july, over nineteen, she — her, nsfw blog, english is not my native language, enjoy your stay here and be nice.
my personal links — main masterlist and quidelines.
— 𝘔𝘠 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛, 𝘚𝘐𝘋𝘌 𝘉𝘓𝘖𝘎.
well, guess tumblr hates me writing requests, alright then
Anonymoussent
reader enjoying könig's perverted tendencies and just overall degeneracy. encouraging it even 😞😞 sighs
dmitrienereplied
cw: established freak relationship, jerking on underwear, watching on cameras, exhibitionism, spitting and overall gross things.
könig makes it all so maddeningly easy, to succumb to the way he views and acts in the framework of your relationship, all this casual filth, emotional pressure, an act of a petulant, needy child that goes all angry and teary eyed when he won’t get what he wants, and it’ll be you, because he needs you, every single second of his breathing, and you never told him no, because you can’t, because his behavior makes something in your tummy churn, tight and searing hot.
a man of many, twisted desires, and how he cannot grow crazier, swallow down greedy gulps of drool that fills his mouth up to the brim, when you welcome his behavior, encourage this marrow rotting degeneracy of his, let him jerk off to the pair of your panties which he stole out of your closet without a shame to his face or eyes, the first time you invited him to your apartment, if you’ve already kissed, why can’t he coat the thing you wear closest to your pussy with the mark of his utter devotion to you?
sometimes he does something completely strange, disgusting, like returning from a long time away deployed, with a bag full of boxed cameras which he later hangs in the corners of the apartment, this is your place, your sanctuary, and yet, könig tears in your personal space with a doggish grin and his blown baby blue eyes full of depraved, unhealthy possession, rasping that he wants to be able to see you even while away, and how can you say no to him, when he just misses you, needs a clear image of you whenever he wants, something to cum to.
you let könig do anything his rotten brain would come up with, submitting to every whim, like spit globs of saliva over your wide stretched cunt, tender lips and folds fluttering, dancing around the fat tip of his engorged cock, spread with a rough sting at the way he bottoms in almost forcefully, all rough, ramming his bruisingly strong hips forward, skin slapping on skin to burn into your body, fluids mixing in a gross, tacky mess, over your spasming cunt, your bouncing breasts, your parted mouth, clogged with precome soiled, calloused fingers.
grope you in any public place, while onlookers look on in disgust or judgement, but his curving, lapping tongue is already down your throat, licking over each crevice of your gums and teeth, stealing your breath, biting into the tender flesh of your swelling lips, swallowing your muted moans, choking, wet keens, until he could force his tense thigh between your own, quivering one’s, rub up against your mound, watching how your body goes pliant, drawing out a pleased rumble from deep within his chest.
könig’s fixation on you verges on obsession, but it’s feels flattering, the way he whines and paws at you whenever you’re running a little behind schedule at coming back home, gushes about how much he adores your looks and sweet, willing nature, while already nuzzling in between your spreading legs, calls you all sorts of german endearments, silly, sometimes too childlike nicknames, but as long as he’s happy, you are too, and he’s always are, as long as he can fuck your pussy or shove you down his eager, rugged face.
perhaps you would have been better off if you had just ran away from him the moment you laid eyes on him, not started dating, not allowed him to kiss you, because a guy behaving like a badly behaved dog isn’t exactly the ideal partner, but nevertheless, there is something about him that you find appealing, not only his enormous cock and massive frame.
Anonymoussent
im not sure if your requests are open. im so sorry if not!
have you ever thought about the
"please slow down" reader
x
"no." simon riley
trope?
dmitrienereplied
cw: no hurt or angst, pure sex and overstimulation.
simon ghost riley has you strung, tight and without a way to wiggle out, flee, from where you’re splayed beneath the shadows that dance upon rumpled, furling sheets, tangling in between your twitching limbs, pooling all around your frame, bowed up towards every brushing touch, and you look at the way the shadows crawl up the walls and your body to obscure the honey warmth of his eyes, now appearing as if poised to pounce, ravage.
this is his trait, to have control, to wrap the strings of your most secret desires around his scarred fingers and tug, get you down to your lowest, as deep as possible, to see the glaze that clouds your judgment and mind, reflecting upon your watery eyes, blown wide with almost manic revere, to know that you’ve had fallen under his desire to subdue, trembling under the biting of his hands and mouth, with your hands pinned in surrender.
there’s a hiccup of a plea tearing through your clattering teeth’s, tumbling from your slack, spit soaked lips, flesh bitten raw, swelling under each devouring, licking kiss, you beg him to slow down, his rapid, strenuous movements of muscular hips are stretching your cunt out, leaving you numb all the way from your pussy to your toes, gushing around the intruding, pistoning weight of his engorged cock and kicking your feet, useless, ineffective gurgles spilling from your drooling mouth.
a desperate prayer, jumbled litany, met with a low, gravelly growl of refusal, thrust turning more choppy, as he forces himself even deeper into you, where the battering ram of his cock could be seen moving beneath your tender skin, each followed by a squelch, lewd sound of your pooling, dripping wetness, viscous and clinging to every veiny inch of him, throbbing when you writhe, squeeze, clamp with a shudder wracking your fragile spine, your hands wound tight around his neck, scrabbling over anything your nails could sink into.
you are stripped bare, unraveled, littered with bruises, blooms of tingling hickeysand sharp indentations from his teeth, scattered in chaos all over, the timbre of his voice are animalistic, clawed up deep within his rumbling, heavy sculpted chest, pinning you down, swallowing down your keens and beading saltiness of rolling tears, and there’s nothing you can do, not until he’s sated, having you where he dreamed of every single day, cumming all over his cock and pubes.
machveilsent
dearest pookie, your thoughts on your favorite pasta shape(s)?
dmitrienereplied
okay, okay, i didn’t know all of them have such interesting names, but let me put up a list, i really love this question 😭
- spaghetti (the casual beloved)
- fettuccine (another long queen)
- gnocchi (yummy, interesting shaped baby)
- shells (i love when the sauce and additives are getting stuck in the pasta)
- lasagna (also a casual beloved, we have established relationship)
- pappardelle (she’s long too, i can’t hate her, and can be added in soup like her sisters)
- penne rigate (or anything shape similar)
here they are! need to hear about yours, now..
Anonymoussent
pls do ghost with reader that's insecure about being too tall
dmitrienereplied
there are people who tend to take out their complexes on others, touching any living place, only to make you feel just as insecure and withdrawn into yourself, and this did not pass you by, your height, to be more precise, such an insignificant thing that it seems unnecessary to pay attention to, has become a justification for the men in your life to make offensive comments about the fact that you were a head or two taller than them, until simon ghost riley came into your life.
it is always very easy to become a victim, not only something physical, but also mental, and in your case, these were words about what long legs you have, which you started to hide over time under pants and short soled shoes, that no one will look at you, because men like it when a girl looks delicate, petite, and your image does not allow this in any way, no matter how you really feel inside, but the way simon looks at you, his unwavering gaze mapping over your figure with almost childlike admiration, makes you acutely aware of something warm crawling up your shuddering spine.
you’ve never been with a man so completely enamored with you, but simon is there, present as ever, and his nearly every breath is made to make you happy, aware of just how gorgeous you are, how breathtaking he finds you, a new revelation, he’s a man usually described as distant and aloof, with eyes that hardly catch any light, but he looks at you with pupils of ebony that are blown wide, hands twitching with the desire to touch, cradle and squeeze and kiss until you laugh directly into his biting mouth, bending your head just a little bit, but it’s enough to make him all thrilled.
it’s a part of him that was yet to be discovered, just how much he’s into women who can stare him straight in the face, meet his sharp gaze straight on, pat over his stubbled cheek as though petting a dog, make him feel so enamored with you that his knees might buckle under his weight, finding a new duty to be at your feet and press kiss upon kiss against your long, gorgeous legs, nuzzle in against the tender inside of your thigh, look through the sooty, pale wisps of his eyelashes on how you gaze down to meet him staring dazedly.
you’re so used to hiding and doing everything to seem less imposing just because of something you can’t control, simon has experienced himself in his line of work on multiple occasions, and having the opportunity to make you feel better about your looks, he grasps at it with long, calloused fingers, worshipping you by saccharine purred words and suffusing warmth of his kisses upon your skin, your legs, tingling from slowly blooming bites, are spread wide to dangle over his stretched out shoulders, rippling and twitching as he teases you on.
holding you steady and dripping sweet rivulets of slick down your tensing, trembling thighs, cunt pulsing, gaping around nothing, if not for the fat, drizzling tip of his cock resting against the entrance to your aching, too-empty hole, short of breaching in and filling you until you are left with nothing to do but babble slurred nonsense and broken prayers of his name, but not until simon hears you repeating every cooed word of affection he puts in your mouth with his licking tongue.
inspired by @suimon thought.
cw: filth, cum, really pussydrunk simon.
simon ghost riley had decided to grow a moustache, the change of appearance, albeit sudden, seemed like a good emough idea to him during his next shave, he had only recently returned home from deployment, and his patchy stubble had grown enough to form a small beard, surrounding his lips and running up his sharp jaw, covering his pale skin with darkish, coarse hairs, the shaving of which was a relief, refreshing his face, however, when he had only a small part above his upper lip to trim, his hand lingered in the air, and he changed his mind.
“you look silly, si”
was the only response you offered, which wasn't actually true, on the contrary, his smooth, well groomed, and thick mustache enhanced his appearance, making him look even more stern and rugged, stirred a certain lump of feelings within you, compelling your legs to cross in response to the warmth that began in the pit of your belly and radiated outward, suffusing your limbs with a gentle, yet insistent heat, kindling in your cheeks, making your eyes flicker across his face and body with a familiar, bashful anxiety that simon recognized all too well, his thinned lips curling into a broad, sharply fanged grin.
simon is sure that he can convince you otherwise, or at the very least, acknowledge the reality that you have been keeping buried beneath your rapidly expanding ribcage, which will eventually turn out as sporadic keens and whimpers tumbling from gasping mouth, because it is not at all that difficult to nudge his face between your trembling thighs, lay down between your spread legs, calves gripped by his tightly grasping, scarred fingers, not allowing them to snap shut, his lips preoccupied by being put against your cunt.
parting your folds with his tongue, already soaking and slick with ooze of your arousal, tangy, sweet lasting taste smearing against his moustache, hole fluttering against the tip of his curling tongue, teasing over the pulsing entrance, no words remained in your thoughts or mouth, devolving into clear, need brimming hiccups, hips spasming, grinding down to meet the pistoning of his tongue, the ocassional mouthing on the exposed, soft skin of your thigh, quivering beneath at the rasp of his facial hair, before you were arching into his open lapping mouth again, slowly falling apart at the unraveling seams, panting for more, not enough, too good.
it'll leave the tang of you on his tongue and face for a long time, drench him in the cum and sweat, syrupy sweet, unwilling to scrub it off, a permanent reminder of the way you taste, which simon shares with you, crawling up to plunge his still slick coated tongue in your waiting mouth, making you swallow, gasp and moan around insistent, swirling muscle, mapping around, grunting around the weak sob you let out, sound wet with spit, and pulling away to meet your dazed, bleary gaze properly, he knows the mustache would have to linger.
Anonymoussent
GIRL OMG OMG OMGGGGGGG YOU WRITE DI LEON SO WELL OH MYYYYY IK YOU FOCUS ON COD MEN MOSTLY BUT MECHANIC LEON??? IVE GOT HEARTS IN MY EYES OMG PLS TELL ME YOU’LL WRITE FOR HIM AGAIN
dmitrienereplied
anon.. hearts in my eyes because of your words, i’m so happy you enjoyed my writing, especially because it’s was so long since i wrote for leon! i promise to look at the idea of writing something more for him either as a mechanic or in a different setting ‹𝟹
cw: smut at the end, age gap if you squint, di leon appearance.
mechanic leon scott kennedy, a man well known in the area for his wretched past, as well as the fact that he chose a more comfortable and tranquil lifestyle over becoming an agent many had anticipated him to be, preffering to spend the majority of his time undercarriage, tinkering with broken, unfortunate pieces of iron, cars, motorcycles, and trucks, getting covered in layers of machine oil and grease.
years of military service did him good, even though he is no longer so young, brown hair has darkened and grown out in messy layers, his round, ruddy face has become sharper than a knife, sporting a rough, silvering stubble that gives him a certain charm, he still maintains excellent physical condition and good control over his body, shoulders are broad, tapering down to large, beefy biceps, body is chiseled, displaying every muscle to ogle over, the ribbed tank tops he tipically wears doing well at properly highlighting all contours of his body, fair skin reflecting the intense sun, pale painting of scars that criscross over the arms catch the sunlight.
the thing is, leon is quite aware of his looks and how women react to him, more often than not, without concealing his own qenuine interests beneath a facade of coy smiles and sidelong, appreciative gazes, he's just a man, after all, so he enjoys his modest popularity without compunction, and when you pull up to his workshop with a smoking hood and eyes full of desperate panic, he greets you with a cautious smile and a soft reassurance on his lips, stretched into a smile that balances on a sharp fanged grin, which diverts your attention from the squint of his blue, all consuming eyes, not letting you see the almost perverted excitement there.
your eyes are rounded and nearly shiny like polished glass as tears well up in them, this is a brand new car, and it's unexpected and sudden breakdown cannot but frighten, because the price was big, and the repair itself can end up costing a pretty penny, and you've saved up so hard for it, but all your panicked, nearly choking speech can't help but amuse him just a little, poor, sweet thing you are, so stressed up over an issue he can repair in less than a day, yet he has to confess, leon enjoys being able to soothe you and convince you that everything is good, he won't charge you too much, and you shouldn't worry about the vehicle to the point of crying, just trust him and watch him work.
leon doesn't work for the money, but for the pleasure he derives from seeing young, sweet girls like you entangled in his weight, clothes ripped apart to expose their tender skin, bruised from passionate kisses, throat raspy from pitched keens as he dives down to press his nose into a spot that makes them pull at his hair and legs spread wider, cunt oozing and pulsing, pressed against his eagerly devouring mouth, and when he glances to the side to check where your gaze is wandering, he is not surprised to meet your wide eyed gaze tracing over his flexing muscles, the curve of his hip as he shifts his weight to one leg, rolling his broad shoulders, making you turn away, charmingly embarrassed, and he is not at all surprised, actually quite pleased, to see your thighs clench.
you weren't supposed to end up in your own car, pressed against your own seat, with your legs dangling over leon's shoulders, muscles flexing beneath with the time your toes curl, each jagged exhale turning into a reedy, gasping moan, panting, keening in a quick, capturing kisses he presses against your wide open, round shaped lips, cunt fluttering spread around the sheer girth of his cock, long and throbbing, dissapearing fully into the perfectly tight, sopping heat of your pulsing, clutching hole, hips snapping to bruise, make you feel each thrust, spill down your little whines, dazed on the sensations, head lolling back.
and if you leave his workshop all disheveled and with legs trembling, weak hands that can hardly hold the wheel beneath your fingers, restless in your seat due to the dampness in your panties from the cum that drips out of your still gaping cunt, soaking the thin fabric of your underwear, it's because his service was satisfactory, and the innocently teasing kiss that he plants on your flushed cheek, prickling the sensitive skin with his stubble, means that he will eagerly wait for you to, perhaps, visit him again.
cw: smut at the end, age gap if you squint, di leon appearance.
mechanic leon scott kennedy, a man well known in the area for his wretched past, as well as the fact that he chose a more comfortable and tranquil lifestyle over becoming an agent many had anticipated him to be, preffering to spend the majority of his time undercarriage, tinkering with broken, unfortunate pieces of iron, cars, motorcycles, and trucks, getting covered in layers of machine oil and grease.
years of military service did him good, even though he is no longer so young, brown hair has darkened and grown out in messy layers, his round, ruddy face has become sharper than a knife, sporting a rough, silvering stubble that gives him a certain charm, he still maintains excellent physical condition and good control over his body, shoulders are broad, tapering down to large, beefy biceps, body is chiseled, displaying every muscle to ogle over, the ribbed tank tops he tipically wears doing well at properly highlighting all contours of his body, fair skin reflecting the intense sun, pale painting of scars that criscross over the arms catch the sunlight.
the thing is, leon is quite aware of his looks and how women react to him, more often than not, without concealing his own qenuine interests beneath a facade of coy smiles and sidelong, appreciative gazes, he’s just a man, after all, so he enjoys his modest popularity without compunction, and when you pull up to his workshop with a smoking hood and eyes full of desperate panic, he greets you with a cautious smile and a soft reassurance on his lips, stretched into a smile that balances on a sharp fanged grin, which diverts your attention from the squint of his blue, all consuming eyes, not letting you see the almost perverted excitement there.
your eyes are rounded and nearly shiny like polished glass as tears well up in them, this is a brand new car, and it’s unexpected and sudden breakdown cannot but frighten, because the price was big, and the repair itself can end up costing a pretty penny, and you’ve saved up so hard for it, but all your panicked, nearly choking speech can’t help but amuse him just a little, poor, sweet thing you are, so stressed up over an issue he can repair in less than a day, yet he has to confess, leon enjoys being able to soothe you and convince you that everything is good, he won’t charge you too much, and you shouldn’t worry about the vehicle to the point of crying, just trust him and watch him work.
leon doesn’t work for the money, but for the pleasure he derives from seeing young, sweet girls like you entangled in his weight, clothes ripped apart to expose their tender skin, bruised from passionate kisses, throat raspy from pitched keens as he dives down to press his nose into a spot that makes them pull at his hair and legs spread wider, cunt oozing and pulsing, pressed against his eagerly devouring mouth, and when he glances to the side to check where your gaze is wandering, he is not surprised to meet your wide eyed gaze tracing over his flexing muscles, the curve of his hip as he shifts his weight to one leg, rolling his broad shoulders, making you turn away, charmingly embarrassed, and he is not at all surprised, actually quite pleased, to see your thighs clench.
you weren’t supposed to end up in your own car, pressed against your own seat, with your legs dangling over leon’s shoulders, muscles flexing beneath with the time your toes curl, each jagged exhale turning into a reedy, gasping moan, panting, keening in a quick, capturing kisses he presses against your wide open, round shaped lips, cunt fluttering spread around the sheer girth of his cock, long and throbbing, dissapearing fully into the perfectly tight, sopping heat of your pulsing, clutching hole, hips snapping to bruise, make you feel each thrust, spill down your little whines, dazed on the sensations, head lolling back.
and if you leave his workshop all disheveled and with legs trembling, weak hands that can hardly hold the wheel beneath your fingers, restless in your seat due to the dampness in your panties from the cum that drips out of your still gaping cunt, soaking the thin fabric of your underwear, it’s because his service was satisfactory, and the innocently teasing kiss that he plants on your flushed cheek, prickling the sensitive skin with his stubble, means that he will eagerly wait for you to, perhaps, visit him again.
inspired by @suimon thought.
cw: filth, cum, really pussydrunk simon.
simon ghost riley had decided to grow a moustache, the change of appearance, albeit sudden, seemed like a good emough idea to him during his next shave, he had only recently returned home from deployment, and his patchy stubble had grown enough to form a small beard, surrounding his lips and running up his sharp jaw, covering his pale skin with darkish, coarse hairs, the shaving of which was a relief, refreshing his face, however, when he had only a small part above his upper lip to trim, his hand lingered in the air, and he changed his mind.
“you look silly, si”
was the only response you offered, which wasn't actually true, on the contrary, his smooth, well groomed, and thick mustache enhanced his appearance, making him look even more stern and rugged, stirred a certain lump of feelings within you, compelling your legs to cross in response to the warmth that began in the pit of your belly and radiated outward, suffusing your limbs with a gentle, yet insistent heat, kindling in your cheeks, making your eyes flicker across his face and body with a familiar, bashful anxiety that simon recognized all too well, his thinned lips curling into a broad, sharply fanged grin.
simon is sure that he can convince you otherwise, or at the very least, acknowledge the reality that you have been keeping buried beneath your rapidly expanding ribcage, which will eventually turn out as sporadic keens and whimpers tumbling from gasping mouth, because it is not at all that difficult to nudge his face between your trembling thighs, lay down between your spread legs, calves gripped by his tightly grasping, scarred fingers, not allowing them to snap shut, his lips preoccupied by being put against your cunt.
parting your folds with his tongue, already soaking and slick with ooze of your arousal, tangy, sweet lasting taste smearing against his moustache, hole fluttering against the tip of his curling tongue, teasing over the pulsing entrance, no words remained in your thoughts or mouth, devolving into clear, need brimming hiccups, hips spasming, grinding down to meet the pistoning of his tongue, the ocassional mouthing on the exposed, soft skin of your thigh, quivering beneath at the rasp of his facial hair, before you were arching into his open lapping mouth again, slowly falling apart at the unraveling seams, panting for more, not enough, too good.
it'll leave the tang of you on his tongue and face for a long time, drench him in the cum and sweat, syrupy sweet, unwilling to scrub it off, a permanent reminder of the way you taste, which simon shares with you, crawling up to plunge his still slick coated tongue in your waiting mouth, making you swallow, gasp and moan around insistent, swirling muscle, mapping around, grunting around the weak sob you let out, sound wet with spit, and pulling away to meet your dazed, bleary gaze properly, he knows the mustache would have to linger.
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