them, stains that never leave no matter how hard his mom tries to wash them for him.
The house is silent as he slips the keys into his pocket and hollers that he’s leaving. Like some lovesick, unneutered dog about to slink into the night…
“Mom? I’m going out. I… I have a date.”
“At this hour...?”
“Yeah… We’re… Going out to look at the moon,” he makes up off the top of his head.
His mom would scold him for harassing some poor girl when it’s almost midnight, even if it was her who invited him to her house. And if he’s lucky, there’s going to be a lot more action than just staring at the moon together… Not that that’s all he wants; it’s just that he’s been lonely as fuck and could really use a hug.
Is it a crime, with the past that he has, to want some human contact? Some skin on skin memories that don’t include punching?
“My little boy,” his mom strolls into the room, looking at him with soft, worried eyes. “You look like you’re about to invade some poor, innocent country…”
“Eh… I know. All the other pants were too small.’
She smiles at him: seeing a grown man sweat like a pig before a date must be a silly sight, even more compelling when that man is your own boy. The clock ticks on the wall as she looks at him like he’s about to march off to war, his only shoes a pair of standard leather boots he’s used for two years now. He showed them some grease and a brush, managed to make them look a little less worn and torn – if he had known some cute girl back home had a crush on him, he would’ve visited a clothing store before he came here…
His mom raises a shaky hand and draws him down to kiss him on the cheek, her eyes glossy and hazed from the gathering tears.
“I’m glad you’re finally eating enough,” she whispers with a voice that barely holds intact, and they both know why it’s shaking, why everything’s trembling; her hands, her voice and her tears.
His bottom lip is twitching too from witnessing his mom being so happy for his sake. But he doesn’t want to cry. He must stay oblivious and strong and pretend that things are finally how they should’ve been: normal and easy and wholesome and good. For her, he will never show that he’s shaking… Too many things in her life have done that when she needed them to stay stable and safe.
“Wish me luck,” he gives her a nervous smile, laughing the tears away.
“I always do…”
He leaves before his tower crumbles, slips out into the sweet, scented night.
There’s roses somewhere, roses that smell heavenly, some early jasmine too that wishes to intoxicate his mind. He realizes he has nothing with him to take as a gift for her, and cusses again. This is a fucking date, and he’s not even dressed properly; he doesn’t even have flowers to bring with him… She’s going to think he’s a nobody, some penniless freak who dresses like a crazy person when he’s supposed to dazzle her and make her swoon.
On his way to her place, he stops to cut a small branch from a flowering rowan tree and shelters it from the gusts of wind that blow from the river. The tiny flowers are delicate and fragrant, not exactly what he would’ve taken to her had he been clever enough to visit a florist before they all closed. But it’s cute enough, to him at least, especially when it’s cut from the tree that was his safe haven as a boy.
The curtains at her window shift when he arrives at the gate, and he knows she’s been expecting him, waiting for the clock to strike ten as eagerly as he.
The front door opens, and there she is: dressed far more accordingly than he; his lady has slipped into a sweet summer dress like the angel that she is. It’s bright and yellow, far from the darkness he always wears, and his heart is slowly squeezing to bits inside his chest.
“Hey,” she gives him a wide, knee-buckling smile.
“Hey,” he smiles back, marching to her door like a horny, ugly wolf. “You want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful ni–”
The moment he arrives at her feet, the moment she sees that he’s carrying a tiny branch from the rowan tree for her, she snatches the front of his shirt and pulls him inside with a surprising amount of strength.
His forehead hits the doorframe with a thick thud before he manages to bow, and there’s a bit of a commotion after that. He huffs something akin to Oof and laughs, making the angel flit around him in a wild, flustered shame, apologizing to him at least ten times.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”
“Heh. It’s okay,” he smiles while rubbing the achy spot on his head. He’s forced to sit into an old wicker chair, wide enough to accommodate his back but far too low to hold his stature. He sinks inside it like a veritable giant while she continues to fuss around him, inspecting his “wound” and taking the offering from him with a helpless, embarrassed stare.
“I’ll get you some ice,” she says before leaving him in his chair, the flower he brought softly placed on the bed.
He’s afraid the furniture will break if he moves, so he stays as still as possible while taking in his surroundings, the soft girl adobe he has somehow managed to sneak his sorry rotten arse into.
She has a large TV in front of her bed, a gaming console and a lot of books, candles everywhere he steals a look. The beige bedding looks freshly changed and incredibly soft, and there’s an old bunny toy on her bedstand along with another book, both loved to bits. Some houseplants on the floor appear to be doing extremely well, a small leather bag and some makeup left scattered on her desk. Rocks and twigs and dried flowers rest on her window sill, treasures she’s gathered from her trails. It makes his heart grow soft because he knows she will probably put his little offering there too. A bouquet of expensive, luxurious flowers wouldn’t have hit their target at all.
She returns with a small pack of ice and rushes to him in her flowy, blooming summer dress. Descends on her knees and brings a small towel to his forehead before pressing the ice over it, ensuring that it’s not too cold to make him uncomfortable.
As if he could ever feel uncomfortable, seated in a wicker chair with an angel between his legs, treating his supposed wound with ice and the softest touch…
“Remember all those postcards you sent me?” he asks while she continues to look like the worst person who ever lived, simply because she was too eager to pull him inside her room.
“Sadly, yes.”
“Remember what you wrote to me?”
“Not really,” she says, dabbing the ice pack all over the rising bump on his head. “Something stupid, I suppose…”
“You told me that you love me.”
Her eyes dart to his for a while, hope and shame battling in her fae stare.
“...Oh God.”
“Many times. And then you told me that I’m cute…”
She sighs and brings the ice and the cloth somewhere in her lap. The breasts inside their soft little cell look astoundingly delicious when viewed from up here: he’s slouching in a chair and still, is able to take a rude little peek inside her dress. He slaps himself mentally for being such a goddamn pervert, but then she sighs again, the cute little peaches swelling inside her dress once more.
“That’s it?”
“That’s mostly it, yes…”
He’s getting hard here, which is a problem. A big, big problem…
His shy admirer never notices anything, not even when he softly gestures for her to give the ice to him. He continues to press it on his forehead, trying to concentrate on the cold sensation rather than the swelling dick in his pants.
How is he supposed to not grow hard when he knows this adorable little creature has been infatuated with him for so long? When he knows she’s flustered now, just from hearing him tease her about those silly, harmless cards?
“I kept every single one,” he tells her, only to watch how the shy girl grows even shyer.
“You didn’t…”
“I did.”
He tells her about the bullies and how they made it look like they had sent the cards, telling him no girl could ever want to be with him. It’s a sad attempt to fish for her affection and pity, words of contempt and judgement to hammer it home that he did receive those cards from this girl, he did, in fact, deserve to be loved and adored.
And then she starts to talk about how she watched him... How she went to a different school than him, but that she sometimes strolled behind him when he walked home. They shared the journey to and from school, and he was always completely unaware that he was being followed.
“You stared at this rowan tree for what seemed like hours,” she recalls with a sad smile. “Then, if a bee caught your eye, or a bird or some flower, you stopped to ogle at those instead…”
He laughs, but there’s a bittersweet stone in his chest. If he remembers correctly, these were the only times of the day he could drop his eternal guard: in school, he was being tormented by cruel kids and at home there lived a tyrant with his sad little subjects. Trees and bees and birds were a welcome distraction.
She smiles a little, but it’s not a happy smile, even if it is affectionate.
“My mom always told me to come straight back home,” she says. “But you were never in a hurry...”
He looks at her, and she looks back, some pity in her eyes. There arrives a sweet and sour pain in his heart, a feeling that comes from knowing there was someone who witnessed a glimpse of the hope and pain he lived in. That there was someone there all along…
“You even stopped to look at dog poo…”
“Heh... Was that the moment you fell for me?”
Her lip twitches, the pity in her stare breaks. She rises a little to lean forward, and he catches her with ease as she falls there into his arms, snug into his lap. His lips find hers without effort, and sensation bleeds: his hands are sweaty and shaking as he runs them down along her dress, cups her ass so that she gives a little gasp straight into his mouth.
That’s the thing he was pining for: for her to open that pretty little mouth so that he could pry it further open with his own. Plunge an exploring tongue inside, not too quick and not too greedy, just a little poke to see if she wants to be claimed.
The angel melts in his lap, like pure white snow, until he braces his core and rises to his feet. It’s now or never, and he’s not going to let this moment slip past his fingers. Somehow, they end up on the bed, the smell of fresh linens and her dainty perfume catching his nose before she presses a pair of weak hands on his chest.
“The flower...”
The flower... Of course.
The flower from the rowan tree.
He huffs a laugh on her face, a relieved smile as he understands she’s only worried about trampling his gift.
It’s set aside on the table, but right after that, he attacks her again, begins the ascension to heaven. His lips won’t get enough of her, not even as he drinks her like honeydew and ambrosia: the dress he used to associate with seraphs and summer now seems like a huge obstacle between his tongue and her skin, the need to taste more of her urgent in his hips.
“Can I take this off?” He roughs a hand down the fabric that shields her breasts, relishing the tiny moan that follows when he does that. “I want to kiss you everywhere…”
Her throat makes a wet, charming sound as she swallows, her eyes now pools of dark, drunken love.
“On one condition,” she tells him, out of breath. “If I can kiss you everywhere too?”
It’s a deal, his mind exclaims immediately, but his devilish grin is how he tells her he’s more than eager to accept these terms. His clothes find their way on the floor along with hers, black on black on yellow, but he won’t let her shiver in the cold for long. Like a man possessed, his body finds hers, her soft, naked skin colliding with his like heaven after all those lonely nights of slick, urgent fapping.
He’s not sure who’s worshipping who here, but he vows to never again let this angel fly under his radar, no matter how perfect of a guardian she has been. A guardian angel, following him with her blessed stare, sending him heavenly messages that were real and true all along.
She should be rewarded for her abundant gifts, and so his lips find her shoulders and her neck; they graze her nipples and claim her breasts in devouring that leaves her back arching on the bed.
“You don’t have a girl? Waiting for you back there...?” she asks shyly, even when half her tit is being sucked by his mouth.
“The only thing waiting for me back there is my hand,” he rasps while diving down, down, down, all the way past her navel and the mound she still tries to protect from plunder.
“...I can be your girl,” she whispers somewhere high above, her hands holding his head like that of an untamed dog. “If you want…?”
He breathes on the apex between her thighs, presses a furious kiss there without care.
“F-fuck…” she sighs those thighs open, and from that point on, nothing is enough.
It’s horrible that it must be so: that he finally gets to drink his fill, and it’s still not enough. Her sighs are not enough, her trembling body is not enough. Her attempts to muffle her moans with the back of her hand are not nearly enough.
He wants more, so much more: he wants to try all there is to this with her, forever and ever until the day he dies. He wants to hear her soil her tongue with more curses as he ruins her, bit by bit, just a little bit…
“Say it,” he pants into her glistening lips, “Say that you’re my girl…”
When she does nothing but whimpers in return, he attacks her with both teeth and tongue. Bruises the thigh beside her treasure before plunging straight towards the main prize with reckless want. That’s what finally forces the words out of her mouth: his tongue inside her cunt, delving so deep he has to breathe through his nose to keep from fainting.
“I’m your girl,” she moans on the bed, a bit louder now. “I’m yours, I promise… I always… Always…”
I always was….
She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t need to.
He grants her mercy after that, replacing the tongue with a finger or two. Slow wide circles over her clit accompanied by quick little pumps in her hole make her cum in no time, and he’s glad he listened to the dirty mess talk of his filthy comrades. Patience is not his virtue, but for her, he makes all the effort.... He for sure leaves a little memory on her thigh. It’s not very nice of him, and he fears those teeth marks might stay with her longer than just a few weeks.
Maybe she’ll forgive him if he fucks her after this, rocks her slowly and softly, fucks her like angels ought to be fucked. But no, fucking is not the right word... He wants to make love to her. Drink her moans right from her lips while he does it.
After the climax, he’s still hard and she’s still panting.
He wonders if he’ll get slapped or kissed if he asks for permission to put it inside now... His dick is throbbing while they stare at the ceiling together, but as always, his angel is two steps ahead.
“My turn,” she says with newfound vigour, and he gets more than he bargained for: everything and more as she gives his body the same attention he just gave her. Bites his nipples a little too hard, the little minx, licks his ribs as if it’s some kind of a contest to try and make him tickle. Laughs angel trails across his skin, draws a finger down his nether hair until she meets his jutting dick.
She gives him a tame little lick at first, then slowly, expeditiously, kisses his cock from root to tip. Before due time, his thighs start to tremble, and that’s when she takes it in her mouth: sucks and licks him deep until his abs and balls pull tight. The sheet in his fist threatens to get torn to shreds when he cums, and for a moment, he forgets everything, even his name, until he notices that the poor little thing can’t swallow all his load. She almost chokes on the first spurt, withdraws to cough with her mouth closed while he hisses fat curses past clenched teeth.
When he arrives back to Earth, there’s cum everywhere: on her face, on the sheets, all over his abdomen and his thighs, an eruption that spilled everywhere because his angel got a little appalled.
“I’m sorry,” she peeps with her mouth still full of it.
The poor girl swallows it bravely, and his heart is about to explode: his angel swallows his filthy load like a champ and looks so incredibly valiant while doing it.
“Hey,” he raises a shaking hand towards her, too weak to rise from the bed to comfort her. “It’s okay… You didn’t need to do that…”
“But I wanted to,” she complains while the thick, sticky cum drips down her cheek and onto her breasts.
“Shit… Come here,” he coaxes, and she crawls forward to nestle in the nook of his arm.
He uses the sheet to dry the rest of it off her face. She looks up at him with that trademark seraph stare, so helpless and in love—if this is what having a girlfriend is like, then he doesn’t feel bad at all that he had to wait a little longer than most men. It was worth all the trouble and toil that he has her here now, in his arms, batting her lashes sweetly.
“You’re still incredibly cute, you know...?” she whispers, and a mountain inside him moves.
It’s not sorrow, nor is it yearning; it’s just sweet, simple love. The room smells of salt and sin, but there’s nothing sinful about her when she cups his chin. He knows it’s not elegant to tell someone you love them on the day you've met them, but if the one you love happens to be an angel, then isn't it a sin not to confess?
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actually your characters should be pure wish fulfillment and your writing should be entirely self indulgent and it should all be very, incredibly, undeniably horny.
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cw: dubcon humping. gn reader. he’s just a little pent up guys.
gaz is absolutely the type to squeeze you into a hug that lasts a bit too long.
idk, maybe you’re his best friend or something. someone he instantly clicked with at uni and who’s stuck around despite everyone else in his life falling away like pastry crumbs. devotion that isn’t romantic nor entirely platonic in a sense, but a secret third thing that has you inviting him to stay the night when he returns home and his flat is too far a drive for someone so tired.
you greet him at your door when he arrives. he’s bulkier than when he left for deployment, fills up the arms of his t-shirt and the thighs of his pants. smells like sweat and the faint traces of his cologne (Y by yves saint laurent. you’d gotten it for his birthday.) so sexy you might as well abandon your propriety and slip a hand down the course hairs of his happy trail. but you don’t. instead, you go in for one of your patented this-isn’t-more-than-a-friendship half hugs.
which he does not take. as your one arm hooks around his neck, both of his wrap around your waist and force you to embrace him fully. it’s crushing. so tight you have to lift your head to breathe properly. he lifts you off your feet and sways you back and forth as he whispers little complaints; things about stubborn CO’s or unnecessary bloodshed. you allow it because it sounds like he needs it, this small comfort.
except it verges on longer than a few seconds. longer than proper for a pair of good uni friends. his hand kneads the flesh of your back, and his hips grind against your groin. is he hard, or is that a gun he has yet to unarm? you can’t tell, but it seems to work for him when the hard mass in his jeans catches the canyon of yours. he groans quietly, stuttered, as his thrusts gain pace. as he tightens himself like a cobra around its prey. as he plants his lips onto your neck and starts inhaling the scent of your freshly washed skin.
“…kyle?” you whisper, awkward hands flailing about behind him. your voice comes out in a strained way, vocal chords crushed against his shoulder.
“jus… give- fuck. give me a moment, mate.”
so you do. it doesn’t last much longer after that, anyway. his grinding grows brutal, knocks the little air left out of your lungs. it hurts to a degree. he’s hitting the tendon between your leg and crotch – and you’re sure it’ll be tender in the upcoming days – but you don’t voice your troubles to the man around you, who unravels at such a startling pace you know he’s too far gone to pay proper attention regardless. how else would he be bold enough to grope the plush curve of your ass? two hands latch onto it like dough, anchoring you up so the angle hits just right.
and then he starts to get sloppy. his rhythm loses pace. his stance widens and he fucking whines into your ear as a wet spot spreads across the front of his pants. you’re so dizzy that, when he lets go of you, you have to hold onto his forearm to steady yourself, blinking owlishly at the grin that stretches across his face. as if he didn’t just hump you and cream in his clothes. why are you the one disarmed?
“thanks for that.” he winks, then pets the flyaways off your temple.
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Kathryn Newton being in my two favourite horror movies of the year… iconic tbh
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