°+* Dev *+°

she/her | 18+ MDNI | Artist/Writer/Vtuber | Multi-fandom | been on a hiatus

[chaoticgoblindev]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── 「 ✦ Welcome ✦ 」

🦋About me

Dev, She/Her, 18+, Creative student messing with art and writing.

I draw and write for multiple fandoms, the main ones being; TWST, COD/MW, Obey Me, Genshin.

By no means am I consistent so I may disappear for weeks at a time.

Commissions/Requests/Asks are open

Thank you for stopping by, and enjoy.

RULES

❥Writing:

Requests are open

Will write; sfw, nsfw, angst, fluff, character x reader.

Will not write male!reader but I will write GN!reader. I am simply not a man, I would not know how to write for a male reader, and some fandoms get weird about mlm content being written. My apologies.

I will NOT write anything pro ship, scat/piss kink, and ships that include characters that are family.

I probably won’t write character x character but that can change (depending on my mood).

❥Art:

Commissions are open and I will sometimes draw on request.

I am fine with drawing; sfw, nsfw, furry, ship art, anything really

I will not draw; pro ship, scat/piss kink, and ships that include characters that are family.

MASTERLIST

[gloriium]

harurin~!

[nailbats]

HIIIIII I’m Samm, and today’s my bday!! I’m sharing my ocs with you, and it would be cool if you could give this post visibility!!

✨✨If you repost, I’ll hold a raffle and you might win a quick sketch from me 👀👀👀✨✨

[chlorny]

This is a sign for you to go have a snack

[sheepwater]

Octavinelle in cookie run???!!!! waaaa???!!! (still haven't played cookie run)

pst @lukaka-arte i used ur suggestion 👀

poll under cut

fav?

azul cookie

jade cookie

floyd cookie

the background i drew (it took me like 4 hours im not kidding lmao idk y 😭)

Voting ended onApr 12, 2025

[aivy-saur]

That tweet was so me core I had to properly visualize it

[twisted-confessions]

"With no power comes all of my great and overwhelming responsibilities!" - Dire Crowley probably

[chaoticgoblindev]

Take a look at Yuu’s Magicam account!

Instead of just placing a groovy card in the post, I decided to draw a scene inspired from @cheapshrimpysheep Onesie Party that they wrote!

I recommend reading it here ! It made my day :)

A sneak peak at closer details..

Floyd bought Yuu matching Eel and Shrimp phone charms!!

Don’t take them off shrimps or else :)

Is that Vil merch? Yes it is

Don’t tell Vil or you won’t here the end of his teasing!

Reblogs help a lot! Thanks for stopping by :)

[cheapshrimpysheep]

On April 6th last year I published my very first imagine. And I wrote it and published it just because. I was reading other users' imagines when I looked at my onesie and had an idea for one.

I just thought "Why not?" And to my surprise, a lot of people liked it and commented that they were surprised that it was the first imagine I wrote.

Furthermore, I received a message telling me that she liked Onesie Party so much that would like to make a fanart out of it. Of course I told her she could.

And a year later here I am reblogging this art, with a lot of new things written and a number of followers I never thought I would have.

Thank you everyone! This account is a great source of happiness for me. I hope it is the same for you too. ❤️

P.S.: I know that today is not the 6th or April, I'm just very late and I only realized that it had already been a year a few days ago 😅

[chaoticgoblindev]

I love your writing and I am so happy you keep at it !!! 🩵

[yunietunie]

Honey

Okay, so it's been a while since i wrote some angst here you go. No one asked for it but here it is :P. This is ******HEAVILY SPOILED******* on the new MW3 campaign and im sorry.

Summary: Johnny a lover, a soldier, and most importantly, a husband.

Warnings: Heavy, heavy angst.

How long have you been in the military? About 7-8 years and now with an additional one from joining TF141. You thrived, you had a lot of praise for your work as a specialist in your area. Your training and work ethic were exceptional, quickly proving your placement onto 141 in the first place. 

“What ya’ reading?” Soap asked you while you had a book in your hands after finishing a report. “Oh you know, just some poetry.” You’d say with a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your head swiveled over to him, to see what direction his voice was coming from. He’d scan his eyes to the title of the book. It read “Honey” By Sarah Gymson.

“You’ll have to lend it to me sometime.” Soap perked up back to your direction. “Here, take it now, I have another copy.” He’d take the book from your hands, putting it to his side.

Simple conversation between the two of you would flow into late night chats, ending up on missions together and becoming really good friends. You’d save him and he’d save you in times of dire need. Your dynamic with John MacTavish was perfect. He a demolition’s expert, you a sniper. It’s like the pieces fit together between the two of you.

You’d glance at each other during debriefs or free time, sending eye messages about how bored the two of you were. You’d usually end up eating lunch together in the canteen of the base, talking about all kinds of things. The occasional teasing was granted but after you got him back of course.

His hand propped to support his cheek while talking with you. “So, what’s your favourite place in the world that you’ve traveled to?” You’d ask him, looking at his soft blue eyes while they glazed over your appearance. “That would be anywhere with you.” Johnny teased towards you with a small smirk. “Oh c’mon, be serious.”

“Okay okay,” He responded, then he looked at his hands and took a deep breath as if he were pondering. Johnny looked back up at you. “The cliffs at Duncansby Head. Somewhere in Caithness.” His voice was velvety as he spoke, a sort of gentleness to it as well while he thought about his choice. Where even was that? Scotland maybe? “Any reason why?”

“It’s calm. The ocean hitting the side of the rock walls, the sound of the waves, the scenery—It’s soothing.” A twitch to the corner of his smile began to form. “Whenever I am frustrated or upset, I think of that place.” Your eyes would watch him while he spoke, a sort of somber expression as he reminisced about his time there. 

While on smaller missions, you got to know each other even better than the last time. The two of you having fun outside of work on your days off. It felt nice to have someone like this with you. Always positive. It wasn’t long before you began to develop feelings for him.

“Hey.” Johnny asked you, folding his arms into his torso, his eyes darting around the area. “Hey.” You responded with a giddy smile. “So—I was thinking,” He seemed nervous, but eager to ask you a question. “That we, uh, grab drinks sometime?” Your eyes widened as your brows shot up in surprise. He wanted to take you out for drinks. 

Little did he know that by asking you that small question a few months ago, you two would spiral into a relationship down the road. Spending almost every day together, some apart of course but you always knew that the two of you would come back. At least that’s what you’d like to believe.

Page 67

“Bound by secret ties,

Whispers in the dark unite.

Two worlds now intertwined.”

Over the course of the last few weeks you, the rest of 141 were on countless missions to stop the terrorist attack of Hasan and to stop the weaponization of American missiles. You finally ended up actually stopping him. The capture of Valeria made it a whole heck-of-a-lot easier to find the target. But you made it. You always did. At least with Johnny by your side. 

It had frightened you when you found out that Ghost—and Johnny were betrayed by Graves. No communication. You had no idea if he was alright or injured. But he was a good soldier, he always found a way out, is what you’d tell yourself to ease your mind.

A few hours later, he made it back okay. Sure he was shot, but he was okay. That’s all that mattered. “Bonnie, you came back.” He’d say when he was reunited with you, Price and Gaz after being in Al Mazrah to retrieve Laswell. “Always.” You’d whisper to him before getting gear and tossing it to some Los Vaqueros to help fend off the Shadow Company while retreating.

You’d regroup with everyone back at Alejandro’s safe house to take back their base in Las Almas. Johnny pulled you to the side, away from everyone for a moment to check if you were hurt. “Yer okay?” A soft expression plastered over his face, accompanied by concern. “I'm fine, always will be.” You’d respond with a small grin and an airy chuckle.

After the succession of taking back the base with being unscathed, you’d find yourself sitting next to Johnny, your head resting on his shoulder on the way back to base. He’d been carrying the poetry book you lent him, quietly reading to himself until their arrival back to base.

Page 127

“Like bees drawn to sweet embrace,

Love’s nectar we share.”

Another few months fly by without much changing, the relationship between the two of you transpire. He ended up actually proposing to you, a happy gleaming part of your relationship. You got married to the goofy guy you met in the military. He treats you so well. The two of you would read the poetry book together before bed or whenever sent on missions, it was your guy’s thing to share.

“Makarov?” After the picture slid to you from Johnny’s hand. “What the hell is he doing? I thought we put him into custody four years ago?” You’d ask, your brows furrowing at the thought of evil coming back to haunt you. “He’s planning a prison break, we just don’t know when.” Laswell said, her arms folded atop the bar counter. 

You’d look at the rubber wedding band on your finger, your mind slightly filling with worry. A calloused hand placed over top of yours to provide comfort. Turning your gaze over to Johnny, “We’ll be okay.” His voice reassured your overthinking mind. 

The world was beginning to fill with suspicion of Uzbekistan, from their recent exposure to “terrorist” attacks led by Farah and her military personnel. Which led to you and the rest of 141 to hunt down Makarov and stop him before he created a war between west and east, pinning Uzbekistan and Farah as the terrorists, it would be catastrophic.

After failing to get to the chemicals in the bunker, you somehow, probably by the grace of god, had enough time to tell Laswell to get to safety after her meeting with Yuri. Two missiles from Farah’s base that were stolen, launched to where Laswell was. Everything was fine, or so you thought.

Thanks for some intel given by Shepard… and Graves… You managed to get a hit on some intelligence on the location of a target. You’d have to let your hate dissolve if you wanted this mission to be done. And that's what you did.

After you, Ghost, and Johnny made it to a small island off the coast of a country—You would extract financial dealings that Makarov had Melina do. Finding the sweet spot, you head back to Russia and capture his Second in Command and get more intel since Makarov wasn’t there.

This endless fight of the five of you trying to find the man behind it all while fighting your way through Konni was tiring. But you had the love of your life around almost every corner. Just being near him gave you comfort and other perspectives. 

“Another hit,” Laswell stated over comms to each of you. “Possible ID on a hacker that has a buyer, he’s connected to Makarov.” “Where?” Johnny asked quickly, hoping to bring an end to Makarov’s reign of terror and death. “London.” That was a surprise? He’s attacking in their home country? There wouldn’t be more information until Laswell spoke again. “He’s going to use the trains underground.”

“The ones that connect the UK and France? That’s hundreds of miles of train rails.” Price said in his gravelly frustrated voice. But what choice would they have? They would try to pin him in the middle. TF141 would come in from the UK side, to get discrete info off the hacker and buyer to get Makarov’s full location while another unit would enter from the france destination and meet in the middle. 

If all the intel they had was right—Makarov was planning to bomb the railway, killing innocent Men, Women and Children in the trains to make yet another seemingly false blamed terrorist attack. You’d look at Johnny, a deep breath in and one out before looking back at the screen. The two of you would get prepared and head towards the pier in London to find the hacker. 

Blending in, Ghost and Gaz were already in position over the comms and attempting to use Surveillance cameras for any outliers. You and Johnny split up, eventually being on opposite sides of the Hacker, hoping to listen in on anything she would say for intel.

“It’ll be done.” She said, the phone holding up to her ear while she paced around. Then she turned her head around, seemingly paranoid of being watched. She began to walk away, you were following her with Johnny holding your hand, being a couple in public to draw away suspicion.

“The payment is already finished, orange cap. Pleasure doing business.” And with that Ghost began to look through the cameras on the streets for a man with an orange cap, hoping that is who they were looking for. After a few minutes, they saw the buyer enter through an abandoned and discrete subway tunnel entrance. 

“Perfect place for them to hide.” Gaze said through the radio. You and Johnny began to head towards that area, meeting up with Price, Ghost and Gaz who would meet you three on later. You, Johnny and another unit began to plow through the Konni group, your eyes would glance over to Johnny to make sure he was safe at every free second you were given. 

Finally, making it down the steps and to the railway, you begin to head towards where the bomb was located, hoping to see Makarov there. The sound of russian words, bullets flailing and the train would muffle things out for you. Taking out the troops easily with the help of Johnny by your side, alongside the rest of the other unit. As you rushed to get past the incredibly fast train, you eventually made it to the middle platform where even more troops rushed out to greet you with unfriendly weapons.

You turn your gaze to the center, the bomb making slow yet quiet beeps as the timer begins to decrease. “Johnny—In the center, I'll cover you.” You’d say as the two of you began to make it towards the center, making sure he was safe in the process. “Got it.”

After a few seconds, he began to pry at the latch and grunted at frustration. “This needs two people, get a snake cam and insert it on the other side.” He said as he began to tug and push aside wires. You inserted a snake cam inside the metal frame. “Look to your right, I need the logo of the circuit.” You squint your eyes and turn it to the right to find what he had asked for. “Bear.”

“Bear okay.” After a few more minutes of him attempting to cut off the time he spoke once more, a bit rushed. You only had a minute until it detonated. “Give me the third number of the serial code. It's on the left bottom corner.” You scramble the snake cam over to the side and find it. “9.” you said swiftly, he inputs it and it was correct.

“Okay—Last thing, Bonnie. On three, we cut the red wires.” Soap said as he held up the pillars to the red wire about the same time you did. “1…2–”

Bang

A strange pain filled you as you were knocked back to the concrete floor, your head instantly turning to Johnny as you groaned, a gun fired at his torso, knocking him down as well. “Johnny—!” You shout, your eyes meeting with dead ones, then at a gun pointed to your head, a finger over the trigger.

“This is to teach you a lesson. Don’t bury your enemies alive.” Makarov stated with a chuckle just before he was about to shoot a hole into your skull. That was when, in a flash, you saw Johnny leap from the ground and stab Makarov in the neck with his combat knife. Moving quickly, Makarov twisted Johnny’s arm in front of him to get the knife out. Your loving eyes watched as his body hit the ground after a final gunshot. Makarov looked like he was about to shoot you but as soon as Price, Ghost and Gaz came, he ran. Fucking coward.

You were still shell shocked, her head turned towards the corpse of your husband. “No.” You said wearily. You would clutch the side of your torso where you had been shot and crawled over to him. Tears pricked your eyes. “No, no, no. Please.” Your broken voice would beg. You placed two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse, even though it was apparent that he was–gone.

You tore your hand away from your side, not caring about blood loss. Not caring anything at that moment. “My boy. Not my boy. Please—Please don’t leave me.” You screamed as you placed his cheeks into your palms, your tears hitting his face. “Please..” You’d whisper, pressing your foreheads together, wishing this wasn't real.

“It was supposed to be me.”

Page 201

“Crimson roses fall, 

Life’s bloom fades,

A final breath.

Death’s touch, a silent call.”

A/N: i cried. Ugly cried even, when i played the campaign and experienced this and now do some other people :3.

[chaoticgoblindev]

Sobbing. SOBBING.

[chaoticgoblindev]

I am alive I swear!!! I got a new job so it’s been a bit busy-

Here’s some things I have planned:

Soap MacTavish medieval!au. Being Scottish myself- just- brain rot rn.

Ghost face Simon bc Halloween.

Older Price with young virgin reader

Gamer boyfriend Gaz and sitting on his lap while he played.

Pyramid head König

Vampire Vil x Vampire Hunter Rook x Prey Reader

Succubus Malleus

König knight jousting and favoring high noble reader flower

Horangi x Reader

But yeah look forward to some of these, I am working on Gamer Gaz rn and it’ll be NSFW

[masked-cat]

This is the last time I'll advertise my shop but please check out my Etsy! I make crochet items such as accessories and amigurumi dolls. I also have a Kofi shop as well. Check out @phoenixfirecrochet too

PhoenixFireCrochet - Etsy

Shop yarn and hot stuff by PhoenixFireCrochet located in Baltimore, Maryland.

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[chaoticgoblindev]

It’s October everyone… you know what that means.

Halloween specials >:)

[lunarw0rks]

farmer!price & sweet little girl next door!reader (yes i’m thinking about this pairing in the most perverted way possible)

a/n: here it is. the long-awaited neighbor!price fic <3 Hopefully, you all enjoy these Price crumbs. anon is onto something ;) & thx for the dog name ideas! ⊹。°˖➴ ao3 ver. // word count: 6.9k

// warning(s); nsfw (18+), implied age gap [r is mid-twenties, price is early/mid-forties], dadbod!price agenda, oral (r.), p/v unsafe sex, fem!reader

Price is living out his recluse dreams. Retired and secluded, finally! It was more than he’d wished for, honestly. He always desired a patch of land far from town, leaving out scraps for the critters, finding the simple pleasures.

But here he was, with a small, self-sufficient farm, growing enough to feed himself. It was a quiet, rewarding lifestyle. Entirely the opposite of his years in the service. Right now, he found himself conquering his lost list of mundane tasks. Watering his herbs, then sorting the junk that accumulated in his storage shed.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

After a grueling afternoon of unpacking, you needed to unwind. Right now, you found yourself lounging on your deck, head tilted back as you shielded your eyes from the summer sun. As if moving and assembling furniture wasn't exhausting enough — now you had the sweltering star beating down on you.

Abruptly, you feel something soft brush against your legs. Before you can open your eyes, there's a hefty weight plunged atop your lap. Your eyes snap open, greeted with the hot breath of a smiling golden retriever.

You caress the blonde fur, receiving several licks along your hand. "Zeus! down, boy!" A husky voice shouts, followed by the face to match it. The eager, not-so-small ball of fluff hops off your lap, prancing toward the man walking around the side of your house.

A charcoal gray t-shirt hugging his buff but girthy body. A man who's been in shape for years — arms bulging and tanned from hours of working outside, all whilst his older years have caught up to him a bit on his stomach, which stuck out with just a bit of fat cushion.

"My apologies, he knows better." He rubbed his head and flashed an apologetic look, exposing the faint abs you'd already imagined on him at first glance. Price's eyes wandered you from top to bottom, nearly forgetting to unfurrow his brow.

What a sight for sore eyes, you were.

You peer down at your lap, now stained with dirt in the shape of paws — on your thighs and the shorts you're wearing. "Oh, not a big deal! he gave me quite a scare, but it was a pleasant surprise." You look over at Zeus, his tail thwacking against his owner's leg.

For a few moments, all he did was leer, before he snapped himself out of it. "John," he steps forward as if going to shake hands but retracts hastily.

"—'m all covered in dirt, wouldn't want to get you dirtier than Zeus already has, hm?" He chuckles when he finishes his rhetorical, smearing the dirt onto his denim pants.

You shake your head and chuckle gently, “no room for pleasantries in the countryside, is there?” You case his appearance again, eyes skimming his muscles.

John flashes a polite smile, muttering a reply before hooking a finger around the Golden’s red collar. “Be seeing you.” He effectively leads the sparky dog out of your yard, preventing both any more surprise attacks and more ogling on his part.

Not only was getting a new neighbor a surprise, but her being so damn tempting — an entirely different genre of awe.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Yesterday wasn’t your smoothest first impression. looking rugged and sweaty from unpacking, ending up covered in dirt and in awkward conversation. You wanted a second chance. He was going to be your neighbor after all — and it wasn’t like there were many others. John was the only one within reasonable walking distance, it seemed.

Now, wearing a sundress as opposed to sweat-caked shorts and a tee — you were more confident in your odds of at least being civil with your neighbor. At the very least, a man who would roll up your trash bins before a storm. Perhaps even supply a spare cup of sugar if you were being optimistic.

You trudge down the dirt road, careful not to roll your ankle on the unpredictable mounds of earth. For a few moments, you’re convinced you’ve gone the wrong way. It’s either dense forest, patches of crop, or more road ahead of you.

Lord knows you were exhausted yesterday, maybe the handsome neighbor was just a figment in your fried mind. A foolish thought — but one that worsened the longer you walked.

The tray in your hands; a few oatmeal dog biscuits and some cookies made from the recipe on the chocolate chip bag. It was better than coming empty-handed, wasn’t it? That would just be distasteful judgment.

With eyes glued ahead, you nearly let the handles of the platter slip when you finally spotted the lights in the distance. Golden-tinted and countless, illuminating the updated cabin. In the yard, lay a few scattered chewed ropes and muddy tennis balls. You could safely assume you made it to the suave man’s residence.

You knock on the oak door, seeing the hues of a television flickering through some of the bent blinds. After a few seconds of mumbling, the door swung open.

Price answered with a beer in one of his fists, instantly straightening his posture when he laid eyes on you. The sundress; cherry red with splotches of tiny florals. Dusk sunbeams highlighted your bone structure seamlessly — casting an ethereal glow on your captivating flesh.

Today, instead of gray, his shirt is army green and just as snug of a fit. You can't help but prolong your stare when he leans against the doorway, his bicep bulging even when he stands with nonchalance. He's even more of a knockout when not covered in dirt; though you suppose the same could be applied to you.

"This is a surprise." He glances at the tray in your hands, then at the polite smile on your face as you flash it in his direction.

With a beam, you extend the platter out and wait for him to take it. "I wasn't sure when to come. I hope I'm not intruding." You speak softly, catching a glimpse of his tidy living space.

“No such thing as intrusion around here, eh? ‘m practically searching for chores these days. A little conversation won’t bother me any.” Price chuckles a bit, flicking his head as an invitation for you to join him.

You step inside behind him, engulfed by the scent of tobacco and cedarwood. The cabin's interior walls have been stained with a warm tint, stretching throughout what bits of the space you can spot. Immediately through the front door is his kitchen, likely the most modernized of the rooms.

Distressed, truffle-colored counters in an L shape; altogether enough space for a man living alone. Yet, the countertops are anything but cluttered — nearly spotless, in fact. He slides the tray across the counter, finally unveiling the homemade treats for both human and man's best friend.

"Figured chocolate chip would be simple enough, right?" You speak up, watching him examine one of them. For a few moments, he's lost in thought again, not taking a bite.

You furrow your brows, "please don't tell me I baked the one dessert you don't like."

Instantaneously, a grin smears on his face, then a rumbly snicker. "Nothing like that," he bites the cookie in half and savors its sweetness, "—just not used to having neighbors this deep in the woods, you're my first. And she can bake too, huh? Aren't I lucky?" He teases a bit at the end, rinsing off some chocolate residue from his scarred fingertips.

Well, it was only the recipe on the back of a bag, so you surely hope it would taste decent. You decide it best to leave that out, merely twirling your thumbs as he shuffles around the space.

Finally, he walks back around the counter and holds out the same beer he sipped when he answered the door. Your reluctant fist wrapped around the brown bottle's glass neck, following him as he led you to the porch.

“Weren’t you watching something?” You question, sitting yourself beside him on the cement steps. Zeus’ collar jingle sounded once the back door closed, the sound a signal for him to join his owner out back.

John shook his head, taking another sip of the brew as his achy muscles relaxed again. “You’re doing me a favor; I could cut back on my screen time.” He reached out his free hand and gently patted the dog’s head, giving his fur a few strokes.

“Cut back? By the looks of your land, you’re outside all day.” You retort with a playful scoff, feeling the nuzzle of a wet nose along your leg. Without shame, you glance at his hands, observing their size and condition. “The callouses don’t lie.”

You piqued his interest at the mention of his hands, and he'd noticed just how long you were staring at them. "Suppose you're right, love." On purpose, he caressed the neck of the bottle with his thumb. He takes another hefty sip, which prompts you to take your first.

You didn't have the heart to tell him before how much you disliked the taste. The tangy beer coated your mouth and throat, seemingly sliding down at an agonizing pace just to prolong the torment. Still, the scrunch of your face spilled enough of the fib.

"Faces don't lie, either." Price mocked, taking the barely touched bottle from your grip. His words held double meaning — one harmless and one sinful — though that truth was unbeknownst to both of you.

In a matter of seconds, you'd been caught in a petty lie. You wipe away the bit that dripped between your lips. "Guess you caught me," you chortle, "I don't like beer much."

"Much? Don't be so modest." He screws the top back on and sets it on the wooden deck beside him. "You hate it, don't you?"

The way he spoke had you in some sort of trance. Perhaps it was his age, perhaps it was his obvious past of influence. It was... like being interrogated. Not in the pathetic way an inexperienced civilian would mock his way through, either. The agitation of being put on the spot — feeling as though you'd done something illegal the second you approach airport security.

That is what this felt like; only the words came tender and sportive.

“Alright, I hate it.” You affirm, unable to wipe the simper off your face. “We’ve officially made it through our first lie. That’s a milestone, right? Saves us the sting later.” Unintentionally, you haven’t broken your stare — even when he did to gaze at the sunset in front of him.

Later? Would this company become a routine? How wrong was it for him to hope it would?

Eventually, he nods and turns to face you again, shamelessly taking you in like it was the first time. “Ah, you’re like me. Ten steps ahead, got everything planned out already.” He questions, squinting slightly from the bright dusk, which was actively being snuffed by storm clouds. "Besides, I could tell your lie from miles away. The way you fumbled that bottle."

You waved a flustered hand of dismissal. "Yeah, yeah. Point taken. I'll remember that next time."

John cocked a brow, "next time, eh? With no more fibbing?" He asked you jovially, once again putting you under his spotlight.

But this time you knew how to handle it. Besides, you had learned his ways of meaningless banter — despite only spending several minutes with the man. "Next time I'll make sure it's not so obvious, and you'll be none the wiser."

"It was more than how I held the bottle," you added accusingly. "You don't just afford a place like this with retirement savings. Not without sacrifices."

He was more than someone who once had a mundane, meaningless job. You could tell it from 'miles away' he was a man who had stories to tell. More than his scarred body already did, that was. A fierce career, a position of power — something cutthroat, literally.

Of course, you had no intention of prying. Screwing this relationship up prematurely would be a grave mistake.

Fortunately, he remained untouched by your suspicions; they intrigued him. And John, he knew you weren't wrong about him, either. He was one of the few souls who could confidently declare he'd seen it all — or the closest thing to it.

"Sacrifices... is a way to put it," his lips curled into a polite smile. Finally, he stopped staring holes into you and caught a whiff of musky petrichor in the air. "C'mon, we're due for rain. Get you inside before the mosquitos feast on us."

The same lips pursed, letting out a sharp whistle to recall Zeus. He transformed from a blond dot in the distance into a prancing canine at the speed of light, slowing to a prance when he laid eyes on his owner.

With one hand, he held both bottlenecks between his thick fingers, then opened the back door with the other. Zeus nudged your legs and walked through them, determined to get inside first. The sight made you snicker as you walked inside, hearing the soft creak of the door behind you.

His work boots thudded against the wooden floor as he took them off, setting them neatly beside the door. Yet another unusual trait for men his age living alone, at least in your experience. No clutter in sight, and no grime residue from his tireless yard work.

Now, his steps are a glide instead of thuds when he walks around the breakfast bar. You turned to face him, watching as he ignited a burner for the kettle. "Do you fancy drinking something you'll actually enjoy? Tea?"

You lean against the island, unintentionally allowing a bit of the dress neckline to droop.

“Tea will work.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

In front of you were the only signs of his old self. Metals and ribbons encased behind a glass frame, hung up in the hall as a quaint display of his achievements. Below them, on the hall table, decorative mason jars; most with faux leaves and vines. You made your way up and down, admiring how the rustic, shipshape decor was placed with such intention.

As your gaze panned left to right, you made it to the end of the display. Interest arose when you examined the last jar; a small mason with a bullet inside, littered with indents and some bits chipped away. Your mind swirled with scenarios as you put together the story told in front of you. A career so intense, so all-important; it was difficult to imagine the man in the kitchen enmeshed in one.

In the distance, the kettle whistles, effectively ripping you from your peering. Before he can shout for you, you’ve walked around the corner, ready to claim a drink your mouth will savor.

“Here you are.” Across the marble countertop, Price slid forward the mug.

A green tea of sorts, with a bit of cream on top and a dust of cinnamon. The presentation is nowhere near seamless, with its lopsided spoonful of foam and granules that ended up sprinkled unevenly through his fingers. Still, there was nothing wrong with a drink that looked homemade.

“Matcha?” You ask, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the mug, then using your supporting hand to hold the small plate it’s resting on.

Price glances at the tea box through the frosted glass cabinets then nods. When he presses his own mug to his lips, the tea is ebony and swirling like a cyclone from the sugar he mixed in.

From the corner of your eye, you skim past him and gaze out the window overlooking the deep copper sink. Through its rectangular pane, you see the string of herbs and leaves grown — well-tended and used often in his cooking, surely.

You point a free finger towards the fresh greens outside, “do you grow it?”

He lets out a rumbly chuckle and shakes his head, “if I could. Matcha plants are loads of work.” You now spot the pasty green box poking through the cabinet, which you hadn’t noticed when too occupied with the herb planters.

You mutter a ‘hm’ in response and raise the porcelain rim to your lips, feeling the steam scald the tip of your nose and Cupid's bow. The vegetal fragrance of the green tea soothes your senses — just before the spice of cinnamon gives them a right hook.

To keep your eyes from tearing, you close them and take your first sip. It’s thicker than you anticipated, coating your mouth and throat as you swallow, yet the taste is pleasant and earthy.

Whatever John had done to prepare it, he did it correctly. That much you could tell.

Before your throat can sizzle with aftertaste, the cold foam dollop calms it. From grassy, fresh matcha to a striking sweet cream.

“You have a bit…” Price motions to his mouth, an index pointed toward the left corner of his mouth. The cream is too airy for you to notice any accidental residue. You’ve missed the swear twice before he sighs and raises a crumpled napkin to your lips.

You meet gazes while he dabs at your bottom lip, feeling any confidence seep from you in an instant.

The sweet aroma fleeted instantly with the proximity, now with your nostrils flooded with his fragrance. Smokey and masculine; something rum-adjacent, mixed sinfully with cedarwood and the earthy smell of crisp soil. And then, lastly, there are the pungent remnants of his minty mouthwash, which is slightly diluted by the black tea he swallowed.

This close, you can trace every wrinkle and line with your eyes. While you’re engulfed in his presence, he’s observing. Smothered and suffocating with the weight of diminishing continence. The vermillion sundress, the tray of goodies in the corner of his vision, the twitch of your lips as he dabs and drags with the linen.

Price has yet to notice his other hand, grabbing the tip of your chin with a feather-like hold.

But you have, blinking rapidly a few times while the chalky foam is rid of your mouth, which might as well have been thrown in the trash along with the napkin — because you’ve turned reticent.

“There.” He whispers, mouth curling into a polite glow.

Ultimately, your haze falters. Your senses unfreeze when you’re no longer swarmed by his aroma, or his tender touch when he walks back around the breakfast bar. Warmth coaxes your fingers, still emanating from the tea snug in your grip — even after the milky olive-tinted liquid has gone tepid.

With a perpetually widened gaze, you raised your mug to finish off the rest of your tea. This neighborly visit had played out differently than you expected. You savored about half of the lukewarm brew, letting it mellow the pining that arose when he got close. Sweaty fingers fumbled around the handle when you tipped the cup again, sending a gush of tea down the front of your outfit. The fabric stained instantaneously as the warmth soaked in, whilst the sugary cream made the dress cling in an unsavory, sticky fashion.

You cursed audibly and darted your gaze towards him apologetically, setting the mug down with a clammer. “I’m sorry,” you gasped, feeling an ocean’s wave of dishonor pummel through you at once.

John, who was mid-cleanup, jerked his head to the side when he heard the commotion. When greeted with the frazzled expression, he made an effort to soothe it. It wasn’t your fault; it was only some overpriced, boxed infusion that had collected dust in the back of his cabinet. 

Besides, you were in front of him, now in soaked clothing and apologizing profusely.

“Don’t apologize. Happens to the best of us.” That damn smile again. The wrinkles around his eyes, the almost all-knowing look of understanding in them.

He fisted your discarded mug, turning on the sink.

“The washroom is down the hall, in my room. It has a better mirror than the half.” Price wavers through his instructions, overcome with his own helping of uncertainty. Nothing had gone explicitly wrong, per se, but it didn’t mean they went right. But they never do, do they? There’s a reason he decided on a life of recluse, even more, a reason for him to befriend seclusion so closely.

Your footsteps retreated down the hall, passing the picture frames and decor you had been admiring moments ago. John scrubbed both mugs until they were full of suds and then rinsed, placing them on the dish rack afterward. He made it a habit to never leave used dishes to sit in the sink.

Quickly, he walked through the open door of his bedroom. Golden beams peeked out from the gap under the door, where you were frantically blotting the stains. He pulled the string on his bedside lamp, illuminating a majority of the moody, rustic bedroom. His fingers hooked around the handle, gently sliding open the pocket doors of his closet.

His t-shirts hung neatly on the left wall, whilst his fewer button-ups remained on the opposite. With a quick hum, he took hold of his baggiest navy blue tee, draping it over his forearm. From inside his dresser, he grabbed a pair of sweats that were tight on him — enough to prevent them from slipping down your legs.

Inside the bathroom, you alternated between being hunched over the counter in embarrassment, to rubbing your dress profusely. The damp washcloth was doing little to the fabric, which was a few shades darker from the liquid, compressing tighter against you. It wasn’t a flattering look, nor was it a comfortable fit anymore. Akin to the feeling of maple syrup residue on your hands after breakfast, only it was covering the front of your body.

Would it have been better to spill on his authentic wood floors? Was it completely selfish to prefer it, to spare the discomfort of a soaked garment?

Two subdued knocks on the door halted your useless wiping. “I have some clothes.” The gruff voice spoke through the door, yet remained as placid as it was in the kitchen.

“Oh, no need,” you replied dismissively through the door. “I can change at home.” You tossed the wet towel into the small hamper. When you opened the door, Price remained standing there, fresh clothing in hand.

The thought was there, and now were the actions to go along. You didn’t want to change at home or be walking down that dirt avenue at all. At this hour, home would be lonesome and still, regardless of whether your new neighbor was fanciable or not.

But he was; that made him all the harder to decline.

Void of any attempt on John’s part, his gaze scanned the mess that covered you. This time, more obvious than he would’ve liked. It felt wrong; downright distasteful and discouraging, to do so.

Howbeit, he did — and you sensed it this time. The unavoidable gawking at your snug gown, devouring his dwindling abstinence. No unease, imminence, or desire to dismiss yourself ever came. Not like it did with men on the street, who resembled that of depraved, hungry hounds.

John wasn’t corrupted; behind the lust, there was something more, something too complex to daydream.

“Nonsense.” He persisted, the clothes remaining outstretched. “It’s raining. And you’ve got to walk quite a way, don’t you?”

You leaned your head against the thick wood of the door, unable to spit out another worthy excuse. “Thank you. Really.” With a nod, you took the folded clothing, setting the pieces on the countertop beside you. As he accepted your answer and turned on his heels, you mustered the gut to speak again.

“And, John?” You stepped through the threshold of the door, “if I go home in these clothes, you probably won’t get them back.”

“I’ll keep the dish, then.” This time, he didn’t back away after stepping closer. “Do we have a deal?” His breathing picked up subtly but was noticeable against your face. When faced with his proximity before, you fumbled a mug. But now, you were certain of every ache and desire troubling you.

Whoever leaned in first became a fleeting afterthought. It didn’t matter, not while your mouths and noses clashed together. He was the first to give way, to tilt his head to relieve the pressure on your nose, which allowed him more mobility.

Your knees nearly buckled when his hands cupped your cheeks — how the calloused prints of his fingers felt against the opposing texture of your face. It felt natural; a relief to every urge you’ve stifled from the moment he answered his door.

Before you broke away for air, he removed his lips while still maintaining his tender hold on your face.

“Are you sure about this…?” Price posed, pressing his forehead against yours. You exchanged each other's exhales, cloaking your racing thoughts with a suffocating, dizzy effect.

Still, regardless of your thundering heartbeat and draining lungs — you uttered the quickest yes of your lifetime. This time, you turned your head when lips and teeth clashed, back colliding with the door. Your lips parted as you panted, letting his tongue swipe along your lips, leaving them saturated. His beard audibly scraped against your jaw and down your neck, producing goosebumps as you shivered.

Though his movements weren’t theatrical or jaw-dropping, they left you unable to lose focus. His hands wrapped around the sleeves of the ruined gown, rolling the fabric down while he dropped into a kneel before you.

A need to provide, to satisfy, to satiate. No teases, no dramatics; just utter experience. The only terms you would associate with him currently.

The clingy fabric peeled off like a sticky bandage, peeling to expose the damn stain from cleavage to your pelvis. John’s briefly raised to suckle between your breasts, cleaning off every drop of the tea that had soaked through the discarded dress. Down; sternum to belly button, savoring the small remnants of the sweet cream.

“So beautiful,” he muttered, lips pressed to your lower stomach. His hands moved and kneaded your hips in worship. Despite his face hovering in front of your panties, and how he was actively trailing kisses along your thighs — his voice never changed. Not cloaked with blind lust or hesitation.

Admiration, purely; for you, maybe only your body. But you didn’t care about that — or couldn’t — right now. John was utterly too much, From light conversation to huddling in the restroom, then to being backed against the door. One hand rested on your lower stomach, as a means of keeping your back against the door. The other rolled your undergarments down at a sluggish pace, beard and lips following the falling undies.

Your neck craned down, seeing them fall to your ankles, shortly before the cold breeze hit your exposed core — emanating from the bathroom window left slightly ajar. The muscles in your thighs tense when Price’s tongue finally makes brief contact with it, blown pupils still staring up at you.

His tongue lay flat against your clit for a few moments until saliva rolled down his tongue, allowing him to delve deeper. Further on, he would kiss and suckle on the bundle of nerves, and you were sure your grip on the knob couldn’t have been firmer. Experience truly was the right word to describe him, earlier and now more than ever.

Along your slit, he plunged inside, growly breaths vibrating against your sensitivity. Your taste coated his mouth, and your natural scent drove him mad; like no other partner he’d had before.

“Wanna feel you—” Price slurped again, then pulled away to finish, “—clench around my fingers. You want that, sweetheart?” His tongue glistened under the spotty lighting, his buff chest still heavy. He was goddamn distracting in this state, more than he was before.

After a flash of muteness, you nodded your head. As if you could pass up that offer; if it was an offer at all.

True to his word and the desires racing through his head, John slipped his middle finger inside your entrance. Instantly, the appendage glided against the soaked, puffy walls of your cunt, causing him to chuckle with satisfaction.

Even the smallest pump forced a whine from your lips, though you were unsure what you should be pleading for. Tonight, this feeling was already unsurpassed.

“Another, huh? Can’t fuckin’ say no to you, can I?” Next entered his ring finger, the thick digits stretching you out delectably, in ways you could only dream of executing with your own two fingers.

His name slipped out when he curled them against your sweet spot, daring your knees to buckle and send both of you tumbling. His eerily observant nature had him anticipating the sudden weakness, and his other hand holding you in place never once faltered. Finding his shaggy hair, your fingers intertwined with the locks, purely to be holding onto anything of his when you inevitably come undone.

Back to slobbering, his tongue ran laps against your swollen clit, the tip of his nose knocking against it with every pass. Each flick, each thrust making your back arch wildly against the door. And once again, as he anticipated, you ended up clenching around his fingers like he wanted.

So tense, it was any wonder Price was able to keep moving his fingers. His erection pressed against his thigh, the tight denim making him resist the urge to squirm. Oh, how you sounded, how you felt. His years of stamina and strength training will surely be tested once it’s his cock filling you up instead.

The nub throbbed and visibly pulsed when he combined a well-timed lick and curl all at once, plunging you off that cliff of release. Around his head, your thighs clamped tighter than the fingers digging into his scalp. It was clear you’d be reeling this feeling for days to come, probably a climax to forever be unbeaten during your life.

Your heart hammered against your rib cage, your lungs exhausted and working overtime as you sucked in desperate breaths. “Fuck— that was…” You breathed, unable to articulate any one of the feelings assaulting your system.

The leer tugging at the corners of his soaked mouth wasn’t smug, it was pleased; pleasantly. Slowly, he raised himself, holding each side of your face. Price slurred, “You sound lovely when you cum, y’know that?” Before you could lift a finger to answer again, his dangerous tongue swirled around yours, spreading the taste of yourself against your taste buds.

Your sticky inner thighs glided when he blindly led you out of the threshold, collapsing atop you. The frame creaked under the weight of both of you, the mattress now with a crater in the center of it.

“Want you to fuck me, John. Please.” You pleaded between kisses, unconsciously wrapping a leg around his waist for any friction on the mess he caused. The sensitive tip of his cock ached, despite only being rocked against through the thick denim.

As if your sounds of pleasure weren’t divine enough, that fucking word was. Please. So desperate, so distraught. If he had the restraint or the patience, Price might coax a few more begs out of you — but those were the two things he didn’t have currently.

Briefly, his touches ceased when he leaned back. Swiftly unbuckling his belt, he slid out of his jeans and tossed them aside; discarded, now the only clutter in the bedroom. Soaked through his grey briefs, a stain of pre-cum, merely proving how badly he needed you. The same as his jeans, he rid himself of them, erection upright and freed.

Girthy and curved upward a hair, capable of reaching deeper than his fingers. Down his happy trail, which you got a peak of during the first encounter, were his trimmed pubes. The same shade of brown as the hair littering his chest. You examined further, spotting a few prominent veins bound to drive you mad.

Any longer without it, and you were willing to start pawing at him. The stars must’ve been aligned, because pleading wasn’t necessary anymore.

“Spread your legs f’me.” You did, as swiftly as he uttered the command. As wide as comfortable, you exposed the mess of your pussy to him, reflecting off the cool moonlight peaking through his blinds. Glistening and twitching from the first climax, remnants still left around your inner thighs. “Gonna fill you up, fuck you proper, hm? Have you clenching around me?”

As if his fingers weren’t euphoric enough. Gnawing on your bottom lip until it ached, you nodded your head eagerly, hooking an arm around your leg to keep the shaky limb steady.

Price gripped the base of his cock, guiding it toward your entrance. The tip slipped in as smooth as honey, coated in slick and strings of his saliva leftover. With a drenched glide, the rest of him dipped inside, until his pelvis was against yours.

Entirely crammed inside, your head lolled back against the comforter, reeling in the painless stretch of his girth. And how, before the movements began, the natural curve of his cock had him snug against your cervix, kissing all the right places within you. Your fingers trailed downward, beginning to rub circles around your responsive clit, the wet clicks combining with the squelch of his thrusts.

Whatever noises came from you were all-natural and uncontrollable, from a sensual place within you never trespassed. John grunted with every tighten around his length, pumping deeply and with more force. His thoughts earlier rang true, how little restraint you left him with. Already, he could’ve finished inside of you — just from the view of your body alone.

Breasts bouncing, hips jiggling, the sounds of your soaked core, the expression on your face as he got rougher. “Such a good girl, takin’ every inch of me,” his words came out grunts, matching the pace of his jabs.

“You’ll cum for me again, and let me hear those bloody sounds, won’t you? Fuckin’ touching yourself, all needy.” For him, the words acted as a distraction until you came undone for a second time. For you, it enhances your stimulation tenfold — his voice was like nectar, yet it rumbled through the room like thunder.

It mixed with the real thunder outside, which you caught bits of between everything. The rain he said the area was due for, faintly coming down in the distance, and surely headed this way by the time your legs shook.

With a soft nudge, he shimmied closer between your thighs, chest inches from yours, and allowed him to slam against your cervix. Your fingers had gone erratic, desperately teasing the bundle of nerves the closer you got to release.

And John, sure of this, allowed himself to focus on a fraction of his pleasure. You twitched around his length, swallowing every last inch of him. Arousal dribbled from you to the bed, soaking into the navy blue duvet.

When the coil of pleasure began bursting at the seams, his name slipped out again, in between your gasps for oxygen. How his thrusts had turned as sloppy as your fingers, every jerk of his pelvis knocking the wind out of you. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist, feet hooking under his backside to keep him locked in — as if the thought of stopping had ever crossed his mind.

Thighs quivering like your fingers were, you dug your fingernails into his shoulders, leaving crescent indents in his flesh. Yet another string of moans poured out of you, which tipped John over the edge same edge you’d tumbled off twice. His balls contracted while they drained, strings of pearly cum painting you on the inside.

Warmth filled you, from your tummy to your core, his length swimming in his own sloppy release. Your constricted ab muscles slowly eased up as the aftermath of orgasm faded, leaving you breathless and spent. His agape mouth dipped down as he withdrew his softening cock from you slowly, careful to not leave you any more sensitive than you already were.

The kiss distracted you and served as a reminder of what this hookup meant. Not regretful, not meaningless. Something lingered in the air, beyond the smell of sweat and sex.

Though his body begged to collapse atop you and fall fast asleep, you deserved to be taken care of. Price planted a parting kiss on your jaw, making the short trip to the bathroom to grab one of his fresh washcloths.

Silently, you observed his tenderness take over — even though it never left him. With a few featherlike swipes, he wiped away the messy aftermath of arousal, saliva, and cum, disposing of the used towel somewhere in the darkness.

You fought to stay awake, feeling his weight sink beside you once more after some squirming around. Eventually, John successfully got you and himself under the thick comforter, weighted and radiating as much warmth as your bodies. An arm snaked under your head, your back against his chest. The other arm around your waist, keeping you right up against his soft body.

He waited until he saw the rise and fall of your frame, the faint breaths of deep sleep before he decided that was permission enough to do the same.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Insects chirped loudly, enough to stir you awake.

Fresh morning light peaked through the blinds, which had been opened. Through your twitching lids, the intensity made your face scrunch. One hand reached up and rubbed them, while the other palmed beside you.

No sign of your neighbor, if he can have that title after last night.

His side had gone cold, and anything that was askew had been picked up or set back in place. Sitting yourself up, you groaned from hunger and the soreness in your legs. Beside the dresser, were the sweatpants and t-shirt he was going to lend you yesterday. Still neatly folded, placed with care on one of his leather armchairs.

You peeled the comforter off your sticky skin, coated with a layer of sweat from the sunlight on you. Usually overheating would’ve had you lying awake and sizzling, but it was clear that Price had thoroughly tired you out.

In addition to the shirt and pants, he provided a clean pair of boxers — since the ones you came over wearing had been long soiled. And nowhere to be found in the bathroom, where you made your best effort to fix up your appearance.

Aside from the sounds of nature, there was the hum of an appliance when you opened the bedroom door. Down the hall, you passed the dryer; the root of the tumbling sound. Through the small window, was your cherry sundress and underwear, half dry and spinning in circles.

Your bare feet adjusted to the cold wood, taking small, sleepy strides down the hall.

Into the living room, you laid eyes on the shelves around his television. Since you spent most of the visit on the porch, in the kitchen, and obviously the bedroom, you hadn’t had time to inspect this area closely.

Custom-built shelves frame the television. Rustic, meticulous decor placed on them. Some were store-bought, others looked to be souvenirs and memories. Stepping closer, you spotted a few framed photos; four soldiers, with Sharpie written on the corner: 1-4-1.

On the bright side, there is one mystery solved about his past. Military, or SAS, which you spot on their patches. Shuffling along, your gaze sets on the next section. More medals and ribbons, each most likely with their own significance.

Most notably, a plaque displaying his full name and title: Capt. Jonathan Price.

Another mystery solved. Why he had been so observant, so skilled at asking his questions. It all began to make sense, especially the closer you examined the relics. With a slight hm, you decided it best to stop snooping on the man’s possessions and continue your search for him.

No sign of Zeus in the house either, which isn’t shocking since he’s practically sewn to John’s hip.

Through the kitchen you go, finally picking up on the faint voice outside. Through the window overlooking the copper sink, you see Price tending to the herbs you pointed out the previous day, seemingly making conversation with his canine.

You continue on, opening the creaky patio door and shutting it behind you. You walk along the stained wood deck, rounding the corner. He’s in the middle of kneeling down, meticulously planting another herb or seasoning for his mini-garden.

“Looking good, Captain.” You startle him slightly, leaning a shoulder against the paneling of the cabin.

Price’s head perks up, snapping to the side at the sudden sound. And Zeus predictably treks over for your undivided attention, and you’re unable to refuse. The golden walks beside you when you approach further, and John gets to his feet with a small grunt.

“Snooping again, are we?” His lips curl into a harmless smile, dirt-covered fingers playing with the backs of your hands.

You shrug your shoulders, unable to conceal the feelings of fluster. Being put on the spot was something you’d have to get used to, that’s for sure. “Maybe I was. Just a little bit.”

“Careful now, sweetheart.” His voice molds into that of a superior, which you hadn’t heard from him yet. Was it twisted how much it excites you? Price continued, “or I might have you calling me Captain from here on.”

With a light scoff, you muster the last bits of confidence left in you.

“Is that a promise?”

♡‧₊˚✧˖° divider cred. - cafekitsune

[chaoticgoblindev]

Octo!König that gets jealous of these mugs:

Everytime I go to this store and see these I just think of @frogchiro ‘s posts about eldritch octo König.

[skiplo-wave]

Babe wake up new Konig skin just dropped

Devs totally seen fanart of Konig being octo/cthulhu hybrid >:}

[xintothewoodswegox]

Simon leaves you little sticky notes to find when he’s gone. It started out as just a reminder, you’d had an important day at work on Monday and you were sure you were going to forget everything you needed, especially that one file that was detrimental to everything going smoothly.

You woke up that morning and he was already gone, you knew he was leaving and wouldn’t be there when you woke up, sliding out of bed you got dressed, had a small breakfast and started to compile everything. You were at the door, purse in hand when a bright yellow sticky note caught your attention, it was posted at your eye level right on the door jamb where you wouldn’t be able to miss it.

“Got the file? -S”

You smiled and looked down. Lo and behold you’d nearly forgotten it.

You gave him a huge hug when he came home, he single handedly saved the day and saved you an armload of stress on top of it. The next time you had nothing that needed reminding but he left you a sticky note anyway, this time on the mirror in the bathroom, you didn’t even notice it was there until you’d gotten out of the shower and were drying your hair.

“Good Morning Gorgeous -S”

You smiled from ear to ear. Pulling the note down to save it from the steam and looking back on it week to week until he came home.

Then it became a little game. Where would his sticky note be? There always was one. You tried to hunt for it but he was very clever at hiding it in different spots every time, never the same spot twice. The next was on the box of your favorite snack in the cupboard.

“Missing you. -S”

The following deployment you’d looked everywhere and had nearly given up until one night you were about to sit down for dinner and you finally found it, taped to a napkin that had to be five or six deep in the roll was the little bright pink square you’d been searching for. This time just a telltale little skull drawn on it and two cheeky little words. It sent you into a fit of giggles.

“Found me. -S”

The one after that in the actual washing machine. Taped under the lid in big letters of his blocky but neat handwriting.

“You are my Sunshine. -S”

You woke up to a cold empty bed, lonely and longing. You trudged through your morning routine, just the motions, nothing more. But when you got out the door and into the car, taped to the sun visor was just what you were looking for. Large lettering taking up a good expanse of the electric blue paper. Written in his hand.

“I love you so much, Sweets. You’re my angel, my rock, my everything. I’ll be home before you know it. -S”

Every note, every little handwritten message on those multicolored squares you saved for the days when it was hard. When it felt like he was a million miles away and he was never coming home. You kept them all in a little drawer beside your bed where you could pull them out. Teary eyed and disheartened you reread them, reliving that joy of finding them again. Trying to get a feel of him when all you wished for was his warm soft touch and sweet, loving care.

When he came home, after the initial rituals of long awaited embrace and always when you were finally swaddled in the safe expanse of his loving arms once again would he ask you. “Did you get my note?”

[chaoticgoblindev]

I LOOK GONNA SOB THIS MADE MY PHYSICALLY “🥺”

[soullessdianthus]

I’d LOVE for more pervylandlord!könig. But, with a severe breeding kink.

He’s so proud of his smart girl. But he wants nothing more than to propose she stay home and swell with his children

Warnings: possesivness, nsfw (breeding kink & lactation kink?, overstimulation, groping)

ARTWORK BY MILKIIE_ ON TWITTER

✧°. At some point in time interactions with your landlord became... literally exhausting. Since König finally had a taste of your sweet, innocent pussy, he couldn’t get enough of it. 

✧°. You began sleeping in his bed, in his shirts that were too big by a few sizes. Just because he told you to do so. 

✧°. “You’re such a good tenant, aren’t you, schätzchen? So obedient.” 

✧°. The sight of your much smaller form spreaded between the warm sheets was the first thing he admired when he woke up in the morning. The hem of your his shirt rolled up, exposing your hip and thigh and the lack of panties (because someone took them off while you were sleeping). He couldn’t help himself, he had to caress your smooth, young skin. 

✧°. König would encourage you to wander around the house on your free days or weekends only in the shirts he had given you and some underwear. Because why would you dress up, when staying with him inside the house? The colonel had all he needed in the reach of his palm this way.

✧°. Since you moved in to live with the Austrian man, your breasts have grown. For sure it was a side effect of the birth control pills you were taking, but it was a little detail that hadn’t escaped König's sharp eye. 

✧°. He noticed the difference, when you were sitting in his lap at the dinner table, doing some useless homework again. His calloused palm sneaked under your shirt to play with your pretty tits. 

✧°. At first you wailed in pain, when he squeezed your oversensitive breasts that were filling his grasp so well. But with time as the pain eased away, he couldn’t stop fondling them or licking the nipples just to hear your cute little whines. 

✧°. His twisted mind would imagine they were swollen with milk, liquid dripping from your nipples.

✧°. König couldn’t control himself around you more and more often. At the end of the day, when he finally slid inside of your spasming and wet cunny, he wouldn’t be able to stop, even if you were sobbing and crying from the sensitivity that another orgasm caused you to feel. 

✧°. He would pump you full of his thick cum, lasting even three rounds! If you went limp in the meantime, the colonel would easily manhandle you just to ease his urges. The truth was he ruined you with his fat cock that gave you so much pleasure.

✧°. However your landlord was a polite host – taking you to the bathroom and helping you in the bath/shower after a long session in the bedroom or by cradling you to sleep within his arms. You were taken care of, better than any other man could. Only König would satisfy his precious girl. 

✧°. At some point the colonel began mentioning you dropping out of college to stay at home. To be truly and fully his. A devoted little wife of his. <3

✧°. He was so proud of you being academically smart and all, but König believed your true purpose was to be his housewife, a mother of his many children. You were already taking care of the house and him, when off deployment. Your cooking was flawless and your body was so young and strong. What else could a man wish for? 

✧°. But you brushed off that topic, telling him that you liked your university and wanted to work in a related field one day – to make your own money, you claimed. So it was actually surprising to you, when your grades began to worsen suddenly, because you weren't studying enough! :(

✧°. Well, perhaps because you were occupied most of the evenings by your pervy landlord. 

✧°. König was pounding mercilessly into your pussy that night – holding your thighs spread wide for him, allowing the colonel to see how his massive cock stretched your pretty, glistering with juices cunt. He had you beneath him on a bed, tears sparkling in the corners of your eyes. 

✧°. “Remember that baby in the park we saw today, ja? Give me one, schatz. Make me a daddy. You’d be such a good mother of my children.” 

✧°. He placed his thick thumb over your swollen clit, gently adding some pressure while rubbing it in circles, just like you liked it. In the way that made you cum the hardest. 

✧°. His words scared you a little as you were not ready for planning a family, especially with your landlord! But as soon as the orgasm blinded you with pleasure, your worries got washed away. 

✧°. But some days, he wasn’t so gentle and polite at all. During those episodes, when he returned home frustrated and angry, he needed something to let his anger out. So König would treat you like a broodmare. 

✧°. “Take it, scheiße! Be a good fucking girl to your landlord. Show some respect.” 

✧°. “You will only repay me once you give me a child!”

✧°. His thrusts would actually make your whole body jolt forwards, the side of your face pressed into the bed sheets, so they muffled your cries and whines as König kept fucking his anger out. 

✧°. Just to be clear, he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. His little wife? Never. But sometimes due to his ignorance König would overstimulate you to the point of a crying mess.

✧°. He forced you to lift your reddened bum in the air, after he spanked you for talking back to him. Your landlord kept hitting against your bruised ass with each sway of his hips. Eventually, König would apologize and hold you close in his bulky arms afterwards. 

✧°. “I got carried away again, did I? I’m sorry little one.”