missmewts - Tumblr blog

missmewts · 6 months

Note

i am disgusting and need to be sedated

Ok ok, I know the whole "Monty is a aggressive egotistical gator with anger issues so that makes him a dom" but imagine ✨sub Monty✨ the type of sub that overestimate themselves just because they know how people think of them only to be a pussy drunk idiot who can't even answer simple questions.

A/N: I... my dears this is so fucking long. Like... 7000 words long. I... I don't write smut ever, and than I come out and write two in a week, one of which is the size of a novelette. I hope you all enjoy this, because I absolutely loved writing it. Also, uh, if you want to know what I think Monty's dick looks like, Bad Dragon's Orochi (medium or large). AND THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!! I hope this is what you wanted!

Reader: AFAB Gender Neutral!

Warnings: dom reader, incorrect usage of a belt (muzzle, whip), teasing, swearing, blow jobs and hand jobs, PinV sex, no protection (keep it safe, keep it clean! even with robots!), monster cock, belly bulge

It was almost pitch-black in Monty’s room. The giant window blacked out with thick curtains and glass that had been thoroughly tinted, and the only ounce of light was from the small green lamps stationed by his desk. The sounds outside gave a complete contrast to the room. People talking and laughing, photos being snapped and the sounds of skidding feet on polished floors, all of which still leaked into the room and past the sound muffling of thick glass and walls.

It was still day time in the Pizzaplex, and still at the height of the busy day, but for some reason that just fuelled the energy the floated between Monty and yourself, a spark of excitement at the risk and need to stay as quiet as possible.

His hands, cold metal and rounded nails gave you a couple firm squeezes from where you sat on top of him, but your eyes narrowed down at his at even the tiniest hint of him trying to guide. You had already made it well and truly clear who was going to be in-charge, and you would keep it that way. That, you had promised the both of you.

“You better be a good boy.” You warned, hands splayed on his chest and nails slightly scratching the laid metal as they went down his abdomen, and slowly crawled back up. It was a simple tease, but with so much weight behind it, and you both knew that - understood how much this specific moment contrasted every other that was before it.

Monty’s eyes narrowed at that, and a low growl emanated from his chest and through steal, and you had to take a deep breath as it traveled down to between your legs, which had been so tightly pressed against him. His eyes were shining with a mixture of amusement and dark desire, and his hands gave an almost threatening squeeze as he kept your eyes.

You should have known that he wouldn’t play nice. A man who had been dominant for nearly every single fuck he’s had, who has always thrived on the control and power, was now laying below you, fighting everything in him that you knew was telling him to pin you down and fuck you into the couch. It was almost sweet, actually. That he had been fighting it for this long, letting you run your hands up his body slowly, teasingly, letting you brush kisses against his upper chest and underneath his jaw. He had fought to keep his composer, of course, always being the cocky, arrogant man that he is, but you were going to get rid of that soon enough.

“Do you think you can do that? Be good?” You prodded him, a slow crawling grin spreading across your face as his hands tightened with an edge of pain. He pushed you down into his crotch with a slow grind, and kept you there, putting the perfect amount of pressure on your core that had your breath hitching.

“You better not let this get to your head, sweetheart.” He warned, a soft huff leaving his snout as he gestured to your body. “Keep pushing and I’ll show you who’s really in charge.”

You actually laughed at that. Head lifted and hand coming to almost daintily cover your grinning lips as you shook your head.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you taunted. “You try getting the upper hand and I’ll just walk right out those doors. It’s a very busy day, and I bet I have got a ton of tasks that need doing.”

The growl he let out was even louder this time.

“You wanna test me?” He sat up at that, or at least tried to. Your hands planted themselves more firmly on his chest and shoved him back down, eyes narrowing and smile gone as you leaned over him.

Your nose gently brushed against the tip of his snout, eyes staying firmly on his as you slid your hands down and wrapped them around his wrists. You kept them there for a moment, letting the thick air settle around you both as you waited for him to make another move. There was a threat in your eyes now, you could practically feel it yourself, and you kept his gaze long enough to cement it within his mind as well. He might have the strength, but you had the winning cards, and you would leave if he made any trouble. You could see that in his eyes now. That understanding that had your core twisting in excited delight.

“Baby, whether you’re made of steel or not, I’ve got the power right now.” You rose your face a bit further away from his, though you were still hovering of him. “I’ll make you feel good, but only if you stop being a brat.” You gently kissed his snout now, down the sides, to his cheek, than slowly back up. Your tongue darted out once you got to the top again, running tauntingly across his long teeth before settling back to a sitting position. “You got that?”

The question hung in the air for a few agonizingly long seconds, and your thumbs brushed against his hands before he let out a sound so reminiscent of a long, deep exhale. He relaxed after a moment, settled into the impossible soft couch, and a grin spread across his face as his thumbs brushed across your clothed hips.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard once your finished.” He promised that, you could tell. And the mere thought sent a needing ache through your body as you hummed.

You leaned back down at that, close to where his ear was as you cupped his face. “Oh, honey, not before I fuck you so good you can’t think.”

Oh that look on his face when you settled back. Eyes gleaming with dark arousal and excitement, mixing with that previous mirth as his nails playfully dug into your sides. My, you both were going to be having fun tonight. You could practically feel the competitiveness in the air, oozing off of the both of you, leaving to both of you covered in thick and heady lust.

“Well?” He asked after a moment, a giant grin spreading on his face as he stared into your eyes. “Are you all words, or are you actually going to make due on your promise?”

You glared at him at that. “You keep talking back and the only thing you’re going to be getting is my hands at best.”

Monty, much to your amusement, actually looked shocked at that. He’d never heard you speak to him like that, and you could see it actually left him speechless for a moment. Jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide.

“Hands. Up.” You ordered. Voice steely as you tapped both wrists.

It took him a few seconds, a slight hesitation, before he lifted them up to lay beside his head. They were both clenching and unclenching, and you gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Good boy.”

You moved down than, sliding your hips to rest on the tops of his thighs, before unbuckling his pants and opening them. He lifted his hips without you needing to say anything, and you slowly pulled them down as you stood up and took them to the bottom of his feet. You kept them there, a twist coiling in your core at the slight amount of restraint it had over him.

Your eyes moved up his thighs, noting how absolutely sinful it was that they had been molded to emulate thick cords of muscle, and eventually settled on his crotch. There was a plate between them, closed and hiding what you didn’t know you so desperately needed in this moment until this point.

“Common,” You beckoned. “Don’t be shy, show me what you’ve got hiding.”

“Always the cock hungry one, aren’t you.” He teased. You looked up at him at that. Staring into his eyes as you heard the plate open. You didn’t look down for a moment though, only kept his eyes as you slowly, oh so slowly, unbuttoned your top.

“Did I say you could talk to me like that?” You questioned, emphasizing the words with the pops of your buttons. “Actually… I don’t remember allowing you to talk period.” Your shirt was now completely open, chest covering the last thing over your abdomen as you moved to remove your belt. A thought rose in your mind as you slowly took the thick leather out of your pants hoops, and you titled your head with a soft hum at the beautifully evil thought.

“Maybe…” You started just as the belt was off and laying in one hand. “I should find a way to keep it closed, if you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself. What do you think?”

“Oh..- fuck.” He groaned at that, much to your surprise. Deep and rumbling and absolutely thick with need. His eyes closed for a moment, hands clenched tightly as he tried to regain any ounce of composure before he looked back at you. He didn’t say anything though, and a grin spread across your face yet again.

Who would have thought Montgomery was one for being muzzled?

“Oh… Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You asked, head tilted as you took a step towards him.

He opened his mouth a couple times, and you could see he was truly thinking for a moment.

“Yes. Fuck, sweetheart, yes.”

You nearly whimpered at that. Never in your entire time knowing and dating Monty, would you have thought he would let you top him, let alone practically gag him. And not just that, but he was also getting well and truly into it. Body tightened up like a thick metal cord, hands creaking from how tightly they were curled into fists, and his cock, fuck, thick and long and now oozing precum that trailed down the ridges and curves.

You swallowed thickly, collecting yourself for a breath of a moment before you adjust the belt in your hand. Your feet were quiet as you walked up his body, eyes never leaving his as you let the belt drag up his calf, up his thigh, with each set step. You couldn’t help but well and truly appreciate all the wiring they had put into his body to let him feel every ghost of the leather across his body. To give him the opportunity to feel each touch and graze you would torture him with.

You only stopped looking into his eyes when you made it to his hips, looking down and letting a soft moan slip from your lips as you looking at the cock that stood proudly out and erect. You let the belt brush over it, watched the shaft bob as the leather pulled it down and slid off of it. Monty nearly whined at that, though he was quick to cover it up with a groan, eyes closing as his hips lifted. You smiled at that, continuing the motion a couple more times with a bit more pressure as you catch his reactions. Precum stained the belt, leaving light streaks that moved to smudge against his cock as you repeat the action again.

You couldn’t help but give it a few light taps, after you knew he was comfortable with it, and a deep growl rumbled from his body as his head lifted up and a soft fuck left his mouth. His hips lifted towards the touch, towards what must have been such a sweet sting, from the barely covered mewl that left him when you avoided touching him there anymore. Instead you pushed yourself to walk past his cock and dragged the belt up his chest.

You lifted the belt up a bit, and brought it down on on his chest, all the while keeping your eyes on his to see his reaction. His eyes were still tightly closed. A hiss leaving his lips as his hips bucked again, and when he didn’t dissuade you or show any signed of discomfort, you brought it down again with just a bit more strength. He growled at that. Body almost shaking as you repeated the motions of few more times before placing your makeshift whip on his chest.

“Do you like this, sweetness?” You asked, heading tilting with a grin when he eventually opened his eyes and stare into yours.

They already looked heady, a thick fog over his eyes as he watched you bring it down again when he didn’t respond.

“I asked you something.”

“... Yes.” He grunted out, and a look of almost damaged pride grazed his face at that. You tilted you head at that, a small twist of amusement in your stomach as you mocked a confused look.

“Yes… What?”

He growled, eyes narrowing as his let out ragged huffs of air. One of his hands dug into the couch, body shifting with heavy need as stood there and waited.

“You little shit-”

You whipped him again this time harder and enough to have him hissing at the sting. “Manners, Monty.”

He kept his gaze on yours for a second, before he nodded. “Yes, I like it.”

A hum left your lips at that, soft and relaxed as you brushed the leather up and down his chest. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? The only behaviour that is rewarded is good behaviour - if you don’t start fixing your attitude, I can stay like this all night.”

He snorted at that, eyes rolling in a way that had you tilting your head in a warning gesture. He, of course, pushed forwards anyways. And you could see he enjoyed it, playing a cocky brat who won’t get pussy drunk or desperate.

“I don’t think you have that much- fuck!” He growled, sharply cut off with a slap of the belt on his lower stomach, a mere inches from his cock, and his head lifted up, snout emulating the sound of panting and hands clenching yet again.

“Be.” You whipped him again. Keeping your eyes on his face for any sign of pushing to far. “Quiet.” You emphasized the last one with a sharper hit, and Monty growled. Thick and clawed hand desperately grabbing onto the couch arm rest above him, and gripping it so tightly it creaked.

A low growl, deep and coated with pleasure left him as he open his eyes and glared at you. “You wouldn’t want everyone to know that I’m making you my bitch now, would you?”

He didn’t reply to that, eyes staying on your with a look of pure feral need as his hand gripped the armrest even tighter. He was wound up tight, body shifting and hips shaking and raising up as if begging you to touch him.

You smiled at that. “Soon, but you have to be good first, pet.” The pet name was a test, a word spoken with a hidden question that he answered with nearly black eyes and a wordless yes.

You laid the belt back down on his chest. Eyes never leaving his has you slowly popped the button of your pants, and agonizingly pulled down the zipper. His eyes never left yours, not when you slowly pulled your pants down, or when you let the shirt fall from your shoulders. But they did when you pulled off your chest covering, let it drop to the floor and leaving you only in your underwear and standing a mere foot away from him.

He looked utterly destroyed by lust. His free hand curling into a fist and slamming into the cushions as he stared at your body like he was going to consume it. “I don’t think I can be play this game much longer-”

“You can.” You cut him off, taking those two steps towards him and than moving to straddle him, just above his cocks. “I know that you would not be this hard if you weren’t enjoying every minute of this. I’ve got you, baby, let me handle this.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” He tried to cover up his amusement with a warning tone when he said that, but the moment you looked into his eyes you could see the amusement. The shine in his eyes that was sparkling with excitement.

You grinned at that. “I definitely am.”

“You little shit-” The belt was back in your hands, and before he could finish, you were wrapping it tightly around his snout.

“Enough.” You finished tying the belt off, a firm look on your face as you sat back and inspected your handiwork with a spark of satisfaction. “I think I’m done with the banter for now.”

My what a wonderfully sweet view you had. Sitting atop this uncontrollable man, a leather belt wrapped so tightly he couldn’t even twitch his mouth, and, as you moved to sit on his thighs, a cock now oozing like he had already came. Throbbing and standing tall and looking achingly hard and abused and you had barely touched them.

Your hands twitched at that. Fingers practically burning with need to touch him as you scanned his body. Engrained this image into your mind for eternity.

Of course, you needed to tease just a bit more. Just enough to send him into that pit of desperation. Just enough where he would be begging for you to touch him. Soft thighs clenched at that, that ache turning into a burn as you ran your hands up his chest and down to his belly, just above where he wanted you to touch the most.

You kept your fingers just around his lower belly, brushing with ghost touches around the sensitive metal, down the tops of his thighs to the insides, nails grazing just right against his testicles that had him moaning in pleasure.

Soft thighs twitched at the sight, your cunt clenching around nothing and clit throbbing with need, and you had to keep steady breaths to focus on the man laying underneath you. Fuck, you were so turned on, hands moving to tease around his cocks as his eyes started at your movements with hungry and feral eyes.

You ground your hips at that. Leaning towards one thigh and drrragging your cunt around the cold metal, feeling the fabric of your underwear rub against your clit.

You lifted your hips, moved a leg, and sat back down so you were straddling on thigh. The cold sent a shock through your core again, hitting your clit like ice and pushing a desperate little moan from your lips as you pressed yourself firmly down and humped his like.

“Fuck, Monty.” You gasped, eyes staring deep into his and you ground yourself onto his leg. Letting shots of pleasure throb through your aching pearl as you let yourself get lost in the addictive feeling of control and pleasure. Oh you could absolutely see why he loved this so much. Seeing that nearly rage fuelled glare in his eyes as his hands fisted whatever they could to fight what you knew was so akin to a predator drive.

Your hands continued to caress him. Running up his muscled abdomen and back down with sharp and biting nails you almost felt sad wouldn’t leave a mark behind. His hips twitched again, cock bobbing as more precum slid down, and you felt that coil tighten so sharply in your stomach your back arched and head fell back with a barely quieted whine. One of your hands slid down at that point, taking the opportunity to tease him further.

Fingers, almost shyly brushed against his cock. Down the ridges and textures and up towards the head before going back down. Every couple of thrusts you would repeat the motion, before eventually you looked up into his eyes and, without a second beat, wrapped a hand around his thick shaft and moved down to the base. Your hand still struggled to wrap fully around him, finger tips barely meeting as you stroked him in time with your thrusts.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Gods, you were so close. Jagged breaths leaving your body as you pressed your now soaking cunt onto his leg that was now coated from you. And the feeling of his cock in your hand seemed to just fuel the fires. Twisting them and feeding them, helping them reach up and lick into your very soul and pull the sweetest of pleasure out of your body.

And Monty… Monty was going absolutely feral as he watched. Body coiling and begging for release as he heard your muffled whines, watched your hips grind grind grind and soak his thigh. Your hand stroked his shaft so wonderfully, an almost too tight grip that had him growling with pleasure, and nearly cumming than and there.

He was so close. Almost there. Just there- and you stopped. Hand completely letting him go as you sucked in ragged breathes and shook your head. His body nearly recoiled at that, a growl that was almost too loud rumbling out of his as you rose up and stared him down. And the lust induced rage swam in his chest as his hand slammed down and his body burned from the denial.

“No, not yet.” You gasped, thighs almost burning from the constant motion as you splayed your hands on his chest.

“You only get to cum after I do, you understand? Only with me permission.”

Monty’s hand slammed into the armrest at that, leaving a giant indent that only made you smile. You could see the understanding in his eyes, the look of almost regret as you continued grinding against him. He had taught you so well how to hold off from your previous escapades. From when he would keep you on the edge and promise a ruined orgasm if you came before he said so. Those nights had been such wonderful agony, and you couldn’t help the part of you that had wanted to return the favour, in your own way of course. And if that meant using his favourite methods against him? You were absolutely not against that.

You hands, now both of them, wrapped around his cock, and your eyes never left his as you stroked him. Squeezing just right as you kept your hips moving and your pleasure rolling towards you. Hands moved down to the base with a twist and rising up the rub a thumb over the droplets of cum before going back down. And every time he came even close to the edge you stopped. Alternating at random between squeezing him at his base or completely letting go.

You kept him there, kept the both of you there, for so long you had felt like you were going mad from the pleasure, and it was easy to see the Monty felt the same. Rumblings of pleasure and the sweetest moans you’d ever heard from him leaving his muzzled snout, his eyes closed as tightly as they could get, hands making an absolutely wreck of the couch. He looked absolutely, purely, animalistic, and you couldn’t help the ounce of pride that left you at how good he was being for you. Keeping his hands off of you and letting you take the lead, controlling himself just for you.

Of course, that thought was quickly dispelled once you felt his thigh lift up to match your grinding. Helping to put delicious pressure on your clit as you rocked against him. You frowned at that, eyes narrowing as you caught on to his intentions.

It was almost adorable, really. How desperate he was to cum, so much so that he would try to cheat and make you cum faster. And, with much amusement, you let him continue driving you on. Continue to help push you towards the wonderful edge as you let out high and barely muffled whines and moans, deep groans leaving your clenched jaw as you rose your head to the ceiling and felt your back arch with the upcoming release.

Yes, you would let this slide, let him help you fall into pleasure, but you most certainly weren’t going to let him come so soon after this little stunt.

That seemed to be the last push you needed before you were floating through clouds and your brain went thick with static. Your free hand quickly came up to muffle your cries, teeth digging into the heel of your palm as you rolled against his thigh, all the while he continued lifting his leg to match your pace and keep the pressure perfectly right against your throbbing clit as you made a mess of his leg and your underwear.

You hadn’t even realized you had continued to stroke him through your orgasm, eyes shut and body shuddering with frayed energy. It was only after he had let out a near whimper a kind you had never heard from him, that you came back to Earth and opened your eyes to catch his. And fuck, if he didn’t look so fucked out. Panting roughly and body shaking, as his eyes looked into yourself with a ferocious desperation that had sweet little aftershocks rolling through your body, even after you had stopped moving your hips.

“Good boy.” You praised him, giving a soft, blissed out smile as you continued stroking his one cock. “You doing so good for me, pet. Do you think you deserve a treat?” He groaned at that, eyes never once leaving yours. He was still being bratty, not wanting to be completely submissive, but you could see he was so close to giving into you. Hand yet again curling into fist as your hand slowly stroked up with a loose grip.

The only response he gave was a hardened stare, fists creaking from metal as he tried to take one last stand.

A soft, disappointed hum left your throat, and a patronizing frown pulled your lips down as you tutted at his behaviour. You let go of his cock, both hands moving to rest on the tops of your thighs as he let out a near roar at the loss of contact again.

“Hm… maybe you’re not after all…”

He shook his head. Eyes closing and head flopping into the couch again, snout upturned as he struggled to chose between pleasure and pride. He needed you. Needed your hands and your mouth and your cunt and ass, and he needed it all and now. Right now. Right. Now. Or he was going to combust. You could see that. See the struggle and the fight go on for a few more seconds before you decided to see just how willing he was to protect his ego.

“Very well.” Legs moving and body sliding, you slowly went to move off of his lap. Body lifting till there was barely an contact between the two of you, and it was only than he truly understood where you had placed yourself in this moment. His hand, shaking and desperate, bolted towards your wrist as he turned his head to look back at you again. Eyes wide and almost vulnerable as his head shook, a near whine left his throat, eyes begging as you froze over him.

“You gonna work with me on this, baby?” You prodded, head tilted as he gave a shaky nod. “No more playing big tough man?” Monty growled at that, hand tightening around your wrist before your hard glare had his releasing the pressure. He nodded again, and the grin that spread over you face was full of pride and wolfish lust as you leaned forwards and cupped his cheek. “I knew you had it in you, sweetheart.”

You were sitting back down on his lap, hands dancing across his chest as you took him in once last time before your eyes settled on his weeping cock. Your mouth watered again, begging to taste his seed on your tongue, to feel each ridge and pressure of his tip pressing against the back of your throat. You leaned down, moving your hips so you were sitting just above his knees and settling down so your head was level with his hips.

A hand tentatively lifted up and wrapped around his cock, slow pumps with deliberate intention as you meet his eyes with a soft and imploring look, before you poked your tongue out and darted it across the slit of his cock. Your eyes close at that, a soft moan leaving your lips as you ran your tongue down to the base and back up again. Feeling the near boiling heat that stained itself onto your tongue and lips as you moved back to the tip, wrapping your lips tightly around it before slowly sinking down.

Monty looked absolutely breathless as he watched you, red eyes moving between your lips and eyes as you sank back up and rose again. He looked absolutely in heaven, right now. Heavily lidded lustful stares and rumbling moans as his hands fisted anything he could get his hands on, though he actively avoided touching you. You hadn’t given him permission and, for once, he was properly listening. Not sparking any challenge to trying to be obstinate in any way - just enjoying the pleasure you were giving him. And, you realized, you had a inkling that he was thoroughly enjoying giving up his control as this moment.

You kept the pace steady, helping build him up and up, but never actively reaching for his release. You were bringing him back to the edge again with each twirl of your tongue around the head of his cock and against the ridges, sinking down and humming in a way that him crying out and whining. He was so close, feeling your tongue on the underside of his cock, or pressing against the slit on his head had him breathless and catapulting towards release. But with that came a spark of realization, eyes opening as he stared into yours and saw just what you were intending. He fought against the tide, pleasure pulling and twisting in his stomach and his cock, body sparking with energy, and he let out a desperate whine as he tried to fight off what was coming.

And you, you only grinned, watching him struggle to avoid the oncoming orgasm as you dragged him towards release, hand stroking the base where you couldn’t fully reach and thumb pushing against the underside in a way that had him going insane with pleasure.

You stopped just before he was truly at the cliff, shushing him when he nearly sobbed at the loss. As much as you would love to taste him on your tongue as he came, you could practically feel yourself soaking the inside of your thighs with every shift of your hips. You needed him, to feel him inside of you and go have him cum deep in your pussy.

“Shhh, baby boy, I’m gonna make you feel good, don’t you worry.” You soothed him, hand cupping his cheek to get him to look at you. You smiled than, giving him a delicate kiss on his chin before you moved to take off your underwear.

You were shaking with desperation, throwing your underwear somewhere in the room before moving to hover over him. You hand reached down again, wrapping around it and giving it a few more strokes before you directed the head towards your slit. The both of you moaned as his cockhead brushed against your heat, slick getting caught on the head and easily sliding down his shaft. You gasped when his head hit your swollen clit, rubbing it back and forth before moving his cock so the tip pressed against your entrance. You kept him there, staring down at him as you kept him just barely breaching your entrance.

“You ready, sweetness?”

He frantically nodded, a beautiful whimper leaving his lips as you began to slowly sink yourself down on him.

Fuck, he was big. Thick and long and stretching you with a burn, one that mixed with the pleasure of feeling every ridge and texture graze against your silk walls. You whined, head lifting up and eyes shutting tightly as you controlled your breathing and paused in your descent. It didn’t matter how many times you had been stuffed with his dick, you always needed some time to adjust. You could barely even wrap your hands around him without there being a inch of space between them, and he was at least eleven inches long.

You took a few deep breaths, hands steadying themselves on his chest as you rose up slowly and moaned at the sensations, before you sank down again and took another couples of inches. The both of you were practically panting now, bodies shaking from pleasure and minds going blank from desire with each roll of your hips.

Eventually you were fully seated on him, thighs quivering in exertion as you took a few steadying breaths and opened your eyes to look at Monty.

Much to your expectations, he was looking at you. Pupils blown wide and shining with pride, as they always were when you took him so well. He absolutely adored watching you take him, always went feral at the sounds you made as you desperately tried to adjust to his size. You couldn’t help the spark of pride as well, feeling him stuffing you so full and having all but the slight inklings of a sting gone, completely overtaken by desperate need and pleasure.

You rolled your hips, pressing your pelvic bone against his as you kept your eyes connected. There was a energy floating between the two of you. As thick as molasses and as delectable as honey, and that continued to be stoked with each rise and fall of your hips. With each grind that had you crying out as the head of his dick perfectly ground against that spongy part in your hole.

Monty grunted, eyes closing for a second before a muffled sound of words vibrated against the metal. His hands gripped into the couch, eyes looking into yours and begging for what you could tell within a second was the ability to speak.

“Do you want to speak, sweet boy?” You asked, voice high and needy as you sank down on him again. You moaned out, hips shaking as you rose again.

He nodded at that, eyes closing at the sensation of your tight heat, and face completely blissed out as a whine left his throat.

“Do you think you’ve been good enough?”

He pried his eyes open at that, staring into yours with desperate need as you rocked against him with a hard grind. He nodded again, eyes begging you. You smiled at that, eyes gleaming with pride and amusement as you leaned forwards and moved to unwrap the thick belt around his snout.

He gasped once he was release from his confines, a slow groan leaving his chest as he bucked his hips to meet yours. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good, so tight. Fuck, please keep doing that, don’t stop!” He babbled out, eyes closed and head shaking as he ground his hips and matched your pace.

“I’m so proud of you, such an amazing pet- fuck!” You cried out, hands on his shoulders as you sank onto him.

"Monty!!" You whined out, eyes rolling back and head tilted back as you continues to push the both of you towards release. You hand moved down your stomach, fingers sliding through your wet heat and pressing against where you both met. You could feel how tight you were around him, so tight that it felt like a seal was made around him. You fingers moved up again, finding your clit where you rubbed yourself just right.

You were close he could tell. Your stomach clenching and thighs quivering as you rose up and slid back down without giving either of you room to breathe. A cry, almost too loud, left your lips as you sank down for the nth time, a hand coming up to grab your breast and tweak the bud as you quickened the pace.

A desperate growl left him at the absolutely wondrous sight he had before him. You were utterly astonishing. An absolutely masterpiece that, most especially in the position you were in right now, he would keep burned into his memory banks forever. He couldn't handle it anymore. He needed to touch you. To feel you.

Monty moaned out as you sank onto him again, cunt tensing in pleasure as your ground and pressed the head of his cock against your g-spot. "Please let me touch you. Please. Please I need to touch you. Need to lick your tits and play with your pearl, need to kiss you. FUCK! Please baby please." He was rambling again, mind completely frayed of any composer, only desperation and whines and beautiful growls that had you whimpering against him.

You couldn't even say anything, completely shocked at how fucked out he had gotten, how completely pussy drunk he was on you. Heady eyes stared into his as you gave a shaky nod, and before you knew it his hands were on you. One gripping your waist as the other splayed itself against your stomach, and added pressure to the bulge that appeared every time you were fully seated on him. His thumb found your swollen clit within seconds, moving your hand away, and rubbed it so perfectly you couldn't even make a sound. Mouth dropping open, brows creasing, head leaning back again as you both quickened the pace.

Your hands found his shoulders at that point, gripping them as you gave a small tug towards you that he easily understood as you needing him close. He sat up at that. Both of you moaning at the different angle, as the hand on your waist released and his arm wrapped firmly around your body, and hand splaying between your shoulder blades, pressing you tight against cold metal. You nipples hardened and stung at the sharp contrast, and your legs wrapped around his abdomen. His other hand was still between you, rubbing you at just the perfect pressure and pace that had you sobbing into his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him and held him tightly.

His own moans were just as desperate, almost high and whining as he drove himself deeper into you.

You were cumming before you could even properly process it. A freight train of ecstasy that had you crying out and Monty hastily covering you mouth to muffle the cries. Your hips were grinding down as hard as they could, picking up the pace as his bucked into yours at a brutal pace, and just as you clenched tightly around him, Monty was cumming. Back curling and forehead pressing against your chest as he tried desperately to silence his roar. His hot cum filled you, so much that it shot out of your body with each thrust and pooled between your bodies. And fuck if he wasn’t cumming hard and long. Body shaking as he growled and moaned and hands shakily and desperately grabbing onto you, any of you he could to stability.

The two of you stayed like that for a while. Even after you had come down from your highs, you stayed firmly wrapped around each other. Shared breath and pants as you rubbing your hands along his broad shoulders, and cupping the back of his head.

“Fuck baby… you’re something else.” He sounded breathless. Voice thick and almost cloudy as his hands moved to your hips and gave you a few gentle squeezes. You laughed at that, lazy and tired as you shook your head.

“Yeah.. no that was something else wasn’t it?”

He snorted at that, moving his head from your chest to sit up straight and stare down at you with a giant grin that had your heart bursting. “I’d give it a solid five.”

You gasped at that, hand shoving at his shoulder as he let out a shaking laugh. “A five? I would easily say that was a 9.8 at the least.”

“You’ll learn the true top methods eventually, little one-”

“Bullshit!” You cut him off with a laugh. “If I remember you were the one that was whining and and begging ‘please let me touch you please let me-’”

He growled out, eyes narrowing playfully as he gave a quick tickle to your sides that had you squeaking out with shock. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Damn I fucked you that could you actually blacked out?” You grinned as he gave you a warning glare, a laugh tumbling from your lips before you could stop it. He didn’t say anything, only kept his eyes narrowed and a playful frown on his lips as you settled down, hands finding his shoulders as you rubbed your thumbs against the nape of his neck. “So, does that mean I can do this again sometime-”

“Didn’t I tell you to not let this get to your head?”

“Pretty sure that was before I fucked you so hard you actually whined.”

He had finally had enough, another growl erupting from his throat as he, carefully, turned your positions so fast you actually gasped. Cock, still as hard as before, staying buried deep into you. He bared his weight onto you, one forearm resting beside your head, as his other hand coming to cup your cheek firmly. The look he gave you was firm, and so menacing a glare you felt yourself clench around him again. He grinned at that, though the edge behind it was still present.

“And I’m pretty sure that was after I told you I’d fuck you till you were cock dumb.”

You challenged him at that. A slight narrowing of your eyes before you jutted your chin towards him. “You think you can beat what I just did?”

The chuckle he let out was slow and sultry, a low rumble as he tilted your head to the side and leaned down to your throat and ear.

“Oh, sweet thing, I’m going to beat it tenfold.”

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missmewts · 9 months

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thought of the hour: babydaddy!keegan

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missmewts · 10 months

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𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 ⎹ 𝓑.𝓗.

fandom horror / brahms masterlist / @dollshorror-library

featuring brahms heelshire x chubby nanny!reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning dubcon, mention of head injury, rough fingering, squirting, brahms uses his little voice

summary you finally meet your ward

word count 3.1k / one shot

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

thanks so much @theluckychemist for another commission! ❤️

commission info & contact

you were locked in a fierce staring match with the open window. the window that hadn’t been open when you had just come downstairs to retrieve your laundry from the machine. it was the same window that had been plaguing you for days. you would close it, only to have it open again the next time you walked by. it must be the vicious winds during the past week’s merciless thunderstorms that were forcing it open at first, but today didn’t make any sense.

today, there were no storms.

the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze; nothing strong enough to force the old window as wide as it was.

just looking at it now made you feel queasy; now that you knew it couldn’t have been the storm.

both hands tight on the grips of the laundry basket filled to the brim with your freshly washed, wet clothes, you had to crane your neck to look up at the latch. you wouldn’t be able to reach it, not even on your tip toes. if you stood on top of one of the chairs from the dining room, and still pushed yourself up on to the balls of your feet, you might be able to stretch and reach, but you weren’t chomping at the bit to test the durability of an old, wooden chair that has been around nearly as long as the manor itself.

with a huff, you drop the basket by your feet and careen around it, stomping over to the window. you push it closed with both hands, applying pressure until you hear a faint creak, and a soft click. “Now, stay shut.” you mumbled under your breath, wishing that it was sentient and would obey your orders. you take a step back, looking over the glass for another moment. it’s streaked with dirt from the outside, which has turned to mud and caked itself in place. you should probably wash it next, you thought as you hoofed it back to the basket, hauling it outside to the clothesline.

you had been worried that this gig would be boring— watching an old house, a porcelain doll, and being alone all the time, but you had severely underestimated how much there would be to do. it was as if the manor was a living being, always needing to be tended in some way. you found peculiar messes here and there that you could swear hadn’t been there only days before, and your list of chores never seemed to end.

and, to tell the truth, you didn’t feel all that lonely, either. surprisingly, you felt like sometimes the little doll that was upstairs at this moment could actually understand what you were saying when you rambled on to it. you told little Brahms everything about your life, and how relieved you were to have some peace and quiet here for once. the faux child had become so comforting that you had eventually stopped putting him to bed in his own room, and opted for cuddling with it at night. your bedroom was also where you would put him down for naps, as strange as that may sound to anyone but you, and that’s where he was now. lying on your pillow with a soft throw blanket tucked in around him.

you thought about the little thing as you stretched a skirt, clipping the hem to the line. you were only supposed to watch him for a few days, but it had already been well into the following month, and still the Heelshires hadn’t come home. the strangest part was that you hadn’t heard a peep— not a phone call, nor a text, not even a note. and yet? yet, every Friday, there was an envelope on the floor by the front door, appearing to have been dropped through the mail slot, containing your pay for the week. how they managed to be so punctual and still so eerily silent was beyond your comprehension.

a particularly pesky blouse had you wishing that you had another pair of arms as you wrestle it on to the line, a pair of clips clenched between your teeth, and as you were clipping one sleeve, you catch a glimpse of something, a blur fading over the window. it startles you, and with a gasp, you drop the other sleeve and the clips into the basket. it was just a bird, you tried to tell yourself, a healthy crow had flown in front of the glass and you’d only caught the reflection. however, when you squinted against the harsh sunlight, you see the window— that damned window, is open again. “You’re shitting me.” you expel in a scoff with a shake of your head.

that was it.

you were locking that damn thing.

your footsteps were thunderous as you practically leapt up on to the porch and flung the screen door open. it slammed behind you, a loud testament to your annoyance with only you there to witness it. you hooked your arm under the backrest of the chair in the dining room and dragged it across the flawless, wooden panels in the floor, the legs hissing as if they were displeased to be treated so carelessly. unfortunately for the furniture, you couldn’t care less. you were at your wit’s end with this fucking window.

you slammed it shut. determined it would be the final time.

angling the chair in front of it, you grasp the back to pull yourself up on to it, and the legs creak. you were certainly not confident that the rickety thing could support you, but you thought it best not to think about it. get up there, lock the window, get down.

standing on the very tips of your toes, you had to stretch your arm until it nearly ached, and even then, only your fingertips could brush the lock. “Come on,” you whisper, before biting down on your lip.

the chair creaks again.

“Dammit…” even trying to bounce, you couldn’t grab the lock. “Almost…” cautiously, you push yourself on to one foot, hoping to propel yourself high enough to push the rusted bolt into place, but you were unsteady to say the least, and the chair had reached its limit. one leg cracks under the weight, throwing you backwards like a bronco that had just bucked you off. you hadn’t even the time to scream before you felt the back of your head connect with the hard floor, a white, hot shot of pain, the wind knocked from your lungs, and then… nothing at all.

complete.

utter.

blackness.

the first thing on your mind is how much your head hurts.

“Ah…” you groan, squinting as you reach for it. something pushes your hand away, and it falls limp. you expect it to hurt when your arm smacks against the floor, but that doesn’t happen. it hits soft, familiar warmth. your mattress? eyelids fluttering, you feel fingers, big ones with roughly calloused pads holding your chin, keeping your head angled. “Who…?”

“Shhh.” comes a soft voice. your lids part, your vision blurred, and you stare at a mass of red and white on the bedside table. it takes a moment for the haziness to fade, and you realize what you’re looking at. a bowl of water, tinted red, and a rag tossed over the rim, littered with red blotches. blood.

your blood.

your attention snaps from the bloodied rag to the body hunched over you. you smelled him long before you could make out his shape. it wasn’t an unpleasant smell, but the rather strong scent of sweat. you could feel his warmth— he was, after all, close enough to your limp frame.

“Who are you?” you blink, eyes trailing over the trousers, the damp, white undershirt strapped down with black suspenders. there’s a furious tufting of dark hair that sprouts from under the neckline, and it’s sparkling with beads of perspiration. “Who—“ you start to ask again, but your jaw hangs open as your eyes coruscate, higher and higher until you see his face.

no, not his face.

the doll’s face.

“Brahms?” it came out as a question, an incredulous one, although you already know it to be true, and the massive figure hesitates, before giving a little nod. he seemed to be inspecting the back of your head, you expected he had also cleaned the wound that must’ve been back there, if the bloodied water was any indication. “But… how—“

“It hurts?” you blink, startled. the voice is soft, childlike, and not at all what you would’ve expected from the mountain of a man lingering over you. “It still hurts?”

you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, chewing on it uncertainly, but shake your head, glancing to the bowl again. “No… Brahms, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Did you tend to it?” another, shy nod. Brahms gently poses your head back on the pillow, and you resist the urge to wince. then, his rough digits fall to your neck, where they rest. “Thank you…”

he doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t move. he’s still hovered over you, fingers trembling against your throat, and you’re starting to notice how his chest rises and falls with heavy, muffled breathing behind the mask.

“Have… have you been hiding?” you ask, heart pounding against your chest, “All this time?”

“Mhm.” he answers, his fingertips dipping just under your neckline. they were timid to a certain extent, you could tell by the way he shook, but something else drove him to act beyond his sheepishness. starvation, perhaps? years without another person to touch. “But I don’t have to hide anymore.” he says, matter of factly, “Not from you. You didn’t leave me.”

“Brahms, I—“

“You’re mine.” those words sank deep into your bones, resonated like a pounding drum. his hand pushes deeper into your shirt, cradling your breast in his palm, and he lets out a blissful whine. you gasp, and reach for his wrist to stop him, but his other fist finds yours and pins it to the pillow above your head. “Mine.” he says again, this time much more desperate as he kneads your breast, snorting like a wild animal already. “Mine.”

you don’t want to moan, but you can’t help yourself. it feels good, despite Brahms’ roughness, and you whine as you squirm under his weight.

“Mine…” he moans, too, only fueled by your soft, heavenly sound, and squeezes harder, pulling at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger, “Mine!” only a moment later, he has your shirt ruffled up over your chest and tucked under your chin, exposing both of your breasts, and he’s straddling your legs to keep them down, both hands now focused on your heaving chest.

you’re confused, lost, because you know that you should fight back— try to push him off, at least, but you don’t. your arms stay where they are, up by your head, and your back arches when he gropes you particularly roughly. it had been a while since you’d been touched like this. “Brahms!” you gasped, breathless, “Easy, I’m sensitive…” but that only seemed to spur him to grab you more roughly, squeezing your supple skin in palms that felt like sandpaper until you’re writhing.

and his shoulders are bunched together, leaned forward to rub the porcelain mask against your bare flesh, inhaling deep so that he may smell the sweet aroma of your flesh through it, nesting the nose in your cleavage. “Please…” you mumble, but now you’ve soaked through your panties, just letting this strange man grab on you, and you no longer knew what you were begging for.

“Beg me,” Brahms grunted, husky, as he scooted off your legs, grasping the waistband of your pants and panties simultaneously to pull them down, too. “Beg me again!”

with your head spinning, you start to bring your knees up in defense once you’re bare from the waist down, but he grasps your ankles and pulls them straight, spreading your thighs with his knees to give him enough space to sit in between them. “Bra—hms—“ you stutter, uncertain, your hands shaking against the pillow behind your head. “P—please…”

he moans again, pathetic and soft, as if just hearing you say his name was edging him, and he cups your sticky sex with one, large paw. his movements are uncouth and base, driven by instinct alone. he forces one, thick finger into you without so much as a bat of an eyelash, and he whines into your chest, feeling just how warm and wet you are on the inside. “Feels good…” before you could even protest, another finger has joined the first, stretching you open. your nails dig into the fabric of the pillow and you cry out, squinting against the sensation. “So good!” Brahms mewls, pumping both of them knuckle deep. he doesn’t bother with being gentle— in fact, you didn’t think he could even if he wanted to, because every sound that you make is driving him crazier and crazier. “You… sound…. So pretty. Wanna hear more. I need more.” he’s mumbling to himself as he drives his fingers into you deeper, harder, trying to force the sounds from your throat.

“S—slow down, please!” you cry in desperation, eyes wide and focused on the dark ceiling. all of the tenderness of your skull fades to make room for the brutal finger fucking you’re getting. one of your hands flee to grab his wrist and try to force him into a slower rhythm, but he refuses, pumping even harder. “Too much!”

“I can’t.” Brahms whines, laying against your body until the smooth mask is smushed against your cheek. you can hear him now, breathing ragged and moaning, soaking your body with his sweat. “I can’t… Need to hear you…!”

if he hadn’t been pressing you into the mattress, you would’ve been thrown about the sea of blankets like a lifeless, rag doll with just how powerful his barrage to your sex was. your knees come up again, digging into his sides, trying to push him off, but he’s so much stronger than you that you can hardly believe it. the primal beast curls his fingers and you nearly come out of your skin. they’re just lengthy enough, and reach deep enough, to caress your sweet spot. you whimper, mouth hanging open. “That’s—“ you try to speak, but your mind goes blank.

that’s the spot.

keep going.

you don’t say the words, but luckily you don’t have to. the muscles in his arm tightens, and he drives those cruel fingers into the same spot, relentlessly, until you’re practically in tears. there’s a hard, thick lump in his trousers that he’s rubbed against you until he starts to soak through them, moaning and pleading, calling for you. you can imagine he’s already cum himself, just from fingering you. the thought alone is enough to turn your stomach, and somehow push you closer to your own downfall.

he wasn’t skillful, not in the slightest, but he was eager, and he knew the jackpot when he found it.

you can hear the sound of your cunt gushing before he’s even pulled back to marvel. a whiny, “Wait!” escapes your swollen lips, as if begging yourself not to come undone, but it was much too late for that. you were already swept away, your pent up frustration exploding in the form of a waterfall that drenches him from chest to groin when he sits back on his calves. you imagine it’s to marvel at you as you squirt for him; you can’t imagine he’s ever seen that before, and even through your slitted lids, you can see his eyes in the dark holes of the mask, as big as saucers. staring. your countenance scrunches in humiliation, but he’s still pumping his fingers, pushing your buttons from the inside, so you just keep spewing. “Brahms!” you cry, nails digging into his wrist, your body pushing itself in an arc off the bed, levitating, trying to escape him. “I— can’t—!”

you’re spent when he finally slows down, and you fall back against the bed and struggle to catch your fleeting breath, your whole body a sea of shivers and shakes. his head dips with a happy whimper, and he smears the expressionless mask over your dripping cunt, coating the porcelain in your cum. “Do it again.” he whines, amazed, nuzzling. you can hear his lips smacking, and you assume he’s managed to lap at some as it finds its way beneath the mask. “Please do it again. It’s… so yummy…” mortification begins to overtake the temporary bliss of your powerful orgasm and you’re stunned with it, face on fire as you listen to him beg for you to cum again.

“I… I can’t…”

“Why?” he sounds heartbroken.

swallowing hard, your shaking hands rest against the top of his head, digits combing through wild, chocolate tendrils. they’re damp with sweat— and, maybe your slick, as well— when you pet them, he seems to croon into your caress. “B—because… doing that makes me really tired.” you try to explain, convincing yourself that you’re not going to simply pass away from embarrassment. but gods, you felt like you would. “I have to… rest before I can do that again.”

his head snaps up at that, so abruptly that you jump, too, pulling your hands back. you were worried you’d done something he didn’t like. “But you will do it again, won’t you?”

you considered that question.

your stomach bunched up in knots.

“I—“

he nods, as if answering for you, snaking both big and powerful arms around your waist as he hugs your midriff tight, resting the side of his head against your navel. “You can only do that with me from now on. Until forever. Do you promise? You have to promise.”

“I… promise…”

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missmewts · 11 months

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Hobie Brown's Slang

Okay, here is a bit of criticism and advise for how to write Hobie Brown's (from Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse) speech patterns.

When I read fics on Hobie Brown, the slang that he uses is not AT ALL the type of slang he uses in the movie. Fics like to use stereotypical British slang like 'wanker' or 'gheezer' and while it is sometimes said, it's not used often by youth in the UK nowadays.

Instead, the type of slang he uses is called 'Road' slang or 'Roadman' slang. I believe it's a mixture of Jamaican and British terms (please do correct me if I'm wrong, I may be British myself but I don't know everything).

For example, in the movie, Hobie says 'man like Miles, my guy!' after Miles goes against the Canon event. He's basically hyping Miles up - the term 'man like' is often followed up by a name to (as said before) hype that person up and praise them, in a way.

Another example of him using road slang is when he calls Miles a 'youngen' - it's quite obvious what he means by it, he's basically calling him a kid. This term is usually used by people who are quite a bit older than the recipient. In fact, it was his use of this term that solidified my theory of him being quite a few years older than Miles and thus, of him not being as much of a potential love interest for Gwen as an older brother figure for her.

Now, how do you write road slang? By learning it through watching people who use it often and understanding the context.

Some real people you can watch and learn the speech patterns of Hobie Brown through include:

KSI (the youtuber)

Mo Gilligan (the comedian)

Babatunde Aléshé (also a comedian)

And a series on Netflix that I highly recommend you watch in order to really understand the way he talks (though the above examples are good ways too) is the series 'Top Boy'. Though, a fair warning that it's quite the violent series due to it being about UK gangs.

Please keep in mind that this post is NOT AT ALL made to attack writers or put them down for the way they write Hobie, it is only here to inform and teach you how to write his speech patterns properly because he 100% deserves the accurate representation.

Hobie Brown is an amazing character that made me so happy to see on screen because he actually seems like a guy I would know and be friends with in real life rather than a stereotypical depiction of a British person that you see often in media nowadays. I feel the same way about Pavitr and the way the movie didn't stereotypically depict South Asians.

To see both my ethnicity and nationality being accurately depicted in western media is just an amazing feeling that I wish to convey to you all.

Love, a very happy spiderman fan.

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missmewts · 11 months

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for all the non-native/fluent writers that are using spanish

I appreciate trying to incorporate spanish for Miguel. However, I see you guys saying you’re using google translate and it’s not the best translator as it translates it literally and sounds awkward. A better translator is spanishdict.com and it looks like this,,,,

I put in “you look beautiful today” and it translated it in different ways and shows you what region uses what and how you can use it in different contexts. 100% way better than google.

Also, I’m Mexican so from what I’ve seen from my family members, specifically my uncles and dad, use for the spouses as terms of endearment are cariño, mi amor (my love), mi corazón (my heart), mi reina (my queen) mi vida (my life), and mami. We also don’t use vosotros or vos.

Honestly, I’d also be down to help proofread spanish parts or help see if a sentence or phrase makes sense!!

Hope this helps and can I just say I’m having the time of my life going through these tags.

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missmewts · 11 months

Note

He has a breeding kink and he fucks y/n for hours on end

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — addicted + miguel; one shot

cw: nsfw, smut, established relationship, dialogue heavy, unprotected sex, breeding! kink, softdom! miguel, afab! reader

an: i love how as a fanbase we have collectively decided that this man has a massive breeding kink!! thank you for the request <33

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

“quiet, baby,” miguel’s raspy voice whispers, looking down at you while he towers over, hips thrusting in and out of you like there’s no tomorrow. “don’t wanna get caught now, do we?” he purrs, gently smoothly down your pretty hair with his large hand, it slowly coming down to tip your face up at him.

the callouses tickle your chin, strangely adding to the sensuality, and you can’t help but whine, it’s building like a fury in you, the knot tightening and not coming undo. you try to say his name, too much of a struggle though, even to bubble out his nickname, and when you do try, it just comes out as a random spew of incoherent language only decipherable as moans and whimpers.

“yeah, baby? what is it?” he looks so good like this. lazy smirk emphasising his soft dimples, the shine of his fanged canines and the sultriness of his voice. his pretty chestnut hair sticking to his sweat slicked forehead, humidity volumising the locks and heaving them down so that he looked like he just came out the shower, all steamy and smelling so good.

but you know how miguel can get ahead of himself. how you’re ‘too much’ and he just ‘can’t help it’ when he’s balls deep inside you. the way he looks at you when peter babbles stupid babyish words with mayday and times when he randomly says things like ‘solana sounds like a pretty name for a girl, don’t you think?’ so it’s your responsibility, despite the eyes-rolling-into your-skull feeling of his dick inside you, to prevent an…accident.

“miguel, pull out.” you just barely sound out through swallows of saliva from how good he’s brushing your pussy.

he benignly chuckles: “oh, i’m not sure if i want to, baby.” he groans at the tightening of your pussy, cursing in spanish about the feeling.

“you feel way too fucking good, and you’d make such a pretty mama,” he rubs your belly and coos at you with only your helpless hums of the prefix syllable ‘m’: gibberish to anyone— but miguel’s not like the others, he’s quick-witted and reads you like a book and he knows, in your own fucked out, drunk on sex way, you’re trying to say his name. so he indulges.

“say something, baby,” he kisses you passionately with cognisance— “i know you wanna fucking say something,”

his hips slam into you so harshly, it makes your heart jump up and down in your rib cage: so fierce.

“miguel…”

he bounces you up further into him, hands stretching the plushness of your ass.

you lull your head over his shoulder, it’s too heavy to keep upright, and your lips graze his ear, your sweet moans pumping blood through him faster and thicker than anything ever could.

he softly speaks, eyes darting to his lower left corner, “what is it? what do you need, honey?” unlike his earlier cocky manner, there’s a genuineness weaved in his tone.

your moans only squeak as a response, the up- down oscillation stirring arousal in your womb, low and deep, clouding your mind.

he comes straight out with it, fervour in his lilt, “you want me to fuck a baby into you, mmm? is that what it is?”

he bucks his hips into you so suddenly and your eyes squint shut and your breaths divide into shorter, more frequent inhale-exhales and so desperately do you voice: “yes.”

he kisses your cheek so lovingly, the soft pop finalising his thorough ploughs and he comes ropes, gelling up your velvety, plush insides.

he rubs his hand against your belly like before, presses into it and doughs the flesh, prideful with what he’s accomplished.

“you feel that, baby? you can almost see it.” he kisses your neck then your lips nourishing the tiny little scratches he left nipping your skin earlier.

he thinks a few smooches is enough but once he starts he can’t stop, he can’t fucking stop. your lips against his just remind him of how much he loves for you, bleeds for you, thinks of you. how everything feels like a dream even while everything around hik is tangible. your soft lips, your cinched waist, the slope of your neck, and the absolute heaven of you sucking him in just so good.

“look at what you do to me.” he reminds you through firm kisses.

“i know.” you kiss back, hands toying with his hair.

“i want it again. i wanna come into you again.” he lowly breathes, like confessing a sin: addicted.

you rub your nose against his cheek and your lips find his ear again, whispering in oh-so-sultry ways: “okay.”

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missmewts · 1 year

Text

fs rewriting this. literally her<3333

tourists//lavinia richter

pairings; lavinia richter, gender neutral reader

rating; pg13

warnings; some harsh language, an itty bit of gore, sex jokes, i use the name jordan as the friend, an itty bitty panic attack

you might not remember the name because she gets NO RESPECT but lavinia is mr. jingles' mom. also this one is a bit longer; i know my oneshots are normally pretty short. its sorta proofread? but not very

honestly, you really didn't know what to expect. camp redwood, the most infamous summer camp of all time. and you were going there because your friend needs the views.

'my average, its dropping. we need to do something risky. something that will make people want to watch it.' jordan had said when you asked him, why, why do we need to do this?

the car comes to a halt and your heart drops even deeper into your asshole. jordan reaches forward and hands the driver fifty dollars cash, before getting out. the old man looked like he was going to have the shopping spree of his life.

you get out as jordan put the camera equipment on the ground and slammed the trunk. the car took off, and jordan knelt to grab the mics. 'jordan, quick q,' you begin, straightening your black bomber jacket. 'why me? of all people?' jordan laughs lightheartedly as you bounce on your feet nervously.

'because you're the only person i know that can be peer pressured into something like this.' he says, hooking up the microphone on his shirt. 'that's really manipulative, man.' you say, grabbing the second mic and hooking it up on the deep burgundy shirt you wore. jordan shakes his head. 'sometimes, you have to be manipulative.'

you snort. 'watch you die first as, like, karma or something.' you joke, reaching for the handheld camera, as jordan took off his jacket and wrapped a nightvision camera around his torso. he laughed, shaking his head. 'watch you die first for being a pussy.' he says, putting his jacket back on and handing you the second nightvision camera. you put it on begrudgingly, before slipping your jacket back on and making sure your mic isn't covered too much.

'ready?' he asks, and you point the camera at him, following him as he moves to stand in front of the chipping sign. 'mhm. tres, dos, uno.' as jordan began introducing whoever happened to be sitting on their laptop at three in the morning to camp redwood and it's history.

first, the original massacre. pre redwood. no one knows who is responsible, or who surivived.

then, the second massacre. the only survivor being the previous owner of the camp, margaret booth, the responsible being benjamin richter or 'mr jingles '. hundreds of kids.

then, the next one in '84. no one seemed to be sure about anything. who survived, though maragret booth went missing about five years later while hosting a festival at this camp. all the camp counsellors, the cook, even a few jingles impersonators. but since then, whoever entered this camp never came back out.

he introduced you, and flipped his own camera on to get a view of you holding your camera. you saved anxiously. you were a fan favorite. often talked over by your louder friends that appear on your friend's youtube channel, the fans seemed to love and resonated with you, relate to you. you hadn't ever been in a video of jordan's alone with him, the fans were going to love it. but it put a lot of pressure on you.

you grab the bag sitting on the ground full of supplies; two days change of clothes, toilet paper, tooth brush, toothpaste. your laptop, an extension cord and it's charger. just regular stuff. it weighed heavy with jordan's belongings added on, but you managed.

jordan made a huge deal of taking the first step over the property line. when he pointed his camera at you to get your reaction of his loud celebratory noises, you walked in like you were walking through the store, one hand in your pocket and the other holding the camera. he gawked, and followed along soon enough.

'this shit's scary as hell, dude.' you note, pointing the camera to the blood splatters painting the door to the mess hall. the sun still shined, but it felt like everything moved with you. everything was watching you. jordan kicked at anything and everything. as the two of you walked into the mess hall, he slammed his foot into the table leg. the wood cracked under mold, water damage, and the blow. 'dude, stop.' you say, moving your camera around to take in everything there didn't seem to be much in the kitchen, or in the mess hall at all, really.

jordan laughed, kicking the leg again. that side of the table dipped, the leg snapping in two. you spun around. 'stop, asshole! we could get charged!' jordan scoffed, kicking the leg again and scattering the wood. 'the police hardly come down here anymore, pussy. it's abandoned!' you sigh at his statement, pointing the camera at the windows, cracked and caked with grease and grime.

the two of you slid out of the mess hall and began looking around. there were a few tables with beyond moldy food; it was nearing dust at this point in its career. you gagged, covering your mouth and nose with your shirt and hurrying after jordan. your fingers dug into his shoulder in a panic. he turned eyebrows furrowed. 'what?' he asked lowly, following your eyes.

in a panic to get away from the food and catch up, you had seen what looked like an army of people under the safety of the trees. 'i-' you began, but couldn't find the strength to finish. it was most likely your imagination; you knew you were projecting your obsession with this camp onto itself, you had been expecting to see mountains of bodies in the driveway.

jordan's ebony colored hand found your shoulder, his eyes squinting in the direction you were looking. he rubbed your shoulder, before letting go and heading for the cluster of plants. 'you go look at the jingles massacre sight. i'm gonna check it out.' you sighed, giving him a face. he pulled out his phone. 'in...' he looked at the 3:43pm sitting bold on his lockscreen. 'thirteen minutes, we'll meet back at the mess hall, okay? i'll text you if i need help.'

you rubbed your face with your free hand and nodded. 'okay.' he gives you a reassuring smile, before darting for the woods, murmuring into the camera.

you turned your sound on, on your phone, and slid it into your pocket, making sure to catch the 'silent mode off' that popped up on your lock screen on the camera. you found it stupid to talk to the camera, therefore, you didn't. until, you heard chattering from a cabin. 'hello?' you called quietly, your chucks crunching the autumn leaves as you headed for it. the chattering didn't stop, it only got more eligible as you got closer.

'... said, ahhh, fuck!' everyone in the cabin laughed, it must have been the end to a joke, or something. you walked slowly, trying not to make any noise. the windows were occupied with shadows of people, teenagers, possibly. it sounded like, roughly, five people. anger grew in place of fear. you took off, slamming the door open with your shoulder. the lock clattered to the floor when you did, and the chattering disappeared. 'get the fuck out! let me see you! where are you?' you yelled, kicking the empty vintage coke cans out of your way.

you pulled out your phone, breathing all too loud for your ears. '3:47'. you took a slow breath, unlocking your knees just in case someone were to make a lunge at you. 'come out, come out, assholes! i know youre here!' you called. 'your five minutes of fame won't be as great as you think it will, when i find you.' you grumble, looking around.

clothes were scattered, of all styles. alternative, prep, gothic, you even found a gel sandal, size 4 in kids. 80s, 90s, you could even pull out 2000s and 2010s. you made sure to shine your light under the bed, glass from the broken window tucked in your hand. you kicked boxes, suitcases, searching for an odd firmness or a wince. but you didn't find anything. stabbed bundles of blankets, into the closet. nothing.

you sighed, rubbing your face. you made sure to keep the glass close, though. just in case. looking around, you noticed where you were. the very room tens of girls died, their ears stolen. you could tell by the dip in the ceiling in the far right corner, the way the wood changed from birch, to oak, and back to birch on the ceiling. you swallowed roughly, keeping your posture moveable. if someone was here, the last thing that was going to happen was you getting beat. you pointed the camera, suddenly feeling the need to narrate.

'shit. this is where jingles killed those kids.' you murmured. how were the people watching going to know it was the cabin if you didn't say it? they depended on your narration.

you took a slow breath, easing down into a seated position in the middle of the room. criss cross applesauce, you put the hand held camera upward, facing you on your right knee, as the nightvision camera caught footage from your chest. your phone was placed on your left knee, you used one hand to send a text to jordan;

found it

its rlly freaky

you watched the 'delivered' turn to 'read', but nothing came through. you took yet another slow breath, and tightened your hold on the glass. the time ticked into '3:50'. you stood, stuffing your phone in your pocket, holding the glass in your dominant hand and the camera in your other. the door swung slowly on his hinges at the force used to open it, the cold air tugging on it.

you stepped through, heading toward the mess hall at a much faster pace than before, you jogged to get there before jordan.

the cold blew by, tossing the fabric handles of the over night bag on the table. as the cold blew by, so did time. you weren't sure how long it had been until you checked your phone; it felt otherworldly, just sitting there and waiting. the time showed '4:24'. and your heart jumped. you opened your phone, one hand holding the camera and the other holding both the shard and your phone. trembling thumbs selected jordan's contact, and the screen faded as you called him. you put him on speaker. the phone rang, rang, rang. it kept ringing, until it went to voicemail. his phone wasn't dead, because it rang. you couldn't hear his phone ringing from where you stood, however. maybe he had silenced his phone?

with at least five minutes of debate, you jogged down the path jordan had taken. it was easy to follow, his size 14 shoes made plenty of a mark in the dead leaves. your phone had been stuffed back in your pocket and the camera shut off and stuffed in your pocket, too. the camera on your chest recorded for you. you could feel the flat edge piercing your skin. it was more painful than being cut with a sharp edge, but you really didn't care. better to be safe than sorry.

after about a five minute walk, you found his camera, still rolling. the path had become panicked, like jordan had fell and made a desperate attempt to crawl away. you could help but notice the dark substance staining the dry leaves. you nearly vomited, your breath becoming more feverish and panicked and you followed what was left of the path.

vomit felt like it was coming out of your nose, that's how much it burned. right next to jordan's limp, torn body. his organs formed an arrow, pointing along the path he was following. nothing hurt more than breathing as heavy as you were right after throwing up everything in your stomach.

you had been to several ed and lorraine warren landmarks, devil's bridge, murder house, fuck, you had even been to the suicide forrest, but nothing turned out the way it did this time around.

you knelt down, panting over everything else. as if it wasn't fucking obvious, your fingers dug into his neck. nothing, of course. you were expecting it, but it still hurt to know he wasn't just messing with you.

in a blinded control, you stumbled in the direction the arrow was pointing you in. after what felt like forever on your weak, burning legs and blood slipping down your fingers from the glass, you reached a small cabin. sitting on the steps, a tall woman. blond hair, and a white night gown. with everything catching up as you limped toward her, your feet on pins and needles, you dropped to your knees, dropping the glass and cradling your hand. the adrenaline faded, then, and everything burned. salty water mixed with the blood, dropping down your cheeks and stinging your hand. you couldn't help the noises that cut through your throat.

her white mary janes crunched the leaves in front of you, but left no mark. you could see her knees protruding her dress as she knelt down. 'i don't like tourists.' she whispered, a knife in hand. jordan's switchblade.

'we live here. in cali,' you wheezed, squeezing your eyes shut. 'he's just really loud.' she laughed, though you couldn't see what was so funny. her fingers trailed your shoulder, sliding your bomber jacket down your arms. she laid it over the rips in the thigh of your black jeans. the inside faced up, and she took your wrist, easing it down into the fabric. she took the glass you had been holding, sliding the sharpest part along the thin white fabric lining, cutting most of the torso lining out. then, she took the white fabric, draping your jacket back over your shoulders and placing your hand on the white fabric laying on her knees.

she wrapped your hand in the fabric, much too tight for your comfort. red blossomed over it, and her thin, pale fingers traced yours, before retracting. her hand slid along your cheek and wiped your tears away. your head was eased onto her shoulder.

before you could stop yourself, you began sobbing into her antique-smelling dress, your hand finding her waist to stable yourself. your blood stains her dress, but she doesn't seem to care. her frail arms wrap around your neck, massaging your scalp gently.

'shhhh..'

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