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#lady k says things
ladykailolu · 1 year
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I do not know which chronically online person needs to hear this but, bro, listen: choosing to play a game does not mean you agree with the views of anybody involved with the game’s development nor do you agree with views and issues presented in said game.
Yeah, this is about Hogwart’s Legacy.
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sapphirebluebird · 8 months
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The way i've never finished hxh like i thought it was just gonna be about them finishing the exam and beating the spiders but hell no, we had a whole season of Sword Art Online on a real life island it just secretly teleports you also now there are gigantic fucking man-eating mutant bugs that absorb other species' traits via cannibalism (and this can only happen thru the queen's cannibalism, not just some Joe Shmoe's) also btw you will never see the spiders or Kurapika or Leorio for the rest of rhe show k thanks bye <3
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joonberriess · 1 month
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LOVIN’ YOU ౨ৎ ‧₊˚
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TAGS — unprotected sex, nasty sex, late valentines gift, rough sex, romantic(?), daddy kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, possessive!jk, baby no. 2 might have been made here, spoiler: it was, jk is meannnnn, heavy dom-sub vibes, edging, fingering, oc loves being degraded for being a whore for jk, it gets super soft, love making, oc is a bratty sub in this one, heavy degradation, slut shaming(?), oc wants to CUCK jk as a joke but he gets his lick back on her lmao, PET NAMESSS, this is a spin-off from the main series of flawless!
WORD COUNT — 3.5 k
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“Happy anniversary love.” Jungkook sleepily mumbles as he passes by. He leans over to land a kiss on your forehead, his hand slips from the back of your waist and over your hip settling with a gentle squeeze.
You tilt your head and rest it against his bicep while brushing your teeth. We look good, you think while admiring Jungkook’s bare form. He had decided to forgo a sleeping shirt last night and chose only his slutty silk pajamas you had both bought together on a whim. You were wrapped up in a baby pink robe with a pretty little night slip underneath.
“Is Jae awake,” you softly ask while admiring your appearance in the luxurious mirror. Jungkook says something but you’re busy rinsing your mouth out so you don’t catch it, and by the time you come back up he’s brushing his own teeth with a silly little smile on his face.
“What?” You purse your lips, “What’s so funny?” He shakes his head and spits out the paste from his mouth leaving you a bit annoyed at your husband’s antics. “Hmph.”
You lay your head back on his bicep again and lift your phone up to snap a picture of the two of you. “Say cheese,” you softly giggle while zooming in on his face, bursting out into laughter as Jungkook gives you a foamy smile.
You peep the way your diamond ring and wedding band glistens under the sunlight pouring in through the open french doors, Jungkook’s own wedding band shining just as bright too. You wrap your ringed hand around him and snap a few more pictures for later. “Jungkook–you’re making a mess.” You sigh as water droplets hit your thighs from his little mouth rinsing session.
“Sorry.” Jungkook wipes his face down with a towel and nods in approval at something, “All the little old French ladies are gonna be all over me, aren’t you worried someone’s gonna take me away sweetheart?” He tenderly cups your cheeks and squeezes.
This certainly has your brow raising in question, “Aren’t you worried a French man is going to take me away? What if he whisks me off to the Eiffel Tower and proposes to me? Hm?” You play at his game, watching in satisfaction as a twinge of possessiveness and jealousy spark in his dark onyx eyes.
“Take you? Baby over my dead body,” he tugs you in and holds you against him, “wish a motherfucker would..” He grunts under his breath, the tone sends a delicious little shiver down your spine. You swear you have a second heartbeat right now, you just loved when he got like this.
His big greedy hands grab handfuls of your ass through the flimsy little thong you were wearing under your night slip. A tiny gasp slips from your lips as he abruptly smacks both cheeks making you jump just a little. “Bet you don’t like that huh?” You softly smirk. Jungkook grumbles like you already know the answer to that.
He leans down to leave a flurry of kisses all over your neck and shoulder, irritably growling when your robe gets in the way as he tugs the entire thing off. “Just the fuckin’ thought of someone putting their hands on you pisses me off sweetheart—not everyone should have the luxury of being blessed with your soft little cunt and perky ass.” He whispers darkly in your ear.
“You like that? Like hearing how much I love this slutty body? It makes me never wanna let you leave those sheets darling, especially with how good you looked for me on the bed last night.” Jungkook wraps his lips around a hickey he left last night, immediately he starts sucking on it with the intention of making it darker.
You mewl softly at his words and bite your lip, “You know I don’t want anyone else,” you flutter your lashes coyly, “ ‘s the only cock I’ll ever need daddy, no one can fuck me like you do,” you lean up to whisper low and sultry in his ear, “so show them who I belong to.”
Jungkook groans at your seductive tone and hauls you up by the back of your thighs, “Ain’t I just the luckiest bastard sweetheart? What’d I do to deserve such a pretty little thing like you?” He muses while untying the bow holding your robe together.
Your robe falls apart, unveiling your tits as if they were a piece of artwork for Jungkook’s hungry eyes to feast on. He licks his lips darkly, eyes briefly flickering up to stare into your own. “Please daddy.” You softly say while spreading your legs wider, hooking your ankles together behind his strong muscular back, tugging him closer to you.
“Why should I? Thought your little french boy’s can do it better than me?” He huskily whispers, hot breath hovering over your pebbled nipple, “Will he fuck you the way I do? Have you screaming and shaking? More importantly sweetheart,” he whispers low, “will he be able to satisfy you the way I can?” He engulfs your nipple in his mouth.
You bite your lip and lean your head back while running your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, will he?” You breathily whisper, breath hitched when Jungkook uses a hint of teeth on your sore teat. “Maybe he can, I’ll even put on a show for you daddy—so you can see how pretty I look taking someone else’s cock.”
Jungkook’s grip tightens to the point that the pressure has you squirming, “What’s the matter daddy? Thought you wanted to see how pretty I look hanging off a cock.”
“Fuckin’ minx,” he growls pulling away from your wet nipple, “that what you want? You gonna let your daddy watch someone else stuff their dick into that whore-ish cunt of yours? Is that it sweetheart? Baby wants to be a whore?” He lands a punishing smack against your ass cheek, causing it to echo loudly in the otherwise quiet bathroom.
You arch your back and whine, “For you,” you mewl softly, “only you daddy.” You finally gave in because the tension was rising and it was proving too much to handle. Jungkook didn’t give a fuck, he could play it that game—far worse too.
“Now it’s only me huh? Where’d my little whore go hm? The one who wanted to put on a show for her daddy?” He cups your chin and squeezes your cheeks together, “Hm?”
You whine again but he doesn’t let up on your suffering, “Not so bold now, huh sweetheart? Cat got your tongue baby?” He leans in, mocking your little whines in his own husky voice which immediately has you slicking up. “Why the pout?” He smirks like he isn’t the one responsible for this sweet torture.
“Because..”
“Because,” he mocks with a pout while squeezing your chin and such, waiting for a coherent answer. “Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re a mess.”
You bite your lip at his mean tone and arch into his touch, desperately wiggling and bucking your hips just to feel— you’ll take anything at this point. Jungkook stops you with his hand and holds you still, “Look at you, humping me like a little bitch in heat.” He cruelly chuckles.
“Jungkook,” you softly sob, they’re not real tears anyways but still it’s not fair that he’s not giving you the fucking you deserve. At least a good dick sucking session would suffice but you can’t even have that. ;(
“Say it,” he reaches down to cup you through your thong, “say you’re mine sweet girl,” he purrs.
Your lips part in a small ‘o’ as his fingers breach your soaked thong, he dips them in teasingly with his fingertips brushing against your poor clit. “ ‘m yours, only yours.” You whimper softly, “Please..? Want your fingers daddy,” you wiggle around again.
Your devious husband doesn’t even warn you before he’s plunging his fingers into your sopping cunt. A breathless cry escapes and you toss your head back from the sudden burst of hot pleasure in your loins, “Mm..!”
Jungkook doesn’t even let you compose yourself before he’s curling his ring and index finger up to brush against your g-spot. He has no problem really, he knows your little cunt like the back of his hand, he’ll have you dripping in no time. “Like this? Or like this?” He suddenly stops and shifts away from your sensitive spot.
While it felt heavenly, nothing compared to Jungkook finger-fucking you into oblivion while hitting your g-spot over and over again. You find yourself panting hotly while scrambling to get a grip on his arm, “Yes..! Like that, please,” you softly cry out. You desperately roll your hips up, your pussy greedily swallowing up every inch of those thick fingers of his.
“That feel good?” He coos while tilting your face with his free hand, “Look at me sweetheart, I wanna watch you fall apart on my fingers for me like a good girl.”
You whimper when he says “good girl” it has your stomach fluttering all over again as you arch into his touch. He switches up his pace and fucks his fingers in deeper and deeper until he’s knuckle-deep inside that sopping cunt. Endless copious amounts of slick dribble down your pussy to your ass, making a real mess on that white marble counter..
“J-Jungkook..!” You breath out while digging your nails into his wrist, the pleasure was beginning to rise higher and higher, only making that little knot in your stomach tighten with each stroke.
Your husband doesn’t seem to mind you falling apart like that, in fact he speeds his pace up and rapidly fucks his fingers into your cunt. You’re literally letting out dribbles of squirt each time he fucks them back in, the pressure in your lower belly and the air around you turns hot. You find yourself shaking under his rough ministrations.
“C-Coming,” you gasp loudly, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of you.
Right as your pussy reaches that sweet abyss, Jungkook suddenly yanks his fingers out leaving your pussy gaping around nothing. You sob in frustration and let your head hit the mirror with a dull thud, “ ‘s not fair!”
Jungkook wipes his digits over your pussy before holding them up to your lips, “Suck.” He leaves no room for argument as you obediently take his fingers into your mouth and lick them clean. He watches with a dark expression, “Good girl, that’s enough. Next time you wanna play like that make sure you can handle the heat sweetheart. Cute.” He smirks evilly as he pats your cheek and heads out of the bathroom.
You bite back a groan of frustration, the edging is so going to be worth it in the long run though.. You lick your lips and hop off the counter on shaky legs, your orgasm may have been ruined but you still had a few things in your head that you wanted to try out on your dear husband.
+
“What’s wrong my love?” Jungkook asks from behind you as he gently massages your aching feet, “Is it the heels? You should’ve taken my shoes baby.” He softly mumbles.
It was nighttime by now and after a whole day of shopping and sight-seeing you were honestly ready to just hit the hay. Everytime he applied pressure on your sore tired feet, you couldn’t help the pained moan you’d let out. You were currently lying face down on the bed with your feet kicked back on Jungkook’s lap, just enjoying that foot rub.
“I’m okay, I was having too much fun to notice.” You softly reply while tilting your head to look back at him, “.. Jungkookie, I kind of had something on my mind—well it’s been in there for a good while now.” You softly admit.
“Okay,” he softly replies, ready and attentive.
You fully turn around and crawl over to sit on his lap, “What if we have another baby?” You toy with his necklace and pout, “It’s just that… Jae’s getting older and the house feels a little lonely now that he hangs out with friends and stuff..”
“So my sweetheart wants a baby?” He says with a soft look in his eye.
You timidly nod and wrap your arms around his neck, “Think about it, another mini-us running around the house like Jae used to,” you chuckle, “you remember when he was a devious devil…always getting into your office even though I told him not to,” you say fondly.
He chuckles endearingly, “Of course I remember baby, those were the best years of my life—raising him and coming home to you.”
“Soooo, that’s why I think it’d be a great idea to have another baby!” You giggle happily while smooching over his lips, “Cos you’re not gettin’ any younger, old man.” You stick your tongue out teasingly.
Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, “You’ve been hanging out with Jae too much, but no, unfortunately you’re stuck with this old man.” He snorts despite not really being THAT old like his own son made him out to be.
“You’re MY old man though,” you kiss his nose gently, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You cheekily grin.
He brings you in for a tender kiss, laying gentle pecks over your lips until you’re whining for him to stop. “I love you sweetheart.” He murmurs softly while stroking your hair, “I’m glad you decided to stick around, don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I mean, did I really have a CHOICE?” You roll your eyes with a smile, “I’m kidding love, you know I would do it all over again for you. Nothing in the world could ever change that.” You softly say and bring him closer.
Jungkook doesn’t protest when your lips meet, he wraps his arms around your back as his eyes slip shut. The kiss itself feels magical and you can’t help but wrap your arms tighter around him in a loving embrace. You break from the kiss to catch your breath, there’s a small string of saliva that connects your lips.
“C’mere.” Jungkook mumbles and brings you back in for another sweet kiss. He slowly falls back onto the bed and brings you with him, never parting from the messy spit-slick kiss.
You and Jungkook don’t last long just kissing because you find yourself tugging on his clothes and helping him strip vice-versa. The two of you find yourselves under the warm silky sheets, and a rose-scented aroma that fills the entire room after Jungkook decides to light the candle on a whim.
The sheer intimacy of it all, you’re not in a rush this time—this time is something meaningful. You can’t really find it in yourself to come out of that little romantic bubble right now, everything just wants to make you cry. It literally makes your heart hurt over how sweet and loving Jungkook is…what did you do to deserve him?
“Hi.” You softly say when Jungkook and you come face to face after kissing for what seemed like hours.
“Hi beautiful.” He nuzzles your nose gently and presses his forehead against yours.
You blush shyly and look away, “Yah, just shut up and give me my baby already.. All that talk and no action,” you giggle, “pussy isn’t gonna breed itself.” Jungkook’s mouth drops open at what you say and it sends you reeling into explosive laughter.
“Where did my sweetheart go huh? ‘S like a little devil just popped in to say hi,” he recovers from the initial shock with a low chuckle, “you’re gonna send me to an early grave.” He groans.
You lean down to whisper in his ear, “C’mon, I know you wanna fuck me till I catch—till I’m full and round with our baby again.” You purr cupping his jawline, “Turns you on doesn’t it? Knowing damn well that’s your baby you put in me.”
He swallows harshly and nods, “Love it sweetheart, I’ll die a happy man knowing that I got to put my kids in you before any other bastard could.” He growls.
“Then get to it,” you softly coo, “or I’ll find someone else to do the job for you.”
That turns him on like a switch, he flips the two of you over and pins your arms above your head with a dark look. “Yeah? Guess I gotta show you what you’d be missing then baby,” he takes a hold of his cock and slaps the wet tip over your pussy, “gonna make sure you’re filled by the end of the night.”
You moan softly at his words and spread your legs wider, “I want it—every last drop of it daddy, want you to breed me.” You pout softly while pursing your lips for a kiss.
He kisses you like a princess but fucks you like a whore, which is what you LOVED about him. You reach down to stroke his hard cock, running your thumb over the leaky tip and over every vein on his shaft. He looks like he’s in bliss as he bites his bottom lip and watches you with hooded eyes.
“Want it in me,” you softly say while rubbing his cock through your soft squishy folds, “can I please?”
“Fuck—anything you want babydoll.”
You give him the most precious smile ever and then push his cock towards your greedy hole. You easily take the head with ease as it pops in slowly. The two of you hiss low at the pressure as Jungkook slips inch after inch into your pussy.
“More, please,” you breathlessly sigh while laying your head back on the soft pillow.
Jungkook doesn’t even think he has the strength to say no to begin with. He holds himself up over you while slowly bumping his hips into yours. His cock is utterly drenched with your slick, the slide is messy and loud whenever he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he hisses and drops down to his elbows as he cages you in, “you feel so fucking good sweetheart.”
His balls are pressed snug, showing you that he really is taking this breeding thing seriously—more than ever now because you both have a mutual goal in mind. “It’s okay daddy,” you softly say, “I can take it.”
Jungkook pauses to look at you, damn near cursing when he sees that expression you got on your face. He hooks your thighs over his arms and folds you into a mating press with your hips tilted up, “There you go sweetheart, jus’ relax ‘n take it for me sweetheart.”
He whispers more praises under his breath while rocking into you gently. His pace doesn’t seem to stay the same because gradually he begins speeding up. Much like yesterday he really lets hell rain on your poor cunt.
You whimper and cry out while holding on with your toes curled from the pleasure. He doesn’t even bother with teasing or anything because he hits that sweet spot inside of you relentlessly. Each time he drives his cock in there’s a lewd wet smack, and the noises only get louder from there.
“T-There..! Don’t stop, please,” you whimper and grit your teeth, “feels so good..”
Jungkook huffs quietly and leans down to kiss over your bruised neck, “Yeah baby? You gonna let me fill that pussy up till you’re dripping? Gonna let me use it till I’m done?”
“Yes!” You gasp, “Anything for you,”
“For me?” He coos as he cups your chin and tilts your face to him, “Cute.” He smirks softly and continues fucking into you relentlessly.
The smacking sounds get louder and the bed creaks from force. You quite literally are seeing stars as he rocks your entire world, you can’t even form a coherent sentence let alone see through your starry vision.
“Jungkook..!” You whimper through your moans, “ ‘m gonna cum, please,” you sob as the tension begins rising, “can I, please daddy?” You whine out while gritting your teeth.
He stops to let your legs fall from his grip as he changes the pace and grabs onto your soft hips. He uses it as leverage to fuck into your cunt with repeated wet smacks. “Go on,” he grunts, “cum for me.” He spits between the two of you, right where your pussy opens up beautifully for him as he slides his thumb over your slippery clit.
Your mouth falls open when he rubs side to side in tandem with his thrusts. Your back arches and the air gets knocked out of you as you cum with intense waves of pleasure. “Jungkook,” you mewl desperately while pawing at him.
He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until you go silent and your weak hands push at his wrist again. He growls low and rubs the sensitive bud faster until you’re drenching his lap and the sheets slick. His eyes briefly flicker up to see that you’re in bliss right now.
You feel the telltale signs of his orgasm as his cock throbs painfully inside of you. It only takes a few more pumps until Jungkook’s pressing his hips tight against you and milking every drop of his cum. His ragged moans and breathing have you getting wet all over again.
“Mm..” You tiredly let your hands flop on the bed, “I’m so sleepy..” You softly say.
Jungkook quietly grunts, “Just rest, I got you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
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thexsilentxwordsmith · 2 months
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader
From the request here
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: When a movie night has you questioning your bodies worth, Simon catches you in the shower to show you that your body is perfect just the way that it is.
Word Count: 4.3 k
Warnings:
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“Look at the jugs on her,” one of the guys says at the busty blonde that has just been introduced for the first time in the film. A few others follow suit, whooping at the gorgeous, petite female main character popping up on screen as the movie really gets going. “That’s a woman you could lose yourself in. Fuck, I wish I could find a girl like her; I’d be a happy man for life. To have that waiting at home for me, I’d never even be tempted to stray.”
This is usually how movie night on base goes: people piling into the rec center ready to watch the latest movie from the personal collection from one of the members, but mostly it just devolves into a testosterone fest of horny boys itching to have something to focus their sexual frustrations on by ogling at the new pretty little thing on screen. Usually it doesn’t bother you, you’re used to being around all that chaos, but tonight just feels different.
Simon isn’t one for this type of gathering, but he comes to keep an on the crowd and be nearer to you and as he watches out of the corner of his eye from his place standing towards the back, he notices how your body language changes as the guys continue to raucously talk about the leading lady and how beautiful she is. It’s almost imperceptible the way you shift in your seat while you pick at the skin of your lower lip with your teeth, your shoulders slumping down as you cross your arms, but he catches it outright. He knows you and he knows this isn’t normal. 
Something is bothering you.
The longer you sit there the worse it gets. Their lustful words just cut different tonight; maybe it’s exhaustion from being overworked or perhaps you’re just having an off day, but the longer they hoot and holler over the girl plastered before your eyes, the more you want to crawl out of your skin.
It’s about halfway through the movie when you slowly get up from your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself by leaving too quickly and exit the rec without looking back. Simon is instantly concerned and wants to rush after you, but one of the newer recruits that seems to be the ringleader in all this turns to him as if to drag him into the depraved fun.
“Whatcha think; gotta admit she’s a fine thing, ain’t she Lieutenant?” he asks, nodding back at the screen. “Come on, even you gotta admit she’s perfect. Couldn’t hope to find anyone better.” 
The look that Simon gives the young man through his mask, that stone cold glare that could make even the bravest man shiver, instantly shuts him up and has him facing forward again to join his brothers in arms in their jokes. His brow furrows angrily behind the fabric as he looks over the crowd of boys once more before heading out, leaving quietly like a specter on his way to find where you had gotten to. 
Simon checks all the usual places, but you are nowhere to be found: the little area outside the rec where you usually join him for a smoke break, the mess hall, even your barracks are empty. Then he hears movement in the communal bathroom and knows he’s finally found you. 
It looks like you’ve been rushing to get done before anyone can catch you. Your hair is damp from the shower and it drips down to leave dark stains onto your t-shirt as you stand staring at yourself in the mirror behind the sink. Simon watches quietly from his obscured place by the door as you look yourself over, scrutinizing each detail from head to toe before you give up with a sigh and a diversion of your eyes, focusing on your toothbrush instead as you pick it up and turn on the faucet. So absorbed in what you are doing, you don’t hear the lock click closed or the pair of heavy boots that cross the length of the room until there is a presence upon you. 
“God, you’re so beautiful baby,” you hear that deep, gravelly voice sound from behind you while a bulky arm wraps itself around your waist from behind as Simon presses up against your back. You look back up into the mirror in front of you and are instantly met with a pair of brilliant brown eyes as he slowly removes his balaclava. “Just standin’ there fresh outta the shower and ya look like a fantasy.”  
Setting the mask on the sink he joins his other arm around you and leans his face in, the tip of his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck before he presses his lips against your jugular. His lips catch the feeling of your pulse quickening through the vein at his touch. Rough hands begin to splay across your clothed stomach, running across and down to your hips with gentle caresses that make you pause. Your eyes stare into the mirror to take in your combined form as he drapes himself over you, hot lips peppering your skin with no sign of letting up.
You chuckle dismissively, trying to play off his words as a joke. Your head still isn’t in the right place and even though you enjoy the feeling of his touch, disastrous thoughts still circle throughout to cloud your mind so that you second guess even his affections. 
“Oh, come off it,” you return as you grab the toothpaste off the countertop. “I do not.” 
There is no hesitation in his reply. “I’m serious,” he breathes that husky whisper against your skin as his lips continue down to your shoulder as his fingers pull the t-shirt away from your collar bone to reveal more skin for him to adorn with his mouth.
You roll your eyes in the mirror so that as he looks up briefly he catches the movement. “Yeah, sure,” you again dismiss him. “Whatever you say.”
Before you can even unscrew the cap to the toothpaste, Simon reaches past you to turn off the tap and take your things out of your hands before he rotates you around so that you face him. Your backside presses into the edge of the sink as you rest up against it, mouth scrunched to one side as he gazes back at you with intent. There is a subtle frown on his lips and an anxious look in his copper eyes. 
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. “Somethin’ happen? Cause I did see ya leave in a hurry back there.”
You divert your eyes, ashamed of your lack of confidence that has come forward tonight. “I don’t know, it’s nothing,” you shrug, but he isn’t buying any of it. 
His large hand rests itself up under your chin, pulling your head back up to look into his face. “I think ya do know,” he says. “Will ya tell me?”
Clearing your throat, you give yourself a moment to figure out how best to proceed. “It’s just,” you say hesitantly, “I guess sometimes I just wish I looked like that, you know? I know I’m usually not this self-conscious, but tonight I guess I just hit a rough patch with my insecurities and something about the shit they were saying just got to me I guess. You see the way the guys talk about girls like in that movie, like she’s the most gorgeous thing in the world. She’s so perfect and… I…”
You gesture with your head down the length of your body to emphasize your point that you are nothing like the actress: your breasts are on the smaller side, your thighs are incredibly thick, and your stomach is not completely flat. Simon follows your hand, looking you up and down before his eyes meet yours again.
“I’m not. I know it’s fucking stupid and I shouldn’t care about all that, it doesn’t really matter, but sometimes it’s just hard to ignore. I’m not the standard when it comes to beauty, but sometimes I just want to feel like I’m the most irresistible person in the room.”
It seems like he wants to say something, you can see his mouth shifting, but instead his gaze drifts down to your lips and he pulls your chin forward to close the distance between your mouths. Instantly he overtakes your mouth with his own, tenderly capturing your lips over and over with a gentle desperation that makes him shudder against you as he moves in closer. 
“Who the fuck said ya ain’t perfect?” he asks, his voice breathy against your lips. “Gimme that bastard’s name. You tell me right now so I can go ring their fuckin’ neck. Cause that is a goddamn lie.”
“No one said anything like that, it’s just the way I feel,” you answer honestly. “And you’re only saying that because you like me.” 
Immediately Simon pulls you into another long kiss as if he is trying to take those insecure words right out of your mouth before you can say anything else. Breaking the kiss, Simon licks his flushed lips and shakes his head. “Really? Ya don’t think your body can drive someone wild? Then what’s this, hmm?” he asks, grabbing your wrist to pull your hand forward so that he can place the palm over top of the soft bulge growing in his boxers. “See whatcha do to me, sweetheart? Ya think that’s lyin’?”
Your hand rubs over the swell and his hips unconsciously buck slightly against your hand as he hums in approval of your touch. It is instantaneous the way you have him begging for even a simple touch from you; no other has ever held that kind of power over him, not anyone that he would give it to so freely like he does you. The warm pressure from your hand causes the pulsing to intensify as he grows harder and you find your heart beat starting to match its throbbing.
“Ya don’t think I catch the men lookin’ at ya from time to time?” he asks as he leans his head forward until it rests against your own, hands moving up under the hem of your shirt to play with the toasty skin of your abdomen as he talks. “Ya don’t think I see that their eyes glaze over as they linger on your body a bit too long for my fuckin’ likin’? Just cause they won’t say it out loud doesn’t make it any less true that you have something about ya that would drive any man wild.”
His words are like a balm to your mind and the longer he speaks the more you find yourself falling under their spell. Rough fingers are pushing up higher into your shirt, pulling it up over your waist as he runs his palms across the area while his hips press into yours. He’s not forceful or harsh, his advances are only full of adoration in that type of intense devotion that only Simon Riley is capable of when it comes to savoring the best damn thing he has ever had.   
“Don’t let what ya heard back there hurt ya,” he says softly. “Yeah, ya don’t look like that bird on the screen, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t an absolute beauty. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen and I ain’t just sayin’ it, baby. But ya don’t just have ta take my word for it. Let me show ya that no one can hold a candle to what ya got.”
Simon pulls you over to one of the empty showers and gets it going, fiddling with the taps to make sure the water is going nice and warm before he turns his undivided attention back to you. Instantly his mouth is back on yours as one by one each piece of your clothing is removed and set aside in tandem with his own until you both stand before the other bare.
“I’ve already showered,” you mutter out between pauses as merely just a statement of fact rather than a reason to deny him.
Simon murmurs his disagreement into your mouth. “Don’t care,” he replies through a break in his kiss, continuing to take off your clothes as he dizzyingly tries to get at your body. “Can’t be havin’ those fuckin’ negative thoughts in that head of yours. Wanna take care of ya, make ya feel like the true beauty ya are.”
More kissing, so much that your lips are burning and raw from the friction. His mouth must be aflame too, but he doesn’t let up; he can’t, he’s captured in the wake of your allure and there is no getting out. 
“What if someone comes in?” The last of your questions spills out quick.
He chuckles at your needless worry. “Already locked the door sweetheart.”
Stretching his hand out, he checks the temperature to be sure it’s right before dragging you inside the steamy oasis. The curtain is barely pulled closed before he has you pinned at the back wall, his stocky torso rubbing against your voluptuous naked body as he steals the breath from your lungs, kissing you so thoroughly that there is no distinction between faces anymore.
The change in temperature has your nipples hardening, the blossoms spiking forward at attention, and Simon can feel them poking against his chest the longer he has your mouth locked in that dance of back and forth. The moment he is aware of their presence his mouth is salivating to get at them. 
You might think they are not perfect enough, but to him they are exactly what he wants.
Breaking the kiss abruptly, removing his mouth so quickly that a trial of spit still connects your lips a moment, he tilts his head downward. Being on the smaller side, he can fit your breast almost entirely in his mouth and he does, filling the cavity with as much of your tit as he can without choking. 
You can hardly remember anymore why the stupid comments had you so upset in the first place when you have a man like Simon who will dote on you like you are royalty. His is the only opinion you have come to care about and it is clear that there is nothing he will ever want more than you. 
He moans deep and guttural into your breast as he sucks while letting the end of his tongue flick around the nipple, circling the sensitive tissue until you are writhing against him as he holds you steady to the wall so that he can work. There is another breast after all that requires his attention and he intends to show it the same amount of affection as the other. Switching sides, he gets to work, keeping the first breast warm by cupping it in his hand.
It’s minutes of you quivering and whimpering before he emerges panting with his lips swollen and red, satisfied with his work so far. Giving his lips a break, Simon gently strokes your cheek with his fingers as he gazes into your eyes, swaying your bodies from side to side in easy movements. “Stay with me luv,” he says softly as he watches you take heavy breaths, “I ain’t done just yet.”
Those lips are on the move again to decorate your body, over your sternum and waist, until he has to kneel before you to get any further. He’s on his knees, all 6’4” of him bent to you as he places kisses across your belly while the heated water runs over his dirty blonde hair and down his back, rippling across the muscles in his shoulders as he holds your hips squeezed securely between his broad hands. 
“You’re perfect just the way ya are, baby,” he groans against your moist skin, letting his lips linger wherever he puts them. “Just like this: real, curves for fuckin’ days, so much skin I get drunk tryin’ to get at it all. And the best goddamn part is that it’s all mine.”
More kisses he places along all the areas you think unworthy of adoration, but that he finds absolutely exquisite. “Mine, all mine.”
His words devolve into incoherent babble as he nestles his face into your abdomen to leave burning trails of his desire with his lips that even the warm water cannot wash away from your skin. Your body writhes in his double-handed grasp as your head falls back to rest against the wall as every inch of tender flesh prickles with the overstimulating sensation of being doted upon. 
Lips keep trailing further downward from your stomach to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs.
“Ya think I get on my knees for any girl?” he asks from his place at the bottom of the shower as he stares up into your face with half-lidded eyes that darken the more he plays with you. “You’re the only one who can bring me to fuckin’ kneel, baby. You and your gorgeous body. I’m at it’s goddamn mercy.” 
Placing his hand on your calf, he nods and you know exactly what he wants: that juicy cunt smothering his features, your bulky thighs crush against his ears. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg. Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and he leans in, smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip. 
There is little oxygen to be had between the heat from the water and the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft, breathy gasps and moans as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up to breathe. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, if there is even a whisper of a negative thought left in your brain it is overshadowed completely now by the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured to the brink of insanity.
You buck wild and untamed, panting heavily as the warmth in your belly begins gathering quicker than you could have thought, the coil pulling tightly as minute by aching minute Simon draws your body to the edge of its release. He is relentless in his endeavor, putting your needs above anything else- even breathing. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you soon are spilling over the edge and he has to hold onto you tight so that you don’t slip and fall.
Simon stays locked to your pussy until the very last second, keeping his movements going even as you try to pry him off from the sensitivity that is almost too much to handle. It isn’t until you finally stop writhing that he emerges from between your legs with a smile that has your stomach doing somersaults as he wipes his mouth clean of your cum. 
“Second course,” he growls before you even have a chance to fully come down from your high.
Oh you have got him down bad tonight. 
He carefully flips you round to face the wall and uses his feet to make you spread your legs as wide as you can get them. A hefty hand runs itself over the curve of your ass, following the line down all the way to the underside before he grabs it in his hand and gives the meat a firm squeeze.
“Those little boys just don’t know how to handle this much woman; all these fuckin’ curves are too much pleasure for a bastard that don’t know the treasure he’s got. But I know what a fuckin’ feast ya are,” he groans as he aligns your hips and enters you from behind with a forceful grunt that reverberates off the enclosed space of the shower. 
You push palms flat against the wall to steady yourself. “They don’t know how ta treat ya right, how ta love a body that just keeps givin’ and givin’. But I don’t have that problem, sweetheart.”
Simon’s devout words are like liquid fire and as his cock stretches you wide, the euphoria of his talk runs through you to make you burn. Your body is his religion and goddamn does he always worship it right. All those cares, all that self-loathing and doubt entirely evaporate from your mind as he pushes your shoulders forward to make you arch your back so that he can pound into your pussy hard and deep from behind, making your plump ass bounce off his pelvis with a recoil that draws his gaze.
“Fuck,” he breathes, so obsessed with the way you look around him that he is trying to ingrain the image in his mind.  
His aching exclamation thrills you, making your heart skip a beat as his thrusts continue to rock through you. To be craved in such a way, to be thought of like the woman in the movie, that is what he is giving you now and it is euphoric. His intensity is orgasmic and your body responds in kind as he grabs you to move you closer.
“Don’t concern yourself with the bullshit ideas of some puny little boys when ya got a man who will always make sure you feel like a fuckin’ princess when you’re in his arms,” he says in a whisper at your ear as he pulls you back to leans against his chest. “Cause ya are, sweetheart. Your my fuckin’ goddess of a woman.”
The way he says it makes you ache all over and you can feel it twinge in your clit. “Say it again,” you beg, needing to hear him make those sweet combinations of sounds once more until your body vibrates with pleasure. 
His hand comes up to cup around your breast so that he can massage the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to mewl at the sensation. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful baby, so goddamn perfect just like this, and I love every last fuckin’ inch of ya. My princess.”
Your cheeks feel like they are glowing and on fire as thrusts after thrust he pounds into you, stretching you and filling you full on all of his passion for your body. You will never be able to make everyone see you for the gorgeous being that you truly are, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Simon is more than enough to keep you feeling like the most beautiful girl in the whole world; you are safe with him.
Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his arms that are filled with your waist clamp down tighter to secure you to him so that he can shove his cock even harder into your now dripping core. “Yes, yes,” you whimper out. 
“Come for me again,” he practically demands as he watches you falling apart once more. “Come on, pretty girl, one more for me. One more together.”
Your limbs are tingling with each snap of his hips against your ass. It’s close, right there, you can almost feel it again as the coil wounds itself tight once more in the pit of your stomach. You clench down on him, making him falter before recovering and continuing on. A few more pumps of him deep in your core and it is right there at the precipice.
“Let go for me,” he whispers into your ear as you clench once more around him and something about the way he says it sets you off. You come for the second time, the orgasm rocketing through you until you can feel it like fire shooting through your veins as you shake with the intensity of it all. 
Quickly he pulls out just in time as he too pops off and comes between your thighs as you clamp them together around his cock. The ejaculate runs down your legs as he milks every last bit out of the tip until his body hangs limp and his head falls down to rest the forehead against your shoulder. Still he holds you close, murmuring soft praises against your neck about how fucking amazing that was and how there is no one else that will ever look more beautiful all flushed and exhausted.
Holding onto you, Simon takes a few steps back forcing you to come along until you are both submerged under the showerhead to let that soothing water run over your bodies until you can both come back down from your high. There are no words yet, none that need to be said out loud, all he needs to do is keep you wrapped in his arms a little longer.
It’s quiet, just the sound of the water rushing filling the silent space for a while, until a noise breaks you both out of the moment. There is a banging on the door from the outside, repeated knocking loudly and clearly; you’ve been in here for too long, but Simon doesn’t seem to be bothered. There is no attempt to leave the steamy oasis yet and soon the sound subsides and you are both left in the silence once again. 
“They’ll just have to fuckin’ wait,” he says against the side of your head in a hushed whisper, lips tempting your earlobe. “They can consider it a punishment for making ya upset. Besides, I’m still busy and you’re not goin’ anywhere.”
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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months
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i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((
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Banner picture credit: @661ave
possession
noun
the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.  A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)
He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.
And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none. 
He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.
He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any. 
Family, or friends, that is.
When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?
It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute. 
There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need? 
Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir. 
She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…
And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.
She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven. 
He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?
He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago. 
It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus. 
He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy. 
When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away. 
It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home. 
Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard. 
It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.
His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.
It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube. 
Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.
He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her? 
And god, how he would fuck her… 
Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…
He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob. 
He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.
"Scheisse–"
He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.  
She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.
He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.
She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.
She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of. 
Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.
Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things? 
But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.
He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.
With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all. 
There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.
What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?
He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.
He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job. 
The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.
Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.
So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up. 
She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…
She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.
"I got you something... Merry Christmas."
"Aw… You shouldn't have…"
She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.
"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." 
He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.
He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb. 
Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for… 
"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically. 
Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present. 
Well, shit. Fuck.
"Don't worry about it."
"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."
"That’s nice to hear." 
"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."
He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.
"You already got me Christmas decorations."
"Yeah, but… You paid for them."
"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"
He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.
"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways. 
"I truly did."
She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.
"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying. 
"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."
She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.
"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."
"...What does that mean?" 
"It means 'Happy New Year'."
"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"
Shit.
Shit.
Shit…
"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."
She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.
"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.
"Something naughty."
Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too. 
"Really…?"
"Yes."
"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."
Playful, naughty, dirty. 
She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.
Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening? 
"I want to lick your pussy."
There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.
"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"
"Ja."
It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.
Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress. 
With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.
When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.
"Go ahead then," she whispers.
He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.
She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.
It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips. 
Mein.
Mein.
Mein…
He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.
Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.
And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.
He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin. 
"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"
He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries. 
To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.
"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"
She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams. 
The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin. 
Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined. 
Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.
And he's only about to fuck her…
"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.
"Oh–oh god…"
Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds. 
"Wait–"
"I will fuck you now."
"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"
She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for. 
"Hm. I don't have any."
"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child... 
But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.
Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...? 
How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?
She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft. 
"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.
She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go. 
"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"
"I am."
He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.
And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.
He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.
"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."
Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove. 
"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"
It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.
"Ok…" 
"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"
"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"
The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.
"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.
"O‐oh…?"
"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."
"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"
If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness. 
"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."
He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had. 
He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely. 
"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"
"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"
Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.
He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog. 
"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"
He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck. 
She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.
"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"
She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.
"Will you stay? For the night…?"
His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content. 
"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”
She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity. 
She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.
“I'm sorry..."
"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.
For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.
He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…
She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.
She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.
He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.
It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.
The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women. 
When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.
"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."
There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.
And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.
"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"
She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…
"Liebling... Me too."
"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."
"Oh I fear a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Like… flying, for example."
"But you fly all the time?"
"Exactly."
She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…
"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."
She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.
If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one. 
"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"
"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"
"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."
She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in. 
He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.
What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs. 
This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him. 
"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.
"...What?" 
He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.
"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.
"What do you mean.”
She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.
"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."
He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.
"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."
Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.
So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…
And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy. 
But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…
"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"
"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."
"Well, neither am I."
He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.
"No one is."
"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes. 
"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."
"Liebling…"
"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"
"Of course."
She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets. 
He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his. 
Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…
And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 
He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.
But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.
"Are you still afraid?"
He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness. 
"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."
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tojirights · 1 month
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Honestly think you're one of the best writers for Alastor in this fandom! Your stuff is always brilliant and the characterisation is perfect!
Had the idea last night: Alastor and reader going multiple rounds, and reader still wanting more and being full of energy but Alastor being absolutely out of it and completely shattered, so he uses his tentacles instead, because what kind of gentleman keeps his lady wanting?
Just an excuse to request tentacle sex with everyone's favourite "deer".
a/n: im gonna be so real with you, im not really sure if the tentacles are like, real apendages or if they're part of his shadow soooo i wrote them as the latter. hope it makes sense!! thank you love :') y'all are too nice 🩷
if there was one thing you weren’t expecting to still have in hell, it was your damn hormonal cycle. you didn’t necessarily have a period, but by god, you swore you still ovulated. it felt even worse than before, the primal need threatened to burn a hole through you. you always felt like a bother to alastor during this week of the month, begging and pleading for him to fuck you for hours. but, alastor never turned you away.
today though, you were especially needy. alastor had already made you cum a handful of times and had cum twice himself. he was exhausted. yet, there you were at the edge of his bed, eyes still filled with lust. “my goodess…” alastor chuckles, shaking his head. “i’m not sure i have much left in the tank, darling.” he cups your cheek, watching tears well up in your eyes. “i-i’m sorry-” he shushes you before you can continue. “did i say anything about stopping? i’d never dream of leaving my lady hanging when she needs me.”
“but…” you frown, watching alastor’s smile turn to smirk. “i have a few tricks up my sleeve, my dear. lay back.” your eyes widen as there’s a flash of green light, followed by five tentacle-like appendages sprout from alastor’s back. “w-what?” adrenaline surges through you as well as a mix of excitement and nerves. “you’re gonna… use those?” you gulp, watching the tentacles slither towards you. “why of course!” alastor snickers, seeing your apprehension. “don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours." he coos, watching with hungry yet tired eyes.
the shadow apendages wrap around your thighs, cold to the touch but not unpleasant. as they slowly spread your legs, another slides between them. it's almost embarrassing the way your legs shake with anticipation, the cool tip of the tentacles swiping up your slit. "o-oh, that's..." you sigh in relief when you're suddenly being filled. "how's that darling?" alastor hums, watching as you open wider around him. "that's... oh god alastor..." you pant, every slow thrust of his tentacle-like shadow making your head dizzy.
the foreign feeling of being stretched so wide has you already teetering on the edge. without warning, alastor curls the apendage while picking up pace, making your eyes roll into the back of your head. "gonna-" you mewl, hips arching off the bed with every thrust. "k-keep going please. 'm gonna cum." every whine makes alastor almost wish his cock was back inside of you, knowing just how hard you're clamping down on his shadow.
but the sight of you writhing, gripping the sheets like you're life depended on it was something he's grateful to be seeing from afar. the buildup to your orgasm comes strong, the coil in your stomach snapping from the tension and- "oooh, you really liked that, hm?" alastor's voice is heavy with arousal, pulling you back to reality after cumming. your vision slowly returns, heavy breathing filling your ears. you barely register the soaking mess you've made on the bed. "oh my god. did i..?" your face goes red, embarrasmemt setting in once again. "yes, my sweet. you did, and made quite the mess for us to clean up."
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hedgehog-moss · 6 months
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Pampérigouste escaped today and I almost didn't make a post about it because it's just more of the same isn't it? do people who read this blog really want to hear about yet another Pampe escape? Then I thought, that's like asking if people who read detective novels really want to hear about yet another mysterious murder. Probably yes. Also Pampe would have been offended to have such a successful escape go unreported.
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I would like to say that my new fence is still fully Pampe-proof. She has not escaped a single time through breaking or outsmarting the fence, so now she does it by outsmarting me. Which doesn't happen all that often, because we are intellectual equals. But I let my guard down this morning—I'd just peeled some greenhouse carrots to make purée and I went into the pasture to distribute the peelings even though it was raining (see how I got punished for my selflessness?), and I left the gate open because I was right in front of it, obstructing it with my body.
Pampe dropped her carrot peelings and acted like she couldn't find them even though they were right under her feet, so I took pity on her and crouched down to gather them and offer them to her again (see how I'm getting punished for my compassion??) and she took advantage of this diversion. In the span of 0.2 seconds she slithered around me and she was out. It was a little bit beautiful. I don't know if you remember this photo of Pampe & Pyrgus, but it's a perfect illustration of what happened:
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I sighed and ignored her and finished distributing the peelings to the other animals, and then went to the barn to get muesli to lure my nuisance back to her pasture. After escaping she initially ran towards the woods, but since I ignored her the whole time, she emerged from the woods when I returned, like, wait, did you notice I escaped? Behind your back, just earlier? Did you notice how I won and you lost?
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It shouldn't have been difficult to get her back into the pasture with the help of her favourite snack; unfortunately Pampoldine is still a big baby who was distraught that her mum had left her behind yet again (she should be used to it, honestly, it's been like this since she was an infant), she started making these little panicky noises that Pampe has never paid any attention to—
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—so when I propped the gate open with a branch to get Pampe back inside, Poldine hurried out instead. I wasn't expecting this, I thought it was clear that I had the situation under control and her mum would be back in 5 seconds. You could have just waited 5 seconds, Poldine.
Pampelune had no interest in escaping, but she's the matriarch and where her herd goes, she goes, so once the other two were out she barrelled past me as well. I opened the gate to bring 1 llama in and instead 2 llamas went out. Pirlouit besides me was like
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For some reason the llamas galloped towards the road, instead of just hanging out in the woods where there's stuff to eat. Maybe because Pampe hadn't gone out in a long time and she wanted to be admired for her feat. Her wish was granted—2 cars stopped to say hi as I was miserably trotting after my llamas on the road in the rain. One of them was the post office lady who once herded my animals out of a pasture with her car, and she was like hop in, it'll be like old times!!!
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The two people who stopped their car were enchanted with the encounter and they both told me that they missed the days when Pampe Sightings on this road were a regular thing. No one sides with my fence in the Pampe v. Fence conflict. I love the post office lady though, she had a Niagara song playing in her car when I got in and a minute later I muttered "I'll sell her to the butcher" and she started singing "Pampe ♪ Je vais devoir te vendre au boucher ♫" to the tune of that song. It fit the tune really well, too.
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After we managed to get the llamas off the main road and back in the woods, she was like, godspeed, I wish I could continue chasing them with you but I have to go make lunch for my kids. I told her that now that the llamas were no longer on the road I'd just let them roam, they'll come home before night, no way I'm going to chase after them in the woods in this dog weather. So I went home and grumpily resumed peeling carrots and potatoes for my mash.
I sat in front of the window to do it so I could keep an eye on Pirlouit, who was wandering around the pasture like a cursed soul, drenched with rain, lonely and llamaforsaken. Sometimes he brayed to try and guide his friends back home, wherever they were, but he never brayed while I was filming. His braying is a poignant display of emotion and is not for public consumption.
I figured, if the llamas come back Pirou will spot them and perk up his immense ears, and I'll know to go out and open the gate. Instead at some point I looked up from my potatoes and saw my donkey finally at peace, grazing rather than pacing restlessly, and I went to look outside and his friends were back! And so was his appetite.
I had new peelings + some muesli to offer, but of course Pampe could tell this offering was a crude and blatant trap and refused to fall for it. Meanwhile her innocent daughter was like yay, snacks :) and followed me in the pasture, a llama entirely devoid of wiles.
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After I got Poldine back inside I went like WELL since NOBODY else wants that delicious MUESLI I guess these deserving chickens can have it—and Pampe was here in the blink of an eye to shoo the hens away from her muesli.
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She was grudgingly smiling about it, too. Like, point for you.
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I love this pic where my chicken looks like she's herding the animals back in their pasture all by herself.
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Everyone is home! Pampe and Pandolf are walking away in search of new adventures, Poldine follows her mum because of her abandonment issues, and Pirlouit is also following everyone very closely, like, I'm not getting left behind again.
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I finally managed to cook my mashed carrots & potatoes (+ herbs from the greenhouse) and it's so nice to make food with nothing but ingredients you grew yourself! (To be completely honest I only managed to grow 3 carrots in the past few months but that's because I neglected them in pursuit of more flashy summer vegetables)
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I also had an apple-plum compote for dessert made with my own fruit <3 Okay, the cheese course in between was store-bought. One of my friends really wants me to get goats and be self-sufficient in cheese and when I told her I would be constantly chasing my goats over hill and dale because they have a reputation to be insufferable escape artists she was like, what difference will it make to your life...
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ookaookaooka · 1 year
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I’m hardly the first person to compare them but Terry Pratchett and J K Rowling really are polar opposites in terms of the way their writing treats weird characters. In Rowling’s writing, any weirdness is there to be laughed at (for example: Professor Trelawney, the fake seer who doesn’t know she’s an actual seer). In Pratchett’s writing, though, the characters’ weirdness is taken 100% seriously and the humor arises organically from the situation itself and is never at the characters’ expense (for example: in Making Money, the man who was born a clown and was never told so until he was 13 years old). In Rowling’s writing, the main characters poke constant fun at Professor Trelawney, making joke predictions and fudging homework and talking about how divination isn’t a legitimate field of study. Even after she gets fired and more or less drops the act, the joke changes to “look at this sad drunk lady” and the main characters express little sympathy. The narrative is saying she’s there to make one real prediction and otherwise she’s only there for comic relief. This sort of thing happens over and over in Rowling’s writing, where any quirkiness is there to be laughed at and the misfortunes of characters we’re not supposed to like are supposed to be funny, and it sends a message of conformity under threat of ridicule. In Pratchett’s writing, the clown man’s story is treated as a great tragedy: imagine growing up not knowing why you are the way you are, and then finding out the truth as a teenager! And knowing that your own mother kept the truth from you! This man was so deeply traumatized by this he denied himself any humor or fun for decades, and when he has a crisis and runs off to become a clown again, he is given support and medical treatment and is welcomed back to his job at the bank and accepted for who he is. The fact that this whole situation is hilarious is secondary. And again, this sort of thing happens over and over again in Pratchett’s writing, where characters’ quirkiness is embraced and often seen as irreplaceable by the end of the book, and it sends a message that our quirks are valuable and weirdness should be acceptable. It just strikes me as a much… kinder approach to people, you know?
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can i please get some older!stepbrother!könig? please i beg if you write for that sort of thing!! (with afab reader, but they/them pronouns please!)
MDNI. STEPCEST, MENTIONS OF ROMANTIC RELATIONS WITH A STEP-SIBLING, INITIAL DUBIOUS CONSENT — DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT !! age gap [30 + 40 ], nudes, restraints, mating press.
pic cr; in picture !
i’ll proofread this one day 🥴🙏🏼
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you’ve never seen much of the dating scene, never had a committed or long-term relationship. you’ve always been one for the comfort of your own company; having a quiet night in with home-cooked food, a glass of wine and a romcom. the perfect date, so you’d say. as would most, probably. but it’s just never appealed to you — dating. you’d rather just stumble into your soulmate on the street, like they do in the movies. maybe they bump into you on accident, knocking your books from your arms, only to let out a chorus of apologies and help you pick them back up. maybe you pass each other in the park every morning during a brisk jog, eventually arranging to just meet up at his place and become running pals. or failing that, the dishy waiter (haha) scribbles his number on your receipt, cheekily doodling a winky face beside it. maybe even deducts a few quid from the tab!
but you’ve not yet had the pleasure.
which was why you agreed to this stupid date in the first place. he’s been badgering you at work for bloody mary know’s how long, leaving cheesy notes on your desk and bringing you frequent bargains (penguin bars from the staff kitchenette). eventually, you gave in to his advances, hoping he’d find you dreadfully boring, or perhaps austere under the restaurant’s ugly yellow lighting. and of course he chose italian, which meant overpriced pasta and pizza — things you could make better with nan’s tommy-k. you were rooting for a sushi bar, if he’d bothered to ask.
and as the night progressed at the speed of a baby sea turtle trying to make it to the waves, he only continued to show about as much interest in you as a moth would to a dim bulb. and dim, he certainly was. at some point you were sure a ball of tumbleweed rolled by. you spent most of the night staring at a patch of stubble on his jaw his razor had missed, even managing to count each individual hair without him noticing you’d zoned out. he spoke of his ex-lady a little too much, and a little to fondly. you’ve never been so dry.
fucker even suggested you split the bill.
and you walked home unescorted, heels clicking against the paved slabs of the footpath beneath the scarcely-lit street lamps. you’ve never felt so underwhelmed aside from the bland ravioli you had for dinner, which mister right had of course recommended. odd, given his choice of location was blindly swayed by a few 2-star reviews online.
never have you been so relieved to arrive at the dingy apartment complex you call home, stilettos announcing your return to every neighbour as you make you way up three flights of concrete stairs. upon reaching your door, what immediately catches your eye, is the slant of your welcome mat. you notice the absence of your spare key which usually lives beneath it, then. your heart hammers, chest stammering as you gently ease open your unlocked door, your own key poised between two fingers should an intruder try their luck. you’re not in the fucking mood.
but your eyes fall to a pair of familiar boots positioned neatly and perpendicularly beside your shoe rack — a jacket that emits a scent you’ve smelt before hooked onto an available peg. you sigh, no longer afraid under your own roof. you close the door behind you, using your weaponised key to lock it, before draping your coat and scarf over his. “könig?”
“in here, kleine geschwister.” your step-brother’s voice directs you to the sitting room where he’s manspreading all over your settee, socked feet crossed over your coffee table. “where have you been? it is late. and dark.”
you roll your eyes, kicking your sore feet from the nailed-coffins of your shoes. “i was having dinner.” you plop down onto the small gap that his large body leaves vacant. “nice of you to call.” the sarcasm is grumbled through an annoyance that triples once spotting he’s helped himself to one of your beers.
“i should not need to call. am i not allowed to visit?” he hooks an arm around your shoulders, chuckling as he pulls you into an unreciprocated bear-hug. “i thought you were deployed.” you free yourself from his embrace with a huff, snatching the beer from his hand and taking a sip.
“i was. i’m home now.” he frowns at your blatantly sour spirit. you’re usually very happy to see him. “did i do something wrong?” the hand that previously pinned you to his side slips to circle over the small of your exposed back, fingertips briefly breaching the hem of your skirt. you flinch from his affections, springing to your feet. “just shut the fuck up! don’t you ever stop talking?”
he’s startled, blue eyes widening and bushy brows shooting skyward to kiss his hairline. his hands rise in mock surrender as you scrub yours over your face, swiping your mascara over your cheeks in the process. he’s said all but a few sentences in nothing but good taste and with genuine interest. “shit, i’m sorry.”
but he smiles, beckoning you with a crooked finger to rejoin him. your shoulders slump as you sigh again, you’ve done that a lot tonight. and he guides you to curl into his lap, hooking your arms around the thick width of his neck where unkept hair grows down the back of it. “tell me what happened, ja? i am a good listener, you know.”
finally, someone who’s willing to withdraw their two cents.
“he was such a cheese-dick.” you grumble into the sturdy surface of his chest, his throaty laugh reverberating onto you when he rests his chin on your head. “smelt like one too.” you add, to which his laughter deepens. “oh, you poor thing. that sounds awful.” his support is meant with jest but appreciated all the same, and you can’t help but crack a smirk as he encourages your critiques.
“i do not smell bad, do i?” he asks you, booping your nose with his finger. you crunch it up, before tilting your face to nuzzle it into the angle of his jaw. you sniff the skin there — husky and so masculine. “nah, you smell like… you.” könig nods, his smile faint in the low light of the room. “as opposed to..?”
“a cheesy dick.”
“ah, a small win.”
“a win is a win.”
a relaxed silence settles between you and you snuggle further into his hold. “i’m sorry i didn’t reach out to you more.” you trapse a finger over his bicep — far bigger in comparison to your hand, or even your head. “i tried to write to you often.”
“are you saying you’ve missed me?” his assumption retains a flirtatious inflection and it thickens the atmosphere where a familiar tension obviously lingers. you scoff, lightly slapping his arm. “no way. i hate you, remember? all siblings hate their brothers. it’s, like, tradition.”
“ah, sorry. i must have gotten the wrong impression, nein? these were a little… misleading.” he rummages within his pocket to reveal two printed cards; both displaying explicit self-photographed pictures of you. one completely naked, and the other dolled up in lace and nylon.
your cheeks flush, an embarrassed heat suddenly simmering throughout your body. you’d forgotten all about those. he hums, rearranging you in his lap so your pussy cushions against his groin. “this is something you do when you hate a person?”
the photos are clearly stuck together, the remnants of a creamy, white fluid being what’s responsible. suddenly, you’re spiralling into a pit of self-hatred for your sexual involvement with a man your mother calls ‘son’. you’ve been through this destructive cycle before. one you struggled to break free from, much like this illicit affair.
his face falls when you break yourself of his grasp, straightening your ruffled clothes. “we shouldn’t. you should go, actually. i’ve had a long day.”
he frowns, skin scrunching and pupils narrowing like needle points. “what are you doing?” beady eyes follow your retreating frame, more imposing without the canopy of his sniper hood which remains forgotten on the arm of the couch. “i’m going to bed.” and it’s now that your head begins to feel weighted by a persistent ache — kind regards, barolo. “lock the door on your way out, put the key back where you found it.”
but two meaty paws find purchase on your hips, shoving you into your room. you stumble forward but he shoots an arm out, catching your wrist so he can spin you around. “my father was right about you, liebling.” the words are spat like the seed from a fruit, before his hand is planted on your chest, pushing you back onto the bed. you kick your leg out, stamping your foot against his stomach so he stops mid-stride. “what?”
“stay away from them. they’re just like their mother,” he quotes his father, lips smiling down at you. “a whore for men like us.” your face curls in disgust as he leans against your leg, causing it to bend against his chest when he crawls above you. “you told him?”
“that we fucked like rabbits before he even got to slide a ring onto your mother’s finger? oh, i did.”
you thrash beneath him, fists battering his chest. “we’re not doing this again! könig… you promised.” his lips pucker against your temple as he shushes you, hands gliding southbound to unbend your legs and lock them around his waist. “i never made such promise, maus. besides, you broke it first, nein? sending me those dirty polaroids? dirty little slut.” you whimper at the degrading words, head lulling away from his sneering mouth.
“we can’t. please, leave.”
he steers your face by the gentle grip of your chin between his thumb and forefinger, blue irises captivating you in the darkness. “is that really what you want?” he brushes his lips over yours, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. “because i am not convinced it is.”
looks can deceive but it’s not your facade that fails to swindle him, but the wetness that seeps from your pussy — moistening the fabric of his jeans. the denim feels so delicious against your slick heat. of course you’d gone commando tonight, hoping you might score a shag; even if with that wuss you’d begrudgingly given up your friday night to.
“oh, hübsch.” the rough pad of a thick finger finds solace at your hardened clit, pinching. “let könig help you, ja? make up for that schwachsinnig who had no idea how to please you.” you mewl, hands latching to the rigid muscle of his broad back. “big brother always knows best.”
“könig, we shouldn’t.” you gasp against his soft kisses, breathing heavily between the little nibbles his teeth nip onto your lips. “the taboo aspect is what makes it so exciting.” he coerces, sitting up on his knees so he can remove his belt. “you used to be so into it, liebe. what changed?”
you swallow as he lifts your arms over your head, binding your wrists with one hand so he can fasten them together with the belt in his other. “i grew up.” your response draws a scoff from him and he grips your ankle, rolling the sole of your foot over his immense bulge. “look at what you still do to me, after all this time.” he unzips himself, freeing his cock from its cell. you unknowingly bite your lip as it springs free — it would seem he’s free-balling too. letting the goods ventilate, or whatever. his purplish cockhead slobbers over his belly button when it slaps back against his stomach — beads of pre-cum starting to meander through the brittle hairs of his happy trail and gathering at his wide base.
you wriggle, hands struggling in their restraints. fuck, you want to touch him. he smirks down at you, triumphant, before settling over you so his knees are on either side of your arms. “spit.” his mushroom tip probes at your pouty mouth, dribbling onto it. it’s an order, and you obey, collecting enough saliva on your tongue to spew onto the swollen head. not so hard, since you’re practically drooling. “good.” he praises, pumping himself with his fist to spread your spit over the girthy length of his stiff cock. you groan, licking shamelessly at your lips to steal a taste of him.
once he’s resumed his position at your cunt, he hikes your curve-hugging pencil skirt up high enough to give himself full access — a shit-eating grin stretching his mouth from ear-to-ear. “so wet. you cannot deny me, sweetling. not after seeing what is waiting for me between these thighs. scheiße.”
your heart lurches into your throat when you feel him teasing your entrance, and the callused warmth of his palms land on the undersides of your thighs, pushing your legs flush to your chest. your knees bend vertical to your shoulders, feet in the air as you feel yourself bloom for him, pussy lips parting as your cunt flutters against his weeping cock. “shit, könig—”
“shush now, schmetterling. i will go slowly so as not to hurt this pretty pussy, ja?”
not that he’s cared that much before.
and before you can say boo to a goose, he’s easing himself inside, utterly enamoured by the way your walls immediately grapple him, clinging to every ridge and vein like a suction cup. your jaw drops, mouth gaping in a silent scream as you’re forced to take just this small portion of his cock — the slimmer half of it still splitting you in half, or so it feels. you never did fully adapt to the sheer size of him.
“mein gott.” he groans, throatily. “squeezing me so tight.” and it’s taking everything in him not to empty his load into you there and then, just from the clench of your cunt around the few inches he’s so far plugged you on.
you already feel so full and you swear you can feel him spearing you far deeper than he actually has.
you mewl, toes curling and fingernails biting into the leather of his belt as he sits still within you, keeping his word that he’d go slow. and as soon as you relax around him, he sinks a couple inches deeper, watching with awe as the rim of your cunt stretches for him like a hungry mouth.
when he finally bottoms out, he leans his weight on the backs of your thighs for support, his pelvic bone knocking your clit whilst his heavy balls sit against your upturned arse. your eyes roll back, tears pooling from the burn of being impaled on such a fat cock after so long. you forgot how incomparable literally any other dick is to his. he really is naturally gifted, and knows how to put said gift to good use. god did his thing with this one.
and suddenly the sickening reality that this man is your literal step-brother diminishes into a shameless arousal, desire clouding you to the point of brain-dead delusion. “move.” the beg jumps from your throat before you can stop yourself, chest heaving and knuckles whitening. “fuck, please move.”
“now you are eager.” he chuckles, grinding his hips against yours but still refusing to thrust. “all you needed was to be reminded who good i can make you feel, ja?” the condescending accusation sends a shiver down your spine that narrows on your stuffed cunt, causing it to throb around the shaft it swallows. “not to worry.” he pats your thigh, retracting his cock from inside you ever so slightly. barely. “let me show you how real men fuck. you won’t want to waste your time on any other man again.”
true to his word, he begins a persistent rhythm, rocking into you steadily and with precision. stringy ropes of your wetness already connect your pubic bones like spider webs, but he doesn’t notice, because he’s looking at your face and ever acute expression it makes. his cockhead jabs at the gooey roof of your cervix when he fucks himself into every sweet crevice you have, knowing exactly what you like and where to look for it.
the rolling of his hips coerces the most lewd and pornographic noises from you, that they’d make a prostitute consider acting classes, and you know it’ll be a while before you can show your face to the neighbours after subjecting them to such infamy. faking your own death doesn’t seem like such a far-fetched method of avoiding the noise complaint you’re certain you’ll get. there’s nothing worse than looking into the eye of a person who’s heard you get fucked raw and nasty — one of the only things college taught you.
“that’s right. let me hear you.” his pace harshens, skin starting slap yours whilst your pussy squelches around him, white spurts of cream squirting onto his abdomen as he starts to relentlessly drill you into the mattress. “oh god, oh god—” spills from your moaning mouth, broken cries filling the brief silence of your colliding bodies when he pulls out, only to slam back in to the hilt. you’re sure his balls are bruising your arse cheeks every time they slap against them, not that it’s a problem. and your legs start to tremble, your stomach tightening when he bumps your sweet spot each time without fail.
his moves one hand from your thigh to stamp it down onto your lower belly, pressing inward as he fishes his cock within you in more thorough strokes. a strange sensation riddles your core, similar to the unpleasant stabbing of menstrual cramps. you squeal, pushing the leg he released into his sweat-damp chest. “h- ah! hurts!”
“are you going to cum for me?” he sets his sights on you, gaze languid and lidded. the blown dilation of his pupils actually make his lethargic eyes appear black, his mouth limply parted and brow furrowed with concentration. he looks utterly devastating, and you’ve never wanted to cum on something so hard. “cum for könig.” he urges when you don’t answer, still power driving into your cunny, swollen tip hitting your gummy spot whilst simultaneously applying acquainted pressure to your tummy.
“y-yes, yes i’m cumming!” you tell him, strangled. his tempo grows irregular and not as consistent, occasionally stuttering or erratically hammering. the sloppiness of it only spurs you over the edge, the whites of your eyeballs visible when they roll to the backs of their sockets, an almost painful orgasm crashing down on you.
you fall limp like a ragdoll whilst he continues to go to town on your cunt, a milky hoop surrounding the tanned flesh from where his delving cock sprouts. “fuck, i am close.” he hisses, teeth gritted and eyes squinted as he nears ecstasy. his hips stammer, before he pulls his pulsating cock from its sheath, shooting hot fountains of spunk onto your chest and stomach — twitching from aftershocks.
hypersensitive, you can’t help the spasms of your pussy as it pushes your cum from you, pouring it down the crack of your arse. you groan, unable to move as you lay in a tangle of your own exhausted limbs. “i did.” you tell him, breathless.
“you did, what?” könig frowns, tucking his softening dick back into his trousers having collapsed beside you. “i did miss you.” you admit, rolling your head to the side to look at him. “came around my fingers like a whore to the thought of you most nights since you left.”
his face lights up, eyes flitting between yours and your mouth. “is that so, klein haser?”
“mhm. i guess i do love how wrong it feels.”
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hee-pster · 8 months
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。゚゚・。・゚゚。 ゚。 two best friends in a room — sjy ( m )
 ゚・。・゚
pairing: roommate!jake x fem!reader
genre: smut
summary: is it awkward for two best friends to watch p*rn together? well, you’re currently ovulating and thus, you don’t think so
word count: 3.9k 😀
warnings: dom!jake, mentions of watching p*rn, unprotected s*x, rough s*x, slapping k*nk, brief bl*wjob, Jake and y/n are both pervs, f*ngering, brief p*ssy eating, pet names, making out, dry h*mping, begging, teasing, lmk if there’s more but this is nasty
notes: my intention was to write out a small drabble but I ended up writing this filth instead, this may be the wildest thing I wrote for any member, I hope you enjoy ♥️
༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚��༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚ ༯
What are two best friends supposed to do when one catches the other watching, erm, p*rn?
a) pretend to have seen nothing
b) freak out about it
c) join them
For you the correct answer was obvious — you’re a girl in ovulation, your brain works on high level of estrogen and the only thing you were able to think of for these past days has been, uhm . . .
. . . has been dick.
So when you accidentally catch your best friend — Jake, who happens to be your roommate, watching it in his room, sitting on his comfortable bed with his eyes solely focused on the big screen of his tv, you do not hesitate to get inside and join him.
Now you’re sitting side by side, sharing his bed as you watch that gorgeous lady with long black hair get railed in the pool by her husband’s best friend — yes, Jake does have a questionable taste it appears — not speaking a word to each other as if this is such a regular activity for the both of you.
In Jake’s case, he’s so baffled that he has no idea what to say — I mean, what is there to say?
Embarrassing enough, he just got caught to his roommate, who is a girl, while watching corny stuff and this wasn’t exactly something he could explain.
He’s horny, so fucking horny, that’s all.
But you — honestly, what the hell are you doing?
If it was any other girl — hell, if it was any other human being, they’d either freak out or walk out, because that’s the normal way of reacting to this messed up situation.
But you, what did you do?
Instead of doing either of those things, you walked right inside, jumped on his bed, sat right next to him and started watching the extremely inappropriate scenes with the same devotion as Jake’s.
He looks over you, wow, you’re completely immersed.
You haven’t spoken a word to him since you’ve arrived, and it has been good fifteen minutes, he’s having a crisis.
Because why do you look so comfortable? How do you look so comfortable?
He’s over there, curled up to a corner on his own bed, in his own room as he grows unhealthily big underneath his pants — which feels more uncomfortable by the passing minute.
He needs to jack off, he needs to relieve himself but you make it impossible for him, and he wants to know why.
But just when he’s about to open his mouth to start a conversation, he stops, ‘cause holy fuck, you’re touching yourself — as in hands buried in your shorts, fingers making wet noises while they slide in and out of you type of touching, without a single care in the world.
Is he invisible to you?
Or are you trying to give him a sign?
Shit, he can’t think right now, he’s too focused on your hands, so much that he forgets about the literal porn on his tv, watching you is so much better.
He bites his lips and reaches to his bulge, dark eyes focused on you — on your face, and the way it twitches so beautifully as you fuck yourself with two of your delicate fingers.
He starts playing with himself over his clothes just like you do — one hand on his balls, massaging them slowly as the other rubs his hardness throughly, from the bottom to the top.
When you moan he curses, feeling himself leaking inside his boxers. Great, as if he couldn’t get more embarrassed tonight.
But you don’t react. All you care about seems to be the adult movie playing on the screen, guess she’s really horny too, he thinks, for some reason finding it impossible to believe.
Because he’s known you for years, has been your roommate over a year and not once, he’s seen you like this before.
Don’t get him wrong though, he’s not complaining, he’s totally a fan of this new side of you he had just discovered.
You look so hot this way, gosh, he needs more stimulation.
Therefore he slides his sweatpants down, only a bit to allow himself some space to sneak his hands inside his panties. With the strong grasp of his large palm, he hisses, a breathy “ah fuck” falling from his lips.
Thus, he finally gains your attention, the one he’s been seeking desperately ever since he moved in with you, and the one he’s been in denial of for too long now.
You turn your head his way, following the direction his hands go. They’re buried inside his pants and all you can see is the outline of his knuckles underneath his black calvins as he pumps himself furiously.
Your mouth waters, his dick, you fucking crave it.
And you need to have it, right here, right now.
So you scoot over, closing the safe gap between your bodies. He follows you behind half open lids, nervous about what you’re going to do next, because he knows that he’s not strong enough to say “no” to you.
“Do you need help with that?” You ask, being the first person to break the unbearable silence.
“Kind of.” He briefly says, and god, he’s barely holding himself from jumping on you like an animal right now.
He wants to fuck you so bad — so raw, so nasty and so hard.
Lucky for him, you’re not feeling any different.
“Can I?” You innocently ask as you reach for his pants, eyes pleading at him for permission to slid down his pants.
He’s not the one to turn down such a generous offer so he approves with a nod, letting you have your way with him.
Once his cock plops out, you audibly moan at the sight. It’s the prettiest one you’ve ever seen, so veiny, so red and tip leaking with cum. It begs to be sucked and you’re not the kind of girl to just ditch that.
And as if Jake can hear the thoughts you’re having, “Go on.” He says, cupping your chin to bring you closer to his aching length, giving you the allowance you terribly needed.
Shooting him the cutest smile ever, you lean down, and start with his base. You pepper small kisses down on his sensitive skin as you gently rub his head, smearing the leak to his shaft.
Then you give him a long lick, from where you began to all the way up, reaching to his slit. As you suck on his tip, you look up, wanting to see his reaction.
And his face, it’s carrying the hottest expression ever.
His plump lips, they’re cherry red and parted as he lets out tiny whines here and there, his eyes are half lidded and dark, while his hair his pushed back, a few messy strands falling before his eyes.
His chest is heaving up and down with each deep breath, he really wants to just wrap a hand around your hair and mercilessly fuck your throat right now, but he waits.
He waits for you to lead him on, he waits for you to set the pace.
And you can view how impatient he is from the way he stares down at you, it’s so clear on his face, splattered all over his beautiful features — lust.
That’s something you both feel in common.
So you bob your head down, sinking a little more on his dick. The deeper you go the harder it gets to control your gag reflex, and as you force yourself to reach even lower, your throat clenches around him deliciously.
After a flow of tears wetting your blushed cheeks, you calm yourself, and attempt on taking him as whole in your mouth. And although you can no longer feel your jaw, you succeed, your face resting flat against his crotch.
He takes this chance to wrap your silky hair into a messy ponytail, and it takes everything in him not to pound into you right now, you’re so pretty.
But you’re passionate as well, not moving an inch from your spot although your face is turning tomato red, and you no longer can breathe. It seems like you’re challenging yourself with his cock, and your stubbornness is forcing you to the point of suffocation.
Which is not something Jake can’t allow.
So he uses the hand crafted ponytail and pulls you off of himself with it, reminding you to take deep breathes as he cleans away the coat of spit from your chin and neck.
“Shh, you’re alright.” He whispers, leaning in for a soft kiss on the lips after he makes sure you’re finally breathing the proper way.
But that soft kiss turns into a heated one, and then into a messy one with your tongues fighting each other over dominance, all thanks to how horny you both are.
And the next thing you know, you’re sitting on his lap, grinding against his bare girth as you make out, hands all over each other like you’re trying to discover one another.
He’s so eager, you can tell by the way his big hands fondle your ass inside your shorts. His grip is so strong that it hurts, but you don’t dare to stop him from doing what he does.
You’re too drunk with the feeling in between your two legs — the friction has you cloudy minded, and unable to focus on anything else.
He feels so good, he feels too good to be true.
And it makes you wonder just how great it would feel to have him inside you, to have him fucking your tight hole loose all night long.
Ah, you can’t bear to wait anymore, you want him — no, you need him now.
Luckily for you, he’s the same.
“Jake—”
“Y/n—”
Jake giggles, “you go first,” he says, nodding reassuringly.
You bite your lips as you hum and quickly get up from his lap, hands busy with your shirt as you try to clumsily take it off. You wonder what he wanted to say as you toss it on the floor, and start tugging your black shorts down.
“I was wondering, uhm, if you could maybe help me with my bra ..” you mischievously say, a small grin spreading on your pretty face, “ .. oh and with my panties as well, if you don’t mind?”
Jake stiffens up at your bold request for a second, he’s flabbergasted, you just flustered him. But he swiftly snaps himself out of it, and scoots over to the edge of his bed.
Of course he does not mind, are you crazy?
He reaches for your panties first, it’s baby pink, he can clearly see the way you drenched it. And for some reason he feels proud about it, because never even if he was given a million years, he’d think of seeing you like this — so needy for him.
He takes his time sliding the dampened clothing down, curious eyes patiently waiting for what’s about unveil before them.
And when he’s done, he lets you kick it away with your feet before he sneaks a hand inside your middle part, then starts caressing your folds with his boney fingers.
You lift your one leg and place it on the bed to allow him more access as he pokes two fingers through your hole after smothering your wetness all over your pussy lips, gently pushing them in and out.
You feel so warm that he moans, the squeeze you give him is delicious, he wants to feel it more.
So he leans in and attaches his hungry lips to your clit, sucking on the sensitive piece of flesh with all his might. The way you clench even harder around his fingers in return does a good job satisfying him, but it also reminds him that the time is ticking, and he doesn’t have much left for his throbbing dick.
So he leaves the bed and rises on his feet, while pulling his fingers out of you. The empty feeling makes you sad but he makes sure to cheer you up with a small show he puts on, by bringing the said fingers that are covered with your arousal to his mouth and sucking them clean.
Both the lustful look in his eyes and the vileness of his actions burns your skin, you can feel your tight walls clenching around nothing desperately.
Then he moves to your back, to help you with your bra just like you asked, but that’s not the only reason he’s there for.
He unclasps your cute, pink bralette at one go professionally, and as he drops it on the floor, he pays attention on flattering you with compliments at the same time.
“So pretty,” he mumbles right against the shell of your ear as he fondles your gorgeous pair of tits from behind, thumbs fiddling with your already hardened nipples, “you look so pretty, all for me?”
“Mhm,” you softly hum, leaning your head against his shoulder, “all for you.”
Pleased with the answer you gave, he pushes you forward and bends you over his bed. He then slips out of his shorts faster than you can blink, and starts grinding his thickness against your now fully exposed ass.
He presses on the small of your back to get you stick it out more for him, and when you do he gasps, cursing out a husky “fuck”, because you quite literally own the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen.
And not only that, your waist — it’s so pretty that it takes his breath away, you look like a piece of art and he’s almost unsure whether he’s having a wet dream or this is all actually happening.
He decides that the best way to figure that out would be hearing your beautiful whines so, he lifts his hand, only to land the sharpest smack on your right cheek with it.
A weak whimper of his name is how you respond to him, and yes, looks like this is all very real — you’re very real.
He leans down to kiss the spot he just hurt, murmuring out a small apology against your reddened skin. Then he trails his kisses up to your waist, to your shoulders after that, finally reaching your neck at the very last.
He brings his hands and intertwines them with your delicate ones, the ones that were clutching on his sheets for dear life. He’s basically hugging you, with his whole weight on your back but instead of feeling awkward from such intimacy, you feel relieved.
You feel . . . belong.
“May I?” He asks, his tip poking right at your entrance, begging to be permitted, “Please?”
He’s such a gentleman, always kind with his requests, how can you say no to him?
“Yes please.” you whisper with anticipation, you’re nervous but excited, thrilled even. Guess that’s what ovulation does to a person, you think, and you’re very right — hormones are a no joke.
“Tell me to stop if it hurts, yeah?”
“Mhm . . . oh—”
And with that he pushes his head in through your warmth, sighing at the feeling. He wants to avoid being hasty so he takes his time, and gives you some space to adjust to his size.
He finds it incredibly cute that you’re already panting, your hot breath fanning against his plump lips. And if that’s not an invitation for a kiss, he doesn’t know what is so he inches closer, to seal your lips together with a soft kiss.
But what started of as soft turns into rough in mere minutes as he sinks more and more inside you, filling you up to the fullest, taking your head upon the clouds as he does so.
He can sense how you get lost in the way he makes you feel, and he decides to use this opportunity on his behalf so, without wasting a second, he starts moving.
His thrusts are gentle, small even as he makes out with you, hands still intertwined together like you’re more than just friends — like you’re lovers.
That’s romantic and to be fair, you kind of like it.
But as much as you’re down for a good vanilla, you really need him to go harder, faster and even deeper, you need him to quite literally rail you right now, that seems to be only way to cool down the heat you’re feeling.
“Can’t you go harder?” You manage to ask in between breathless kisses, and Jake smiles at your question, he thought you would never ask, “Please Jake, I need you.”
God, you sound so hot when you beg, he’s about to go berserk.
“As you wish, princess.”
The nickname leaves you flabbergasted as he pecks your lips one last time before he straightens himself up, and starts ramming his cock in and out of you immediately by your command.
You don’t know what makes your knees more wobbly — the pet name or the pace of his rhythm as he fucks you, but you have no complaints even though you can’t even carry your own weight with your legs.
“Better now?” He teases, because lets be honest, how can he not when he witnesses the way your thighs tremble with each hit of hips right in front of his eyes?
“Y-yeah,” you stutter, “m-much b-better.”
He chuckles at your response. It feels like you’re on the verge of breaking into two pieces but if that’s what you actually want, which seems to be the case, he’s not the one to hold back from giving you exactly that.
So he picks up the speed and bottoms out, so strong that he sweeps your feet of the floor as he lifts you up, pushing his cock balls deep inside your wet cunt.
“How about now?”
Cocky, he’s so fucking cocky, you hate that you love it.
“Fffuck Jake—”
You yelp and he laughs, enjoying your visible struggle way too much. But it doesn’t make him stop or slow down, he doesn’t have any intentions to make your job any easier.
You asked him to be harder after all, you should be able to take it, right?
“What?” He smacks you again, “Can’t take it, hm, angel?”
Angel? Shit, you want to scream. How come he’s calling you all the sweetest names while he’s fucking like a worthless slut?
Is he insane?
When you stay quiet, he asks another question, only to hear you stutter again because he finds it cute. You’re breaking apart for him but you’re too stubborn to admit it, he knows, that’s why he enjoys toying with you so much.
Yeah, fine, maybe it turns him on to tease you like that, whatever.
“Should I stop then, huh?” He says, grabbing a handful of your hair to lift your head up from where you have it buried on the mattress — he wants to hear you loud and clear, he can’t let you muffle down those beautiful noises you make now, can he?
“Maybe I should—”
“No—” you practically scream as you reach to your behind, holding on the arm he has around your waist so that he can’t move away, “please don’t, I’m so close,” you beg, choking on your words, “please Jake, please let me cum.”
Aww look at you, pleading to your roommate with your beautiful doe eyes to keep fucking you, isn’t that adorable? Jake’s heart melts.
“You’re gonna cum? Gonna cream my cock, hm, pretty?”
God can he please stop with the pet names already? What is he trying to do? Make you fall in love with him?
“Mhm,” you hum, giving him your cutest pout. It makes his dick twitch inside you, how can you be so fucking gorgeous?
“I’m gonna c-cream your cock Jake, p-please let me.”
How is he supposed to say not to you, when you’re asking for it so kindly? Hhh, seems like you won this time, because he has no chance of resisting you when you’re behaving so well.
“Go on then,” he coos, “cum for me baby, show me what a good girl you are.”
And as if he just casted a spell on you with those magical words, you reach your climax, shaking under the effect of the intense wave of pleasure that washes over you.
Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your limbs go limp, and if it weren’t for Jake’s strong arms holding you right now, you’d be laying flat on your face on the ground like a giant rock.
He helps you ride your high with comparably gentle thrusts, chasing his own high in desperation. Your legs are trembling and you’re letting out the weakest whimpers ever, chanting his name like a mantra which does the job and finally after a tortuous ten minutes, he pulls out and cums on your ass.
His seeds, they feel so warm on your sensitive skin, you melt more into the sheets.
And he chuckles at your worn out state, ah, you really shouldn’t have walked in on him. Because look at you, you’re done for, it’s game over for you.
Yet deep down, he feels grateful that you did because this was the best sex he’s ever had, really, no cap.
With the loud scream that comes from his tv, he winces, oh right — he totally forgot about the thing he was watching before all these happened, haha, how embarrassing.
He quickly moves to grab the remote controller and changes the channel to something random, taking a mental note to watch that adult movie sometime else — preferably when you’re out because the last thing he wants is to be caught, again.
Then he notices the shuffling noises that comes from you, he turns his head, and sees you trying to climb on his bed with your weak arms.
“Wait,” he shrieks as he rushes over, worried that you might fall and hurt yourself, “here, let me help.”
He guides you on his bed to lay on your stomach, “Don’t move,” he then says, “I’ll bring a towel to clean you up, ‘kay?”
And a few minutes later, right before you’re about to fall asleep, he comes out from his bathroom with a towel in his hand and a sheepy smile on his handsome face.
He can’t believe he just fucked you, and he also can’t believe you’re right there, about to sleep on his bed with him.
But wait, he can’t sleep now, no, not when his stomach growls like a monster — he’s hungry, oh god his stomach burns, he’s so hungry.
“So,” he lets out, awkwardly clearing his throat as he walks up to you, and sits on the edge of his bed, hands quickly wiping away the mess he made.
“Hm?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to, uhm . .” He coughs — oh god, he’s about to ask you the dumbest question ever, he’s aware, but he has no other choice, his stomach is killing him.
“What is it Jake?”
Okay, here he goes. There’s already nothing normal about this night anyway, what can he possibly lose, right?
“I was wondering if you’d like to eat ramyeon with me,” he blurts out, with all his seriousness as he swipes the final droplets of his pear white leak clean, blinking at you with his big eyes, “I’m really starving, you know?”
What?
What did he just say?
Ramyeon? That’s what he’s thinking after railing you?
He’s unbelievable, but also very relatable, hah.
“Sure,” you snort out, fair enough, you think, guess this is what you get for fucking your roommate, not that you regret doing it though.
“If you’re gonna do the cooking, then why not?”
©hee-pster on tumblr, do not plagiarize.
a/n: literally sacrificed my eyes to finish this up so if you like it, please leave a feeback friends 🫶🏼 also, sorry if there’s any typo pls lmk, I finished this at 2 am so 🥲 I might have missed it
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valeskafics · 8 months
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"Ravenous" - Aemond Targaryen x Hightower Cousin!Reader
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Summary: When Aemond said that once the two of you are wed he won't let you leave your marital bed for a week, he meant it.
TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, loss of v*rginity, mild religion k*nk, purity culture, overstim, oral f receiving, f*ngering, p in v sex, breeding k*nk, size k*nk if you squint, corruption k*nk
Word Count: 5,000 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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When Prince Aemond Targaryen is betrothed to the young Lady Hightower, the daughter of his uncle, Ser Gwayne, he is less than enthused. He has heard of you, a meek, shy little thing who clings to your mother’s skirts and can always be found praying in some sept or the other. The idea of being married to you sounds, to him, like an utter and absolute bore. He hopes, as your carriage arrives at the entrance of the Red Keep, that you at least are not as unattractive as he has pictured you in his mind’s eye. He watches as your father disembarks from the carriage first, greeting Queen Alicent and Lord Otto first, and then the rest of the rest of the family. Your mother, Lady Hightower, exits next, her head held high. She is a stern-looking woman, Aemond muses, and thinks that this does not bode well for him as far as you are concerned.
And then, he sees you.
You move out of the carriage, a cloak draped around your shoulders, hiding from his view until you remove the hood, revealing your gorgeous dark curly hair, your gorgeous doe eyes, your full lips that look so very kissable. Gods, he can’t stop looking at those lips, unable to utter so much as a greeting, just imagining how wonderful they’d look wrapped around his-
“Good day, cousin,” you speak in a soft, sweet voice, barely above a whisper as your lady’s maid takes your cloak, revealing your form to him.
Aemond’s throat goes dry and he does not reply for a long moment, eyeing you with a lustful gaze, admiring the way your gown is cut, allowing him to admire the swell of your breasts as you breathe, the curve of your hips as you approach him and bend into a curtsy, giving him an even better view. Your Seven Pointed Star necklace is nestled in your cleavage and he watches as you take it between your delicate fingers, fiddling with it, something he assumes is a nervous habit.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” you ask in that same dulcet voice, your tone now displaying some concern due to his lack of response.
He keeps looking at you, biting his lip as he imagines all the things he wishes to do with you right in this moment, before finally answering, his voice low and smooth, “I am well, my lady. And you? I trust your journey was pleasant.”
“I am well, cousin, and the journey went smoothly by the Seven’s grace, though I am quite tired,” you pause before speaking, “Since it is well past suppertime, I was just going to visit the royal sept to say my evening prayers before retiring for the evening.”
Aemond doesn’t bother to tear his lascivious gaze from your chest, watching it rise and fall with your every breath, straining against the confines of your bodice, “I am happy to hear that, my lady. Might I accompany you for your prayers?”
You meet his eye for a moment before averting your gaze, bowing your head, “As you wish, my prince.”
Aemond offers you his arm, watching as you turn to your parents as if seeking their approval. Your mother frowns slightly but your father nods, smiling at you and urging you on. You take Aemond’s arm and he begins leading you to the sept.
You startle slightly when he turns to you, his face startlingly close to yours as he asks, “Are you a devout servant of the Seven, my lady?”
You nod, answering him quietly, “Yes, my prince. I had considered becoming a septa before our betrothal was announced.”
Aemond gives you a wry smile, the thought of you as a septa being somewhat erotic to him in some strange way, “If such a beautiful woman became a septa, it would be a true loss for the realm. The men would weep, or at least I would.”
His words flatter you and you resist the urge to giggle, instead smiling shyly, “Thank you, my prince.”
Aemond gazes at your lips from the corner of his eye. Soft and full and the color just screaming “kiss me”. As if they were made for a man’s kiss, and he is the man to do it. He keeps his eye on you as the two of you walk through the Red Keep, nearing the sept, flickering between your lips and your cleavage. Aemond smirks to himself as he grows hard in his breeches, brushing the evidence of his arousal against you as the two of you enter the sept, reveling in the quiet gasp you let out.
He stares at you intently as the two of you approach the altar and you light a candle, bowing your head in prayer, repeating the names of the Seven. He doesn’t close his eye. He simply stares at you as your lips form the words and thinks of nothing but you and the things he wishes to do to you. You place a gold dragon in the collection box and stand up, waiting for Aemond to escort you to your chambers. He watches the way your hips move as you walk. He takes your arm again and the two of you walk to your chambers in silence.
You turn to him, gazing up at him with those sweet, innocent eyes as you murmur, “Thank you for the escort, my prince. Goodnight.”
Aemond watches as you close the door, standing in front of it for a long moment. He wonders what to do. Should he knock and ask if he can enter? No, he’d be a fool for doing that. He has to play it safe, even if every fiber of his being is crying for him to open the door and make you his. He turns on his heel and leaves, resolved to return to his chambers and relieve himself while imagining it is your soft, petite hand doing the task for him.
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The next morning, he sees you at breakfast, seated between his mother and sister, looking the picture of innocence, a sweet maiden ready to be claimed by a hungry dragon. He stares at you, his gaze lingering on your mouth, your bosom-
“Good morrow, my prince,” comes your sweet greeting as you stand, curtsying to greet him.
He doesn’t reply for a moment, wondering if it would be too improper to just bend you over the table and claim you in full view of everyone present, but restrains himself and answers, his voice a low rasp, “Good morrow to you too, my lady.”
After saying a prayer, everyone present begins  to eat. Aemond’s gaze is drawn to you, the way you pick a strawberry up from your plate and begin eating it, the way it disappears between your plump lips, the juices from it dribbling down your fingers. It’s kind of adorable, he thinks. And then? He sees you glance around, to make sure no one’s watching, before you lick your fingers clean. He lets out a low groan, one that luckily goes unheard by the others at the table, and barely manages to make it through breakfast. When the meal is over, he walks to you, offering you his hand.
“My lady,” he murmurs.
You startle slightly, looking like a frightened fawn as he gazes at you with that intense blue eye, “Yes my prince?”
“Would you like to accompany me for a walk in the gardens? I wish to speak with you privately,” he says, taking your hand in his, helping you to your feet.
The two of you walk to the gardens, and he leads you deeper and deeper inside until you’re far from anyone’s wandering eyes. You seem a bit skittish, he thinks, as you glance around.
“Is it appropriate for us to be here without a chaperone?” you ask a bit timidly.
“Do not worry, my lady,” he whispers in your ear as the two of you come to a stop, “I simply wanted to discuss something with you.”
“Oh,” you nod in acknowledgement, gazing up at him with those devastating doe eyes, “As you wish, my prince.”
“Do you recall,” Aemond asks quietly, not letting go of your hand as he stares at your lips, “When we prayed to the Seven in the sept just last night?”
You nod, your free hand moving up to fiddle with your necklace once again, “Yes, my prince, I do.”
Aemond takes a step closer to you, leaving only the slightest bit of room between your bodies, his eye moving to your breasts, “Do you know, sweet girl, what the Seven Pointed Star says about what a man and woman do in their marriage bed?”
He watches as you bite your lip, looking away from him as you respond, “Yes, my prince. The union between a husband and wife is a holy thing. A celebration of the gods’ love for us.”
Aemond’s hands move to your waist, pulling you flush up against him. He revels in the tiny gasp you let out as your chest makes contact with his, the way your breath comes out in soft little pants. You’re simply adorable when you’re nervous, he muses.
“I want us to celebrate that act of love, here and now.”
You freeze, looking up at him, your eyes wide with shock, “Surely, my prince, you do not mean-”
Aemond’s hands move lower, caressing your hips as he barely holds back the moan that threatens to escape his lips, “My lady, I must insist. You are the perfect woman and I believe the gods blessed me the day they betrothed you to me.”
You attempt to reason with him, though his touch has made it quite difficult for you to think straight, “My prince, we are indeed betrothed, but we are not yet wed. To lie together before being married would be a direct affront to the Seven.”
He leans in, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair, like jasmine and roses, before whispering, “I know, my lady, but I cannot control myself. The mere sight of you drives me mad. Can you blame me for succumbing to my desire for you?”
You attempt to step back and keep some distance between yourself and the handsome prince, “Your Grace, please, our wedding ceremony is in only a fortnight, I implore you-”
He presses you up against the pillar behind you, grinding himself against your soft body, so pliant in his hands, “Yes, our wedding is in a fortnight from now,” he whispers in your ear, “But the wedding is not about you and me. Only for the eyes of the king and the court. But what of the feelings I have for you?” Aemond looks at you imploringly, “I cannot control them. Surely, as a good pious woman, you believe that love is a virtue and not meant to be controlled.”
“Yes, but it is our duty to resist our lustful urges-”
Aemond rolls his hips against yours, causing you to cut yourself off with a gasp as he speaks, his lips ghosting along your neck, his breath tickling your skin, “You are a cruel, cruel woman, my lady. Denying me your body. I want, nay, I need to claim you now.”
You shake your head vehemently, ignoring the how good it feels to have him this close to you, how intoxicating his presence is, “You will bring your honor upon both yourself and upon me, my prince,” you gaze up at him softly, “‘Tis only a fortnight more.”
Aemond heaves a deep sigh and nods, resting his forehead against yours, “Very well, my lady. But,” he moves his hand to your chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, your lips nearly touching, your breath intermingling, “The moment you become my bride, I will ravage you like a dragon in a frenzy.”
You feel your face warm at his words, whispering softly, “That is a very vivid description, my prince.”
Aemond nose brushes along your cheek as he moves to whisper in your ear, “I can tell you all about how I’m going to ravage you in vivid detail if you’d like, my lady,” he smirks as your lips part in anticipation of what he is about to say, “I can tell you about how I am going to hold you in my arms and kiss those beautiful pouting lips. I can tell you how I will kiss you for hours, until your lips are swollen. I can describe the way your breasts will heave as I push you against the wall and claim you,” you whimper slightly as he nips at your earlobe before continuing, running his thumb over your plump lower lip, “I shall start by carrying you to our chambers and close the door. I will pin you against the wall and kiss you passionately, moving to your neck, then your chest, then back to your lips. I will move slowly, caressing your thighs and your hips. I shall lift your dress and then I shall taste you,” he smirks at the audible gasp you let out at his words, “I will kiss you where no one has kissed you before. Your body is meant to be mine and mine alone.”
You gaze up at him, leaning into his touch as he cups your face in his hands, “My prince… I…”
Aemond stares at you, his gaze ablaze with passion, “You are as beautiful as the morning spring and you should be treated as such. When you wed me, sweet girl, you will no longer be an innocent lady but my woman. And as your man I intend to taste the sweetness of your body,” he chuckles, turning your face back to him when you attempt to turn away, “Do you want that, sweet girl? Do you want to feel my lips on your body, my tongue buried in your sweet little cunny?” Aemond’s lewd words nearly offend you, but they fascinate you far more, “Do you want to feel yourself in a man’s arms for the first time in your life? The way your heart will pound and your legs will shake, your breath growing heavy in the moment I make you reach your peak? Your first kiss, your first time, all with me.”
You admit, in a soft, breathy voice that drives him mad with want, “Yes…”
“Good,” he all but growls into your ear, “I will be the first to touch your beautiful, soft skin. The one who takes your innocence. I will touch everywhere there is to touch and I will bring you the greatest pleasure you have ever felt, leaving you just as ravenous for my touch as I am for yours. Won’t you grant me,” he leans in, “Just one kiss from those sweet lips of yours?”
You gaze up at him, lips parted as your eyes meet his, entranced, “I…”
Aemond presses his lips against yours, silencing any protests you may have, his mouth hungry for yours. He crushes you to his chest, nipping at your lower lip, snaking his tongue into your mouth when you gasp in surprise, moving it against yours with an almost feverish intensity, moaning against your lips.
The two of you finally part for air, gazing at each other, breathless. You hear your mother calling for you in the distance and immediately pull away from Aemond, knowing the lecture you will receive even for something as seemingly innocent as a kiss.
“We will continue this later,” Aemond promises, running the back of his hand along the bare skin of your arm, “You must go with your mother and I will find mine.”
You part from Aemond, your mind in a daze about all of the words he spoke to you, the promises he made about what he will do to you. You manage to avoid being alone with him for the most part in the days leading up to the wedding, though you can always feel his gaze on you, hungry and wanting, lingering.
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When the day of the wedding arrives and you make your way down the aisle, dressed in a fine gown made of white silk that clings to your form, Aemond’s gaze is locked on you. He watches as you walk toward him, the way your gown covers yet accentuates the curves of your body, the sweet look on your face making him want nothing more than to whisk you away to your marriage bed. He can barely contain himself as the septon says his words, the two of you following suit. The two of you keep sneaking glances at each other, locking gazes, a small smile playing on your lips.
“You are all mine, my lady,” he whispers in your ear as he wraps his cloak around you bringing you under his protection.
“Indeed I am, husband,” you smile up at him softly, your fingers intertwining.
As the two of you walk toward the feasting hall, Aemond gazes at your lips, “Shall we retire to our chambers?”
“There is an entire feast we must attend in honor of our wedding, my husband,” you remind him gently.
Aemond nods absently, but he is not thinking about your wedding feast at all. All he can think about is you.
“I cannot wait to claim you in our marriage bed, my pretty wife. When we reach it, I shan’t let you leave it for a week.”
You feel the back of your neck heat up at your husband’s words, “And so you shall, husband, just be a patient a while longer.”
He chuckles darkly as the two of you enter the hall and are applauded, making your way to your seats of honor, “That’s the problem, my lady. I am not a patient man.”
The wedding feast goes on, the tension between you and Aemond growing by the minute. He rests his hand over yours, moving his thumb against the back of your palm, moving to your pulse point every so often, feeling it. At some point, his nephew, Prince Jacaerys, comes to your table and asks you for a dance, considering you have been seated for the entirety of the evening’s festivities. You turn to Aemond, silently asking if he minds. He nods, gesturing for you to dance with Jace. However, the longer the dance goes on, the more he feels like his blood is boiling beneath his skin, Jace’s hands on your waist as the two of you move, the stupid bastard. What right does he have to touch you?
Aemond decides to walk over to the two of you, a curious silence falling over the hall as he takes your hand, “My lady, may I cut in? I wish to have our first dance as husband and wife.”
You nod happily as Aemond takes you into his arms and leads you in a dance, all eyes in the room on the beautiful couple, who look completely enchanted by each other as they spin across the room. 
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He scarcely lets you out of his sight the rest of the feast, and soon enough? It is time for the two of you to retire to your chambers. You take a tremulous breath as Aemond lifts you into his arms, just as he promised, and carries you all the way to the room you will now share as man and wife. His arms feel so very strong around you as he holds you, the walk feeling both impossibly long and not long enough with the anxiety and excitement rising inside you.
A lady’s maid waits in the room to disrobe you, but Aemond dismisses her, setting you down so that you may stand, “I shall do it myself. We have no need of you.”
You give the girl a sheepish, apologetic smile as she leaves, seeming scandalized by the whole ordeal. Aemond closes the door, turning to face you once more. He walks toward you with all the grace of an apex predator, stalking its prey. He moves to undo your wedding gown, turning you so that your back is to him. He undoes the laces, one by one, admiring as the skin of your back is revealed to him little by little. He runs the back of his fingers along your spine, reveling in the way you shiver at his touch. The dress falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, leaving you in only your thin slip. Aemond presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, moving your curls aside, then moves his lips along your shoulders, down the length of your arm. He turns you to face him and removes his tunic, revealing his well-muscled chest and torso.
You decide to move your hands to undo his breeches and Aemond admires the way your hands look as they deftly undo the laces. His pants fall to the ground, leaving him fully bare before you. It is your first time ever seeing a man like this, and the size of his length is intimidating. You absently wonder how that is meant to fit inside you, with how long and thick he is. Aemond moves toward you, moving his hands to the thin straps that hold your slip up, unfastening them and watching as your bare form is finally revealed to him. Your breasts, so full and round, meant to be caressed by his hands, your stomach, your shoulders, your thighs… He does not know what he did to deserve such a beautiful wife, but he will not question it.
“Lie back on the bed,” he instructs you, removing his eyepatch and setting it on the nightstand.
You admire the way his sapphire glows in the candlelight and Aemond delights in the fact that you do not shrink away from him in disgust after he bares himself to you. It makes him feel like a man worthy of you.
You heed his directions and lay back on the bed, watching as he crawls over you, his hands moving up your calves, squeezing the supple flesh of your thighs as he parts your legs, revealing you to him fully. He takes your foot in his hand, pressing a kiss to your ankle, leaving a trail of kisses along the inside of your leg, up your thigh, before he tastes you, just as he promised. You nearly cry out with surprise as you feel his tongue licking a stripe along your entrance. It feels almost unbearably pleasurable and you find yourself moving away from him, unsure what to do with yourself. But, again, your husband surprises you by moving your thighs so that they rest on his shoulders as he moves his mouth against you. You feel his tongue delve inside you as he lets out a low moan at your taste, the vibration from it driving you even more mad with want. With one hand you grasp at the sheets, desperately trying to find purchase, while your other hand tangles itself in his hair.
You feel the pleasure building in your stomach, like a dam getting ready to burst, and when it does, you all but scream Aemond’s name as your body writhes in the throes of ecstasy. Aemond, however, is not done tasting you, it would seem, and he moves to take your swollen pearl between his lips, suckling at it. Aemond smirks at the sound of your mewls as you try to squirm away from him, but to no avail. He makes you peak not once, but twice more by playing with your pearl alone.
When his lips finally part from your cunny, he kisses you, a searing hot kiss full of passion as his hand wraps in your hair, pulling you close to him, kissing you as though he wishes to consume your very being. Your chest is pressed flush against his and he moves his lips to your neck, biting down, his tongue laving attention over the abused skin, soothing it. Aemond’s lips move to your breasts, squeezing them in his hands, caressing your nipples with the pads of his thumbs, smirking as they pebble under his touch. He moves his lips to take one in his mouth, causing you to let out a soft moan at the sensation, your eyes meeting his as he gazes up at you, a smirk clearly playing at the corner of his lips as he suckles at your breast. He switches to your neglected breast, before tracing his fingers along the inside of your thighs, up to your core. 
You whimper slightly as he pushes one finger inside you. The sensation is so very foreign but incredible as you feel him teasing your cunt. Then, he adds a second finger, preparing you to take his cock no doubt, moving them in and out of you in a crooked motion, rubbing against a spot deep inside of you that you, in your inexperience, have never quite been able to reach. The pleasure he’s giving you is intense, especially as he adds a third finger, and you feel something inside you is about to burst.
His thumb moves to press down on your still sensitized pearl and with a cry of his name, you soak his fingers with your arousal, watching as it spills on his fingers. At first you panic, thinking that something else has happened, but Aemond moves his fingers to his lips, moaning at the taste as he licks at them before pushing them between your own lips. You taste yourself on him, your tongue moving along his fingers, curious and almost kitten-like.
Aemond chuckles, “Your lips will look so beautiful wrapped around my cock, sweet girl. But tonight is about you, my wife.”
He pushes you back to lay down on the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You know the moment has come for him to take your maidenhead, at least figuratively. The septa confirmed that you shall not bleed since you broke it riding, like many noble ladies do. You watch as Aemond gives his cock a quick stroke before slowly pressing the head against your core. You close your eyes as he fills you, moving slowly, inch by glorious inch of his cock entering you, the pain minimal due to the lengths he went to prepare you. You feel his every vein, every ridge, as he pushes into you, bottoming out inside of you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand resting on your cheek.
“Are you hurting?” he asks you seriously, his silver hair falling like a curtain around the two of you, shading you from the world in this little room you call your own, your own little world of sorts, “Tell me if I can move, sweet girl.”
After a moment, you nod, “Yes, husband. Please.”
He grins at you devilishly before snapping his hips against yours, watching as you throw your head back against your pillow and cry out his name, pleading for more. Gods, you make the prettiest sounds, he muses, and your cunt is so wet and tight and perfect around him.
“Feels like you were made just for me,” he growls as he slams his hips into you, over and over, his stones growing tight and heavy as they slap against your ass with each thrust, “Gods, I could stay buried inside this perfect little cunt forever. Would you like that, my love?”
“Yes,” you say, nearly sobbing with pleasure as your legs wrap around his hips, allowing him to pound into you deeper, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you feel as though you’ve ascended to the Seven Heavens themselves.
“My perfect little wife,” Aemond hisses, feeling you squeezing around him, “I’m going to fill you with my seed, over and over, breed you the way a good husband should. Watch you grow fat with my child, watch your tits swell with milk for our babe. You want that, don’t you? For me to breed you? For my spend to leak out from your tight little cunt?”
His words are downright filthy, but you cannot bring yourself to care as he continues fucking you, “Yes, husband, please fill me with your seed, Gods, Aemond, please-”
Aemond feels you tighten around him, knowing you will soon reach your peak and picks up his pace, enjoying the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips, the way your eyes are glazed over with desire as they gaze up at him, and your sweet lips parted as you moan out his name. You reach your peak, your walls hugging his cock tightly, prompting him to spill his seed deep inside you, filling you up just as he promised. He stays like that for a moment, sheathed inside you until he begins to soften and pulls out. He hears the way you pant for breath and pulls you into his embrace, holding you tightly.
“That was incredible,” you say softly as he tucks you under his chin.
“It was indeed, my sweet girl,” Aemond purrs, “And there will be more of it,” he pauses before looking at you, his gaze earnest, “I love you, my beautiful wife. I may not be the most gentle of men, but I will care for you and protect you as a dragon does.”
“I would ask for nothing less, my husband,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to his chest, “I love you too.”
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When you wake the next morning, Aemond is still asleep. Choosing not to wake your husband, you crawl out of bed and call for a maidservant to run you a bath. While you stand and wait, you’re shocked when you’re pushed up against the wall, your bare breasts pressed against the wood of the door.
“I promised you that you wouldn’t be leaving our bed for a week, my love,” Aemond purrs seductively, “And I assure you I meant it.”
You let out a contented sigh as he keeps his promise.
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ladykailolu · 4 months
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I swear, everytime I see that meme image from the King of Queens I INSTANTLY think of Beanix. Don't believe me? Observe:
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Tell me that they don't have the same energy.
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szaphonic · 1 year
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msnd: might suck nyour dick
0 notes
greenandsorrow · 8 months
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"Boytoy"
WARNINGS; 18+, shameless smut, ken x fem!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, praise k!nk, size k!nk, virgin!ken, switch!reader, sub!ken, dom!ken, the plot doesn't connect with the movie, kinda slow burn, grammar mistakes
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Part 1
"you're a doll, you are flawless"
~flawless, the neighborhood~
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Y/n has finally graduated from high school. Not only that, but thanks to her hard work, she's been admitted to a prestigious university only two hours away from her parents' house.
Still, even though the distance between her childhood home and her new school is not that important, y/n is currently packing and will soon be moving into her new, small studio apartment.
It's late in the morning and she's going through her old toys, preserved in cardboard boxes at the back of her closet. Her y/h/c hair's on a bun and she's wearing sweatpants.
Earlier the same morning, with her mom's priceless help, she had managed to go through her desk, bookshelf and drawers, organising, packing or simply putting away all the stuff that has been collected in her bedroom the last eighteen years.
"A dozen Barbie dolls and only one Ken.", she thinks aloud as she's tackling the last box, filled with childhood memories.
Ken is staring at her from the bottom of the box and y/n almost feels guilty at how much she used to ignore him during her childhood play time.
In one impulsive motion she picks him up, while observing his perfect abs, blonde hair contradicting the tan colour of his skin and his cute set of beach wear (stripped shorts and open flannel in pink and blue pastels).
"Poor guy, I've been unfair to you, haven't I?", she chuckles mostly to herself.
~~
At around six in the afternoon y/n's done with packing. She's actually driving to her new place as we speak. What's more, she unconsciously threw Ken in her backpack and is now carrying him along with her. Not that he would complain if he knew.
Y/n's Ken doll has been a part of her toy collection since she was six (she stopped playing with dolls at nine). Unlike her beloved Barbie dolls, Ken's never been y/n's favourite. He's always been just.... there. He was simply included in a Barbie set that her parents gifted her with, at her sixth birthday.
Back at Barbieland, Ken has been facing the consequences of his owner's ignorance for as long as he can remember. While all of y/n's Barbies are confident and spending their days living happily ever after (the aftermath of y/n's love and attention), Ken has always been the black sheep. He isn't exactly bursting with confidence. Neither does he own a Dream house. He's also never invited to the parties the Barbies are often having and to say the least, Ken is lonely. He wishes he could say that he enjoys being by himself most of the time, but without even another Ken, his existence seems pointless.
Ken used to cherish the sporadic attention he would get during y/n's early years in life. An outfit change, a walk at the beach or a small talk with one of the Barbies, guided by his owner was all he needed to feel somehow included (or that's what he always tried to convince himself).
Ken, with his limited knowledge regarding the real world, had concluded that the lack of what little attention he was receiving, was due to the fact that the little girl whose possession he was in, had now turned into a young lady. And having the Barbies as an example of how a lady is, he wasn't surprised that the girl had no use for him whatsoever.
~~
Y/n wakes up in the morning, feeling groggy and disoriented. She wishes she could blame that on the environment change, but the truth is, last night she had a rather strange dream.
Y/n's pov:
She had reached her destination at about eight in the evening. After discussing some final details with her unexpectedly sweet landlady, she called her mom to inform her that she's alright and has settled in. Y/n had also managed to unpack most of her things, including her Ken doll that was laying on her desk when she changed into her matching pyjama set and got comfy in the warmth of her brand new, king sized bed.
After such a long day, y/n was equally drained both physically and mentally. The prospect of living alone, without the comfort of her parents' presence, was already enough to trouble her poor brain. On top of that, classes started tomorrow, leaving y/n no time to adjust to her new living conditions. And don't get me started on the actual unpacking and settling in process! All these heavy boxes, suitcases and IKEA furniture had gotten the best of y/n. Obviously, as soon as she found a comfortable position to sleep in, she immediately drifted off.
Y/n's sleep was disturbed by a shuffling sound, coming from the other side of the room. Normally, under any other circumstances, she would be terrified to spot the dark figure of a tall, strong looking man, staring at her in the middle of the night, after probably having broken into her apartment. However that was not the case. In her state of sleepiness and dizziness, her focus fading in and out of consciousness, her brain fuzzy and not entirely awake, y/n didn't feel any amount of fear but translated the image in front of her as part of a dream.
And what was this image in front of her, you may ask. Well, her previously unwanted Ken doll, was now at the feet of her bed, standing six foot tall, looking down at her with an adorably confused expression carved on his otherwise perfect features.
~~
Ken's pov:
Ken was incredibly lucky that y/n thought she was dreaming, because not only didn't she scream at him to get the hell out, but she actually smiled at him. A small, uncertain and sleepy smile, no less a genuine smile. Even in his own state of confusion, Ken felt his insides melt at the sight of this small woman in front of him, smiling at him, actually noticing him.
He advanced closer to the head of the bed, so that he could take a better look at the girl who was sitting there. Ken sat at the edge of the bed and immediately recognised the person in question. She was clearly y/n. The girl who used to play with him and the Barbies was looking at him with intense interest and a glint in her y/e/c eyes that he had never seen before.
He took in her features. Ken had somehow expected to come face to face with a child, but obviously y/n was no longer a little girl but a beautiful woman. Sure, living in Barbieland Ken had learnt that all women were beautiful, however his old "owner" wasn't pretty in the sense a Barbie was pretty. Studying her features, Ken noticed y/n's hair wasn't neatly done like the Barbies', her skin dimpled and crised when she smiled, her teeth weren't the perfect shade of white or identical to one another, the apples of her cheeks were pinkish with sleep and her eyes held a warmth and complexity that made his stomach flutter. Ken was entranced by the simple image of this young lady, without any makeup or pretty clothes. He even felt like he had some kind of power over her, since she was so much smaller than him. He caught himself thinking that he could fit her whole face in the palm of his hand. The sudden urge to be the one to protect her and have the exclusivity of seeing her so unkempt and "naked" washed over him.
"Oh my!! You're actually Ken!", it was y/n that broke the silence, with her thrilled remark about the person who seemed lost in thought in front of her.
Ken was abruptly brought back to reality. How could something like this even happen? It should be practically impossible. One moment he was taking a nap at the beach and the next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair in a dark room he concluded belonged to y/n. He might not be the brightest guy (the Kens weren't supposed to be smarter than the Barbies anyway) but he realised something very wrong was happening. The dolls living in Barbieland weren't supposed to be able to come to the real world.
~~
"Y/n! Hey! I never thought I'd meet you in person."
She simply giggled at that. Her giggle was spontaneous and made Ken blush, since he was so unfamiliar with women reacting to him in such a way. Her expression was so girly, almost shy, making Ken bolder than he felt. He climbed all the way onto the bed so that they were basically sitting next to each other.
Y/n felt her face growing warmer and not because of the sleepiness. "That's a very realistic dream", she thought to herself. But exactly because she had convinced herself that Ken was part of her imagination she was also about to act bolder than her usual self.
She turned her body so that she was facing him and not just sitting next to him. Y/n then extended an arm in order to brush away some stray hairs that had fallen in his face. That simple motion was enough to make Ken's heart beat as loud as a hammer and he believed y/n could actually hear it from where she was sitting, so close to him. To his utter surprise, she didn't retrieve her hand after making sure his (ridiculously soft) hair was back in place.
Maybe y/n would be intimidated by Ken's perfect posture and dreamy eyes, by his chiseled jawline and veiny hands or by the fact that his pupils were dilated more than was necessary for the dark around them (there were fairy lights all around the room) if she were to meet him face to face in real life. But y/n was in a dream (or so she thought). Her dream, her rules and she showed no sign of intimidation.
With the hand that had just brushed Ken's hair, she proceeded to cup his face, while caressing his perfectly carved cheek bone with the pad of her thumb. Ken closed his eyes at the sensation, since no one had ever showed him tenderness like that. His reaction to her touch only encouraged y/n to continue exploring this life sized Ken doll.
With nimble fingers that made Ken's breath hitch multiple times, she started caressing him, beginning with his collarbones and slowly making a trail over his toned chest to his lower abs. His skin was soft and warm to the touch and y/n's mind was quick to put together multiple ungodly thoughts.
Ken's hands had reached and grabbed the bedsheets as soon as y/n's teasing ones had started going over his abs, torturously slow. Of course he didn't know why he felt the way he did, she was just touching him (as a doll he never had been subjected to anything remotely sexual before this very moment), but he could feel a weird anticipation gathering at the pit of his stomach (and lower). Oddly enough, he didn't move, he didn't even speak, scared that he would destroy this peculiar situation he'd found himself in. He told himself that "You're a doll and this human girl is simply... playing with you?". It didn't sound right but it certainly felt good.
When she reached at his lower abdomen, just below his belly button, y/n drew her hands back. He had felt so real to the touch she started to question her previous belief that she was merely dreaming.
Ken saw her expression change from lustful (he didn't know that's what it was called), to a placated one. She searched his face for an answer, without realising how her doe eyes had captured every bit of Ken's attention.
"Y/n", he whispered under a shaky inhale, leaning towards her like a moth hypnotized by the flame.
"I'm sorry Ken, I really am."
"About what?!", he asked, generally confused.
"When I was little I-"
"Can I kiss you, please?" he knew that much. He had never given a real kiss back in Barbieland but at least he was familiar with the concept.
Y/n was lost for words. A sudden realization that this felt too real to be any short of wet dream had dawned on her (if that was the case she would have woken up by now). When she didn't answer right away, Ken turned his hot gaze on her parted lips. They were swollen from sleep and rozy but not in the manufactured way the Barbies' lips look in the morning. He had to fight back the urge to attack her mouth with his own, since he was still waiting for her consent.
Y/n finally gave the smallest nod, indicating shyness and reluctance, though her gaze was once again intense, making Ken's breath get caught in his throat.
He leaned in, gently but no less eagerly and was pleasantly surprised (not for the last time) when y/n, leaning towards him as well, connected their lips in a soft, slow and lingering kiss.
Y/n's hot breath on his mouth made Ken gasp and draw himself even closer to *his* girl, while his right hand, moving on its own, reached for her already messy hair, tagging at it softly.
Y/n was equally surprised by the kiss. Ken's lips were unbelievably soft and his body emitted a warmth that sent shivers down her spine. She rubbed her thighs together (a motion in which Ken was oblivious to for the time being) as she reached for his neck, taking the lead. She drew him even closer to her, their chests colliding. Ken gasped -again- at the sensation of her round breasts pressing against his mascular body and he reacted by snaking both arms around her narrow waist.
When y/n took Ken's bottom lip between her teeth, tagging at it softly, he let out the smallest moan. In return he drew back, only to smash his lips on her own once more, with a passion and an urgency that made y/n weak in his strong arms. Her tongue asked for access he happily gave and he found himself backing his hips against her as their tongues swirled around one another for the first time.
When they parted, they were both breathless and panting heavily. Ken looked at y/n with an adoration that made her short circuit. He had never felt that important to anyone, but the tight grip she had on his biceps was proof that she wanted him. Really wanted him, needed him, even. Ken was important to her, at least at that moment.
This blissful state of his was short lived, due to y/n standing up and turning on the big light on the ceiling.
After taking a moment so that his vision could readjust to the light, Ken's eyes found y/n again. She was standing now and he took a mental note to never forget how tiny and young, how vulnerable she looked in her gray pyjama set with her tousled hair all over, like a miniature lioness. To be honest, Ken didn't have the right words to describe what he was seeing, but the warmth in his chest (and an unexplainable discomfort in his breeches) was enough for him.
"Oh shit-
Oh my gosh....I wasn't dreaming, was I?"
Y/n looked shocked and Ken grew hot with embarrassment because of it.
"I'm just as confused as you are, y/n", at least he was able to say something. Because now the light was on, he could see her feminine figure and wanted nothing more than to squish her round thighs and then-
"I mean... you're actually Ken...like... HOW?!"
"Please don't be angry at me, I can't explain how or why, but instead of waking up in Barbieland I woke up here", he said with an apologetic look on his face, while standing up like a child that just got scolded.
Y/n took a deep breath in, deciding he was too damn hot to actually be angry at him. It also wasn't his fault and at the end of the day she liked the idea of having a "boytoy" so eager and sweet. She really hadn't done Ken justice as a child but thought she could pay him back now.
You see, y/n's father is working for Mattel and she knows some things the average person doesn't. For one thing, she's aware that Barbieland exists and that on some very rare occasions the dolls come to the real world.
"It's alright Ken. I know it's not your fault"
Hearing her voice was not only soothing to him, but his name on her mouth made him lightheaded.
"but you have to get back. I don't know what it could mean to my world that you're here."
At the sound of that final statement, Ken visibly frowned and felt a weight settling in his chest. He had just come to this world and on top of that he and y/n had shared enough kisses to be considered boyfriend and girlfriend according to Barbieland standards.
He reminded himself, as always, he's just Ken. He's always second, even if for a moment he felt like a ten, lost in y/n's tender but also hot touch.
"I understand, y/n. I'll leave then and get back to Barbieland", not that he knew how.
She too felt she didn't want him to leave just yet, the tension was so thick she could almost see it all around them. Nevertheless, it was past midnight and she had three morning classes tomorrow, so she let Ken go without uttering another word.
To say the least, Ken was heartbroken. In one night he had experienced so many new sensations and emotions and he knew he wouldn't be able to get y/n out of his head no matter how hard he'd try. He ended up dozing off while sitting on her doorstep, looking at the stars and imagining y/n's small hands caressing him lower and lower until...
~~
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notes~~
Hello beautiful people! I hope you enjoyed part 1 of my Ken smut fic :)
It's meant to be just spice but I wanted to add some context too. This is also my first time posting anything on Tumblr! I have many ideas regarding many different fandoms, but I also feel like most of these ideas have been done and that my fanfics are gonna be unoriginal.🥹
Byeeee<3
banners from; @cafekitsune
my masterlist
UPDATE!! THIS STORY HAS BEEN FINISHED, LOOK AT MY MASTERLIST FOR THE FOLLOWING PARTS!
TIPS; CLICK HERE(PayPal link)
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whyse7vn · 28 days
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PALENTINES -
[ ot7 x reader ]
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SINGLE LADIES 😁🔥
8 participants - 8 online
———————————
tae: gave my gf an hour long whimpering audio for valentines day
namjoon: you make me sick
jimin: this definitely counts as harassment
jk: yoongi got me a plastic fork
yoongi: yw
y/n: the audio was 5 minutes long????
tae: ok but i sent it to you 20 times
do the math????
jin: you sat there and whimpered into ur phone for 5 minutes that’s crazy
don’t you feel any shame??
tae: why would i feel shame?
it’s called being in love jin
you should try it sometime
jimin: it’s called harassment
hobi: ew man
jk: free asmr :D
jin: it’s gonna be free tae from jail soon
tae: no it won’t
jimin: ur right when you get locked up no one’s gonna want you free
hobi: KEEP TAE IN JAIL 🗣️💯
jk: personally i would want tae free
jimin: personally ur not real so it doesn’t matter what you want
jk: :ᗡ
hobi: ew how the hell did you flip it
i hate that
ew
jk: :ᗡ
hobi: HOW DID YOU DO THAT
jk: :ᗡ
hobi: STOP GO AWAY I HATE IT
namjoon: yoongi got jungkook a present this year?
yoongi: not by choice
y/n: it was by choice
hobi: it was a plastic fork
yoongi: a plastic fork not given by choice
y/n: yoongi
yoongi: no
y/n: please
yoongi: no
y/n: pretty please :3
yoongi: it was by choice
y/n: see told you!
yoongi: don’t understand why we have to buy each other shit on this holiday anyways
i like ONE of you not all of you
tae: am i the one you like be honest
yoongi: bye
y/n: it’s our silly little tradition don’t be a loser yoongi
yoongi: whatever
jin: ok anyways who ordered me a fucking marching band???
jk: idk but did you like it??
y/n: gonna take a wild guess and say it was jungkook
namjoon: i thought you have his card how did he order that??
y/n: he has apple pay now i can’t stop him 😕
hobi: wait no fair
jin did NOT deserve a marching band all he got me was his butter photocard???
jimin: he got me that too….
jk: OMG ME TOO >_<
tae: i don’t feel special anymore
namjoon: really jin?
y/n: mine was signed!!
yoongi: cheap
jin: you literally got kook a plastic fork?
yoongi: he loves it
jungkook tell him you love it
jk: i love it
yoongi: see
jin: whatever don’t care
jimin: namjoon got me a fucking book
jin: lol that’s crazy cuz you can’t read
jk: i’m sorry to hear you can’t read jimin hope you can soon :/
namjoon: i put a lot of thought into the book i got you
jin: that’s cute but he can’t read so
jk: i wish i was a book
tae: if you’re a book does that make you a tree?
jk: guys
y/n: no jungkook
jk: oh ok
jimin: i CAN read btw
yoongi: don’t care
jin: sounds like fake news
jk: omg wow ur a fast learner jimin you can read now!!!
jimin: ur talking way too much today
you should stop
jk: is he talking to me????
hobi: y/n got me a holiday to australia
i’m not gonna go cuz like bugs
but that was really nice
y/n: you’re welcome!!!!
tae: k but i got sex
y/n deleted this message!
tae: 😕
silencing me like they did MLK
jimin: what
jk: milk
hobi: did you just compare urself to mlk?
jin: yeah never say that again
tae: why not?? it’s true
yoongi: you are nothing like mlk
jk: tae ur not milk
namjoon: taehyung do not compare yourself to martin luther king ever again please and thank you
jk: or milk
y/n: and in black history month too…
tae: you don’t understand me or him
y/n: yeah ok
back to gifts
joon got me some really pretty flowers
jimin: boringggggggg he does that every year
jk: namjoon got me wood
hobi: ?
namjoon: statue
it’s a wooden statue thing
not just wood
tae: joon giving other boys wood for valentines ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️
u wanna know who i gave MY wood too
y/n deleted this message!
namjoon: tae shut up
jin: saw that
tae: i’m just like mlk i’m telling you man
y/n: stop
tae: sorry
jimin: hobi got me shoes
hobi: i did
jk: hobi got me cheese
hobi: expensive cheese
y/n: i took yoongi to those cute photo booth things
yoongi: they didn’t need to know that
y/n: yes they did
we are sharing what we got each other
read the room yoongi
jimin: yeah yoongi read the room
tae: how tf u read a room??!
a room not a book ☠️☠️
u guys dumb as hell
jin: you not knowing what reading a room means makes a lot of sense actually
jk: send photobooth pics ^0^
bet u looked so cute
not you yoongi
y/n
her
not yoongi
i’m talking to y/n NOT you yoongi btw
yoongi: shut up
and no
you’ll never see those photos
jk: ☹️
hobi: so what did yoongi get y/n??
yoongi: don’t worry
tae: personally i’m worried
jk: me 2 guys yoongi is really scary
what if he killed her
y/n: ?
jin: i want to blow jungkook up
jk: i’m no ballon 😭
jimin: probably fucked for valentines let’s be real
tae: well that’s obviously NOT true lmao 😜 ☠️
yoongi: why is that “obviously” not true
we could of
tae: you didn’t
yoongi: and you know how?
tae: cuz i just know
yoongi: yeah ok
we could of for all you know
on the actual day too
tae: you weren’t even with her on valentine’s day
yoongi: and you were?
y/n: he wasn’t
tae: ok
but i could of been
yoongi: but clearly you weren’t
tae: neither were you
namjoon: both of you stop
tae: idk why yoongi acts all high a mighty
especially when it comes to her
y/n: ok that’s crazy
how about you don’t talk about me like i’m not here!
yoongi: idk why taehyung acts like he has a chance lmao
jk: guys
tae: that’s actually crazy
you’d be fucking surprised yoongi!!!!
yoongi: what’s that supposed to mean?
tae: what do you think it means?
tell me yoongi
guess
i’ll tell you if you’re right or not
yoongi: shut the fuck up
tae: or what?
hobi: why this kinda sexualllll
jimin: like 😭😭😭😭
y/n: LMAO STOP
jin: arguing over pussy that belongs to neither of them is crazy i’m just saying
jk: pussy \ ^0^ /
namjoon: how about we all stop arguing and move back to talking about the gifts we got eachother !!
hobi: jungkook got me a ballon
jk: yeah
do you love it
hobi: sure
jk: ^_^
jimin: personally i think hobi’s lying to you kook
jk: WHAT
jimin: i think he hates his ballon actually
jk: hobi pls say he’s lying
hobi: he’s lying
you see it may seem that way because on the outside im a very chill and nonchalant man
y/n: that is not true actually!
hobi: but on inside i am actually very chalant
EXTREMELY chalant no joke
so basically inside im going fucking crazy over the ballon jungkook gave me but it just doesn’t seem like that cuz im a chill guy
jk: but inside ur chalant
hobi: exactly
jk: jimin why would you lie to me
jimin: ur easy to lie to
jk: no im not
jimin: namjoon died in a car crash 24 hours ago
jk: NO NAMJOON OHHMYGOD NAMJOON NO
namjoon: i am not dead
jk: oh
y/n: how did you fall for that
namjoon cant even drive
jk: oh yeah
lol namjoon cant drive guys
namjoon: ok we all know
hobi: so what did you guys actually do on valentine’s day
jk: minecraft but then it got too scary so i played valorant instead
jimin: idk what any of that means but ok
i personally watched movies with joon
namjoon: yeah
i dropped by kook’s and y/n’s place first tho to give my gifts and stuff
hobi: where was my movie invite?????
jimin: we did call you
you were like high as hell
hobi: oh
wow
how real of me
jin: i cooked steak
jimin: for urself?
typical
jin: kys
no
for me and y/n actually
y/n: …
jin: my fault
yoongi: what
tae: oh
jk: SHE SAID SHE WAS BUSY
TTAHSTNOT FAIIROGJKFNKLDVLKFNKLFHKLNNDKVHNFKVNKLGNGR UFHDFHDKJ GHDKLNGFKLNGFG FHJDJHHGR DHGGRHBDNBF JGHKJGHGR
hobi: ????????????????????
namjoon: cool
jimin: jin???? out of everyone JIN??????
why would you fuck jin
jk: WHATR OHMYGOF WHAT?????? SHUT UP
jimin: on valentine’s day too…..
even fucking ME would make more sense than jin right now
jin: tf is that supposed to mean?
jimin: i said what i said lmao
tae: she cant of fucked jin
cuz she’s fucking me
yoongi: LMAOOOO
u really think your special dont you
thats crazy
jk: WHYIS EVERYONEFUCKING MY GIRLFRIENDOHMGYOJFDJFDKJDSDB
hobi: i dont get it even if she was fucking tae why couldn’t she fucked jin too?
y/n: i am like right here you know
tae: because me and her are serious
yoongi: serious???
you are just a rebound
tae: yoongi i think you’re just upset she didn’t come to you first after the whole jaehyun thing
yoongi: i’m glad she didn’t actually because now i know for sure i’m not rebound
you are
tae: shut the fuck up
yoongi: why? you getting upset?
idk why you’re acting like the victim here when you’re using her for the same thing
hobi: woah??
jimin: cap taehyung bitchless
yoongi: it’s time you stop using y/n to get over jennie and grow some fucking balls
jin: hold on
jimin: WAITTTTTTTT
hobi: SHUT FUCKING DOWN FR????
jk: imgonnapassout
y/n: oh
namjoon: yoongi
tae: i am not using y/n to get over jennie and you know that
hobi: wait ur fr??? taejennie was fr??
LIKE ACTUALLY?? OHMYGIDTHISISREAL??
yoongi: i know that? thats crazy how could i know that??
you didn’t even tell us about jennie
for over 3 months you were with her and you didn’t tell us
and then those photos of you and her were leaked and you were all depressed for ”no reason”
and now all of a sudden your obsession with y/n?
yeah you’re not using her you’re right i’m just fucking stupid aren’t i?
jimin: holy shit man
tae: i am not using her
yoongi: so why is yeontan with jennie right now?
y/n: tae you told me he was with you parents?
tae: yeah
but
i didn’t tell you that because im using you or anything i just said that because i didn’t want to cause any problems
y/n: you lied to me
for no reason
if you told me the truth it would of been fine
tae: i know
y/n: so when i came over
were you planing of sleeping with me anyways?
were you mad at yourself for calling jennie and leaving yeontan with her?
did you use me to help forget about it?
tae: did you use me to help get over jaehyun?
y/n: no
i can tell you that in full confidence no
now answer my question
tae: you know i would never do that to you
y/n: its a yes or no question taehyung
tae: i would never do that to you
yoongi: yes or no you asshole
tae: shut the fuck up
yoongi: answer her question
tae: leave me the fuck alone
tae left “SINGLE LADIES😁🔥”
jk: wow
y/n: didn’t sleep with jin btw
jk: ohthankgod
y/n: did sleep with tae once
we are NOT serious
jk: double ohthankgod
wait
y/n: and now i am going to sleep
jungkook come cuddle
gn all
jk: ON MY WAY OHMYGOD IM ON MY WAY
gn
jimin: good night …
hobi: nite!!
yoongi: gn
jin: goodnight
namjoon: gn
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DOWNBAD😭🫵🏻 #2 (minus tae)
6 participants - 5 online
———————————
namjoon: yoongi that wasn’t fair
yoongi: i know
but she deserved to know
and he wasn’t gonna tell her any time soon
hobi: YOU AND NAMJOON KNEW THIS TAEJENNIE WAS REAL THIS WHOLE TIME????
yoongi: i just found out
namjoon knew longer
namjoon: not that long
jimin: ok but how do you know tae is using her fr?
yoongi: it’s not hard to connect the dots
jin: still you could be wrong
yoongi: well he didn’t deny it did he?
jimin: to me it looked like he didn’t know if he was using her or not
yoongi: well he needs to figure that out soon it’s not fair to her
or him ig
but mainly her.
hate this don’t care about anything bring back yellow….
tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @threeopossumsinacoat @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp @socksfirstalways @knjlvr06 @lailaisarmy @thvkives @xstfudaisyx @xxxanimangxxx @solstice34 @ml8dy @hoeforseoks
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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months
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I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)
Word count: 3.5 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)
Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.
A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.
Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.
And you don't.
Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 
The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.
But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 
The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 
He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.
Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 
Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?
You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.
The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.
You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 
You're posh. And clueless. And a child.
And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.
It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.
And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.
Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?
You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.
It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.
And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.
"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.
"I reckon."
He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.
"So. What made you become a soldier?"
"Joined the SAS when I was 17."
And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…
"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."
Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.
"Nah. That's not how this works."
You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.
"Lady." 
The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.
He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.
"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."
He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.
"...I'm just going shopping."
His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 
"Then let's go shopping."
…......…......
Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.
You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.
And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.
He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.
"You're from Manchester, right?"
You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 
And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.
"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.
There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.
"Do you still live there?"
"...No."
"Do you miss the place?"
"No."
The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.
"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."
…......…......
You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 
He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.
And you’re not going to give in to fear.
You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?
What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.
Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.
Ugh.
Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.
Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.
Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.
A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.
"Found the one who's hunting you."
Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 
This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…
You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.
"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."
Nice. More brutes.
"Why are you telling me this?" 
You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.
"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 
He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...
And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.
"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"
"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 
He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.
Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.
"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."
And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.
You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.
"What do you mean?" 
He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.
"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."
"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"
"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."
The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.
You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…
"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.
"That's the least you could do."
That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 
He could be a little more sensitive.
You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.
You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.
"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.
"Neither did I."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."
The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 
You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.
"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 
He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.
He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.
Soddy bastard…
"Nah. Not until I've done my job."
His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.
"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 
Your fucking job.
Why did you even want this job if it's so–
"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."
You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 
"Excuse me?"
There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.
"Good night, ma'am."
…......…......
The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 
You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 
He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 
You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 
And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.
"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 
The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.
But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.
"That so?" 
He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.
"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.
He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.
"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"
"That's for sure."
You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.
His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.
If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.
"Will you forgive me?"
You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 
"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 
"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."
"Ain't that the truth."
The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.
"Are we going shopping today?"
"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.
"What then?"
"I… I have a yoga class."
"Of course you do."
…......…......
Taglist: @cumikering
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