#los vaqueros

[soilents]

PLEASE MORE ALERUDY 🙏

also food 🪱🪱🪱

thank you for the meal… 🍽️ some doodles !

los vaqueros..

i imagine alejandro’s laughter is contagious

the song has nothing to do with his name, but it reminds me of him every time it plays 😆

[lanialania00]

nothing like a friendship based on the same traumas

[07x1x4x1]

those ties that bind us

SUMMARY: You choose a new pair of alphas over what you've come to know.

PAIRING: Poly!alpha!141 x omega!Reader x alpha!AleRudy

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ MDNI | OMEGAVERSE AU | female!Reader; angst; a/b/o dynamics; hurt/comfort; cussing; smut; spit kink; bad Spanish translations; bonding; open end

Based on this little blurb. 🩶

You had a feeling it would happen someday if your packmates, the alphas who you’ve spent and shared most of your life with for the better part of the past three years, won’t finally make a move, make you theirs officially—but now that it happened eventually, you’re not quite sure how to tell them. 

Perhaps you didn’t do enough? Didn’t make your intentions clear with none of them? The desire to be claimed, to belong, to be loved—always put off by Price, smiled at by Gaz, supported but never pursued by Soap, and straight up ignored by Ghost. 

As you follow Simon and Johnny over the busy tarmac, your combat boots begin to feel heavy with each step you take that leads you further away from Alejandro and Rudy, the alphas who are now courting you and currently staying behind by the truck after saying their goodbyes to their foreign comrades.  

Even then, you’d wondered if neither Simon nor Johnny found it odd when you chose not to say your own farewells to the other two alphas after finishing a successful operation, but again they stayed oblivious to the bond that has been blossoming between you and the Mexican soldiers since you’ve first stepped foot into Las Almas. 

Just last night it was Alejandro who had told you that, perhaps it will be better if you’re the one to break the news to them, though assuring you: “We’ll always have your back, cariño,”. 

And now, the harsh tug you’re currently experiencing deep down in your chest cavity, right behind your heart, only puts the last necessary nail in the coffin for you. 

You’re staying. 

As if on cue, your body works before your mind catches up—still both mentally and physically recovering from the mission—and you freeze in your steps, coming to an abrupt halt that causes Simon to glance over his shoulder, having noticed you in his peripherals like the vigilant alpha he is.  

And it causes a chain reaction, when Johnny follows his leader's reaction, stopping dead in his tracks and following Simon’s line of vision until bright blue eyes settle on you, a puzzled look settling on his ruggedly chiselled face.  

You speak up before either of them can: “This is goodbye... for now,” you tell them over the loud noises surrounding you on the airfield, and you try to keep your voice firm and steady, but it cracks at goodbye before your throat tightens painfully enough to make your eyes well up with tears. 

Simon and Johnny share a long, meaningful look, having a full-on conversation with their eyes in a language you don’t speak like you’ve witnessed so many times before, and then they fully turn simultaneously before approaching you with purposeful steps that make you brace yourself for an argument. 

“Whot’s tha’?” Simon asks, towering and gripping the straps of his bulky tac vest while tilting his masked head like a curious puppy. You know he’s just trying to give you another chance to change your words, but this time you won’t. 

“Whaddaya mean by ‘goodbye’, bon?” Johnny chimes in, brows furrowed while his gaze flickers between you and then over your shoulder, eye narrowing as they land on their allies—friends—the alpha males still watching the scene unfold with crossed arms and squared shoulders—looking ready to step in any second if need be. 

Johnny takes note of the sudden tension and dominance oozing off Alejandro and Rudy, how the comradery and friendliness from before has now seemingly disappeared soon as he and Simon approached you this time—as if they suddenly have a claim on you that your literal packmates don’t. 

And just like that, it dawns on them like a physical blow to the chest. 

Simon’s jaw clenches as he tries to reign in the rumbling growl building up in his chest while Johnny doesn’t bother to hide the snarl taking over his face, sharpening his features into something feral; both of their scents spiking in intensity, lacing the hot-humid air with sour pheromones, ready to scent mark and drag you onto the cargo plane with them if push comes to shove. 

Your eyes widen at once, a deer caught in headlights, staring at the truck coming full speed at her. 

“Ye’re comin’ home with us,” Johnny growls, gloved hands balling into tight fists at his sides to keep himself from simply snatching your wrist before Simon’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder like a physical leash. “Easy there, Soap.” 

Neither of them is angry with you, you can tell that much, but judging by their blown pupils and dominant stances, something strange is happening. 

“I’m not coming with you. I’m–” Your heart thumps violently and your breath hitches momentarily, making it harder for you to get the words out as both men stare at you intensely, expecting you to make a choice that’d be in their favour. 

But you’ve made your decision. 

“I’m staying here... with Alejandro and Rudy. I have–I have already informed Price last night and asked for special leave,” you explain, fidgeting with your hands while your pulse thrums in your neck. 

A strange sensation goes through your body as you speak those words; a buzzing energy rushing through your veins as you cut those emotional packbonds, now brittle by the years of neglect, to focus on the future waiting for you just a few yards away—a tiny seedling soaking up sunshine for the first time, finally stepping away from the trees who’ve drowned her in shadows, causing harm without even meaning to. 

Johnny shakes his head slowly, disbelief settling on his face as the crease between his brows disappears, eyes softening. For a moment, it almost looks like something inside him shatters, as if he can feel it, too. 

“No... please,” he breathes, reaching out to grasp your hand while his shoulders slouch. “Ye cannae jus’... do this, bon. Ye belong with us,” he squeezes your hand weakly, “–our wee omega.” 

A soft whimper escapes your throat, one that has Alejandro and Rudy perk up with worry despite the distance, and one that makes Johnny’s eyes water—because he knows what it means. Your decision is final and it’s their own bloody fault. 

They should’ve seen it coming, should’ve noticed the signs even amidst battle, and yet they didn’t; thinking they still had time. 

“I’ll miss ye,” Johnny rasps before pulling you against his chest only to bury his face into your neck to inhale your sweet scent greedily, hoping it will brand itself into his nostrils—one last time. Warm blueberry tarte, honey-soaked linen, and freshly cut grass, a concoction now dulled by sadness, though still perfect, still—theirs. It makes his teeth itch to bite, to mark, and his chest feels heavy, unable to let you go just like that. 

“Are ye sure, luv?” he mutters against your skin and his nose presses into your virgin scent gland in a way that makes you shiver. You nod meekly, eyes squeezed shut as you rub your face against his shirt, leaving your scent on him instinctively. Just for the flight home to make him feel better, you think. Always the good omega looking out for her pack. 

“I’m sure,” you reply so quietly, you can barely hear it yourself. “It’s been inevitable from the moment I saw them... smelled them.” 

You can’t see it, but your admission shatters them; cracks their ribcages open underneath their gear and stabs their hearts repeatedly until there’s nothing left but bloodied, torn muscle and shredded heartstrings—hurting even a cold one. 

After another moment, Johnny releases you reluctantly; strong arms flexing with tension as they lower at his sides. He rests his forehead against yours, chuffs low in his throat—a quiet, sorrowful goodbye that rings in your ears until your tears drip down your cheeks. 

He pulls back with a grimace when Simon squeezes his shoulder, like separating himself causes him physical pain, and he leaves your tears to be wiped away by your new alphas, though in every other situation, Johnny would’ve licked them off your skin with flagrant reverence. 

“C’mon, Soap, ’s time to go,” Simon announces, giving his Sergeant a firm pat on the shoulder while his eyes never leave you. You peer up at him, head ducked with a hint of shame, tendons flexing in your neck at the tension. 

Eventually, Johnny turns away with a pained snarl, speeding up the process like ripping off a band aid and pulling off scab, muttering profanities under his breath as he storms off towards the plane that will take them back to the UK—while Simon stays back, still staring down at you with those onyx eyes of his, though now they hold a kind of softness to them that leaves your whole system reeling. 

“Lieutenant–” you rasp, and he huffs through his mask, making your jaw snap closed again.  

His gloved hands come up to rest on your shoulders, the skeleton prints spanning wide, thumbs brushing your sensitive scent glands with a tenderness you’ve rarely experienced from him as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, hardshell mask pinching into your skin. 

“...’s olways been you, pet.” 

Your breath stutters, eyes fluttering as you try to process his words while your fingers tremble to reach out and claw into his tac vest to keep him close—keep his scent near, the one no omega before you has found as enticing as you. 

Too much, too rigid, like ice shards and gasoline fumes jabbing into your lungs with each deep inhale, rather warning off any potential mate than drawing them in. 

It made you feel safe and that’s all that ever mattered to him. 

Simon lets you go with practiced ease, shoves down his feelings even though his alpha is snarling, thrashing and howling behind his mask of indifference, but he cannot contain the sound that tears out of his throat, thank god muffled by the cloth covering his mouth—husky and unpractised like blunt nails scraping over gravel, a puppy learning to communicate—something akin to a whine, a sound you’ve never heard him nor any of them make. 

Your eyes widen, synapsis and instincts firing in your brain, hissing at you to soothe and purr for him, for the alpha you’ve dared to hurt—but then the dirt on the tarmac scrunches under his boots as he turns, leaving his broad back for you to look after while a swooping feeling in your stomach makes you nauseous, and you swallow your pathetic whines, having lost the right to call for them. 

There’s an invisible snap and you swear you can hear it, like a cruciate rupture knocking the breath out of you, loud as a gunshot and nasty, leaving you behind with a limp and quivering lips as you watch them walk away from you, though you can see the slight hobble in their own heavy steps. 

That night, your new alphas make sure to help you—not to forget but distract you from the pain of severing your packbond instead.  

Though, it’s hardly merely the bond that has broken your heart. 

They bring you to their private quarters, invite you into their den, a ranch house on vast land, many klicks away from Las Almas, and give you time until the sun sets, and nightfall cools the temperature to something more bearable, to settle in and sort out some of the internal chaos wreaking havoc and lacing your scent with a bitter smack of sadness. 

It is obvious that you’ve loved them all—all four of them with equal ferocity. You would’ve taken a bullet for each one, you’ve tended to their wounds, the ones you can see and the one you don’t, took care of their emotional needs, made sure your shared nest was always comforting and warm to them—and for what? To be replaced if another, perhaps more beautiful, sweeter, and docile omega comes along to take the place you should have been given freely and with an urgency bordering on alpha possessiveness?  

You have loved them in the dark and it was good—until someone else showed you what the light can truly look like. 

It’s easy and effortless.  

Your instincts are no burden but a relief to them; the fact that you come from the same line of work only fuelling their desire to make you theirs. They’ve shown it with their eyes, in the way their chests puff out as they inhale your scents, two pairs of rough hands itching to grab and grope and keep. 

And just as they do in the field, Alejandro and Rudy work as a team to shed you of your material layers first before peeling away metaphorical ones—until they have stripped you naked of both cloth and invisible barriers, leaving you raw and exposed to them as they devour you whole, slow and methodically.  

Their scents are strong and unapologetically wild, and it doesn’t take long until it seeps into your pores to stay; engulfing you in a comforting blanket of burnt blue agave, leaving a taste of finely aged tequila in the back of your throat, dried cloves, chili and cardamom, reminding you of a homecooked meal waiting for you, and the promising musk of their heady desires, hidden beneath a touch of violent smoke rising from the end of a gun barrel—a barrel now pointed at you. 

“Yes, you should weep for them, querida,” Alejandro murmurs against your temple as he cradles you against his bare chest; all warm skin and chiselled muscles. “Makes it easier to let go and focus on what’s in front of you.” 

The white curtains sweep as a soft breeze sweeps through the spacious bedroom, coming through the open floor-to-ceiling windows; moonlight illuminating the room in semi-darkness as you lounge on the bed. 

Between your legs, Rudy hums in agreement, trailing languid, open-mouthed kisses up your supple legs while you spread for him willingly, giving him more space to explore.  

“Agreed,” he breathes against your dewy skin, feeling your skin pebble with goosebumps under his tongue as he licks a slow stripe over the sensitive scent gland on the inside of your left thigh, so, so close to your glistening sex.  

He groans at your taste and starts rutting against the mattress, grinding his hips slowely, breathing out: “Díos.” 

Your legs quiver and you squirm in Alejandro’s arms, a mere bunny embraced by two wolfs, though perhaps you’ve never felt safer—more wanted—in your life. 

A whimper leaves your lips, perspiration building above your furrowed brows.  

“Are you–” you swallow hard, unsure if it’s too soon to ask. “Will you–” 

Alejandro kisses your temple, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Of course, we will,” he assures you, nose trailing along your hairline, “–just not tonight. It would be too much for you.” 

Before disappointment can settle into your gut like a parasite, like another worry adding to your fragile soul, a petulant pout forming on your lips, Rudy is quick to distract you again by parting your outer folds with deft fingers to expose the little treat resting at the top of your pussy, leaving you hot-faced and gasping. 

“Pinche... es hermosa, Ale,” Rudy mumbles under his breath, thumb stroking over your swollen clit with unfamiliar reverence. “Voy a probar un poco.” 

Your breath hitches while Alejandro smiles against your skull, strong hands roaming over your torso and settling right below the curve of your tits—squeezing and groping your giving flesh lightly as he feels your thumping heartbeat beneath his palms.  

“Mi conejita,” he growls before nipping at your earlobe. “I will fuck you once Rudy has prepared you for my cock, yes? Tell me how much you’d like that, cariño–” 

The term of endearment, so cute and innocent, followed by pure filth, makes your pulse spike and your pussy throb with its own heartbeat—and then Rudy leans in with a shameless groan to slowly lick and suck at your clit, and the world tips upside down like your eyes rolling back into your skull. 

The night progresses in a whirlwind of earth-shattering orgasms and whispered promises—and they manage to keep your mind off the past, giving you but a taste of your new reality. 

Rudy eats your cunt as feverishly as Johnny, though less messy and more precise, like he has all the time in the world to learn and explore—and you realize that he does when his teeth graze over the scent gland of your inner thighs again, scraping the sensitive surface with his teeth and lapping up your essence while Alejandro warns him to slow down, let you breathe.  

The second-in-command finishes on the mattress, his tan skin sweat-slicked and panting, his ruddy cock spurting a massive load into the white sheets—simply from licking at your sex.  

You coo at him when you catch your breath, fingers tugging at his black, fluffy hair to pull him in for a kiss while Alejandro manhandles your legs, pushes them apart and drapes one thigh over his hip as he shifts his weight behind your back for a better angle. 

“That’s it, querida, kiss your man,” Alejandro growls, squeezing the back of your neck while he strokes his own prick from base to tip, exhaling a shaky breath when he coats himself in your succulent slick. 

Rudy’s tongue is tangling with yours and you can taste yourself on his saliva; messy and passionate, you suck on his tongue with a sensual purr, half-lidded eyes drinking in his wrecked, pretty face. 

Alejandro grunts as he lines himself up with your dripping hole, drooling tip dragging through your swollen folds. “Escupir en su boca, hermano,” he orders, voice rumbling with a growl that has you keening, and Rudy is swift to cup your jaw, keeping your mouth open, all too eager to follow his Colone’s orders. 

Your breath comes in sharp pants as you stick your tongue out, a breathy moan spilling out your chest as Alejandro thrusts his fat cockhead past your entrance, sinking in an inch or two only to pull out and repeat, your velvety walls swallowing him up with greed. 

“Joder,” he groans huskily, resting his forehead against the back of your head.  

“Eyes on me, cariño,” Rudy chuckles, giving your jaw a small squeeze. “Feels good, no?” His tawny eyes crinkle at the corners as you nod with your tongue still out, your eyes nearly crossing from pleasure. “Heh, so cute.” 

And then Rudy tips your head back against Alejandro’s broad shoulder, making the other alpha watch with his thick cock now nestled and twitching deep inside of your cunt, as he spits a generous glob of saliva into your mouth. 

“Now swallow,” he croons before dragging his spit-shiny lips down the column of your throat, feeling it bob against his nose as you swallow obediently. 

Alejandro snarls against your shoulder blade, pupils blown with searing lust and possessiveness at the teasing display between you and Rudy, and his hands settle on your hips, keeping you in place on his lap as he begins to thrust his hips up, driving his throbbing cock into your welcoming heat with unbridled need and liquid fire simmering in his veins, spreading like a wildfire as his balls draw up tight. 

So close to your virgin scent gland on your neck, he huffs your sticky skin and bares his teeth while you’re blissfully unaware, making out with Rudy until the latter notices the shift in the other alpha—and he swiftly reaches out to grab a fistful of Alejandro’s sleek raven hair, tugging it back to make their eyes meet. 

“Not tonight, boss. Tu mismo lo dijiste,” he reminds the older alpha pointedly. 

Alejandro growls, then nods. He feels your walls flutter and tighten around his rutting shaft with another impending climax. They share a look, and Rudy tightens his grip with a curt nod—a silent promise to keep the other alpha from sinking his teeth into your mating gland in his ecstasy.  

Not tonight, querida. 

On another continent, now separated not only by distance but a broken packbond, Gaz paces inside the Captain Price’s office, deadly like an agitated jaguar in its too tiny enclosure. 

“This is fuckin’ bullshit, Cap,” he repeats, snarling for the umpteenth time. “Absolute fuckin’ madness!”  

His scent—usually so calm and fresh like mint leaves soaking in spring sunshine and fresh lemonade—has turned the air and atmosphere inside the office sour. 

He stops right in front of Price’s cluttered desk, glaring at his trusted superior with blatant fury in his eyes as he braces his hands on the polished mahogany, leaning forward. 

“How could you agree to this? How could you allow her to stay over there?! To leave our pack?!” 

Behind his desk, John keeps his arms crossed tensely, jaw ticking as he clenches and unclenches it, his tongue dry and thick in his mouth as his mistake dawns on him. 

The seasoned Captain made a decision with your wellbeing as his priority—always his priority—and now it’s biting him in the arse, becoming more of a simple graze like he’d expected. No, he can feel you slipping, can feel the bond severing, and it’s making him anxious, sad. 

Sad. Downright depressed. 

John hasn’t felt anything like this before, but he is still faring better than his Sergeant—who had no clue what was happening until he’d staggered into his office a few moments ago, clutching his chest as if someone had stabbed him with a combat knife, whinging like a pup in distress. 

Bloody hell, he can’t imagine how Soap must be behaving right now—still stuck in a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean; having only Ghost to turn to and soothe him. Fuck. It’s a bloody disaster. 

“Gaz,” John sighs roughly, tries reasoning, “– it's her decision. I couldn’t deny her.” 

“Deny her?” Gaz barks out a humourless laugh. it only agitates the younger alpha more. His eyes widen, his face twists into a dangerous snarl. “Fuck that, Captain!” 

John has never quite seen him lose his composure like this. He rises from his chair with a warning growl, towers over the Sergeant and forcing him into submission, pulling both rank and dominance to ease the tension. 

“That’s enough, Garrick,” he says, finality lacing his sharp tone. “She asked for special leave, nothing more–” 

“We are losing her. Our omega. Our girl,” Gaz interrupts, though his voice has lost some of its burn. His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, keeping his accusations inside as he regards his Captain with a hint of disappointment and desperation. 

He swallows hard, feeling the bond continuing to dissipate; it feels like sand running through his hands and there is nothing he can do to stop it from leaving him. He knows that Price can feel it, too. 

“I don’t know about you, but I cannot lose her, sir,” Gaz admits, brows furrowing with a distraught whine. “We were planning to make her ours, didn’t we? Or did that fucking plan change, too?” 

There is a tense pause. John’s jaw ticks again and he rubs a hand over his coarse beard, sucking his teeth before he shakes his head slowly. 

“No, son, it hasn’t.” 

[docdudo]

Vampire 141 - Fledgling!Reader (Part 2)

"This is... certainly most unusual." the blonde woman commented slowly, her eyes glued to your form as you sat quietly on the giant’s lap.

They had you inside their massive black van now, seated on plush seats in the back while someone named Laswell analyzed you. Despite their attempts to rock you to sleep, anxiety and nerves had left you frozen in König’s arms the entire time as you waited for the car to arrive.

And this woman was freaking scary!

They all were, of course, but you had thought that another girl would make you feel more at ease.

THAT WAS NOT THE CASE.

She wasn’t particularly tall for a vampire, but she was still easily bigger than any human woman you had ever met. Her eyes were red, like any other vampire’s, though hers were much lighter—muted. She was blonde, her hair tied in a low bun adorned with red and black jewels.

And you were pretty sure they were real jewels, considering she was also dressed to the nines. While the other two wore more military/action-heavy clothing—despite their outfits also looking very expensive—this woman was dressed in a snug black suit. No tie, but more importantly, no undershirt. Just a blazer that left a bit of her cleavage exposed.

It made you blush a bit when you realized what you were seeing.

She also just looked imposing, one hand against her mouth as she stared down at you on König's lap with intelligent eyes.

"She refuses to sleep or relax." König muttered in that heavy, low voice of his, making you try to look up at his covered face once again.

He didn’t seem to mind your movement or curiosity—only making sure that you remained seated on his lap and didn’t attempt to run.

“I have never seen a fledgling like this.” Horangi hissed under his breath, his voice taut with unease. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest, standing beside Laswell. “Who would be foolish enough to mistreat a fledgling here? This is our territory. Who would dare?”

“I have never seen such a vicious turning bite…” Laswell murmured slowly, lowering herself slightly to take your face in her grasp. Her long nails tapped lightly against your skin as she tilted your head upward, exposing more of your neck. “This will be taken to tribunal. A crime of this nature is not merely an offense—it is an abomination.”

The way her face scrunched up in genuine disturbance made you realize that this situation might be more serious than you had first anticipated.

König’s hand rose to your neck, his grip gentle yet firm as he held your head in place, keeping your throat exposed. His other hand moved to the buttons of your polo shirt, undoing them one by one to widen the opening, revealing more of the strange, crack-like marks on your skin.

“...It was a method of torture, in old Europe.” König murmured, his voice thick with his accent as he examined the bite himself. Where the teeth had torn through flesh, the marks spread in jagged streaks, making it impossible to tell where the bite had first landed. “Vampires’ venom would be harvested from their enemies and injected into humans—forcing a fledgling transformation within the depths of torture chambers.”

“Right. But that’s what puzzles me—the sire.” Laswell drawled slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought and quiet disdain as her fingers continued to trace your damaged skin with unsettling gentleness. “It is instinctual for a sire to care for their fledgling… yet it is clear this was not done with a mere syringe. These marks—this wound—suggest it was inflicted by the sire themselves.”

"Ah...!" You flinched slightly as her finger brushed over a particularly sore spot, but you couldn’t pull away, not with König still holding your head in place.

The woman immediately withdrew her hand, crossing her arms neatly as she examined you for a few moments longer.

"She's conscious enough to feel this?"

“Surprisingly, yes, she seems to be.” Horangi replied, kneeling to meet your eyes, his right hand coming up to rest lightly on your lap. “I can’t even fathom how, but I’m almost certain she’s somewhat coherent.”

“Coherent." Laswell repeated, her brow raised—not questioning, but emphasizing.

“She is speaking. We asked her about her sire, and she didn’t know how to answer. I’m not sure if it’s the usual confusion from young fledglings who’ve just been turned, or if she truly doesn’t understand what it means, but she was able to comprehend us enough to answer verbally.”

That made Laswell let out a short bark of laughter, utterly flabbergasted. The surprised look on her face only made you feel even more unsettled.

“No, it’s the last option.... I don’t know what a ‘Sire’ is...!” you protested weakly, your small hands coming up to try and pry König’s grip from your neck.

Your first coherent phrase since they took you caused all three of their heads to snap toward you, their eyes drilling into your still annoyed and frightened expression.

“What...?” The blond woman stared at you, her face showing the most surprise it could muster. “She... is she actually sound of mind right now?”

"Yes...? I mean, I don’t see why I wouldn’t be, it’s just—goddammit, let go!" You cut yourself off, whining in frustration up at König as you struggled to make him move his hand from your neck. He hesitated for a moment but eventually relented. "Thank you..."

"She's actually coherent... has it ever happened with a fledgling so young?" Horangi mumbled in silent shock, still kneeling beside you. Even with the partial mask and glasses, you could see the frown on his face.

"It doesn’t matter. We’re taking her to the Coven right now." Laswell shook her head, speaking quickly as she climbed into the front seat of the van, starting the vehicle. "We need to get her to the rehabilitation center as soon as possible. I’m afraid her transformation is going wrong."

"I-I don't think-"

You are interrupted as you let out a loud cry, Horangi's hand pressing just slightly over the markings on your shoulder.

"She's pumped full of venom, this is almost... unnatural...." He hisses slightly, expression furrowing in uneseaness. "She was supposed to be out cold at least for two weeks straight, four at most."

"C-Can you stop touching it...??" You whine a bit in pain, shoving his hand away with your much smaller one. "This hurts..."

He stares back at your face for a bit, still seemingly unsure about your conciousness, but he nods once and sits back on his calves, staring at you with a focus that made you squirm in place.

"Fledgling." The heavy voice above you made you look up at König, frowning a bit. "Here, follow my hand."

You could only frown more as he put his hand in front of you, snapping his fingers to call your attention. You stared at it, unsure, watching it go up and down, side to side, all the while snapping. It made you feel like a dog, but you could actually feel your slow reaction time on this.

"She's very cognitive for a just-turned, but for normal paramitres, she's having a slow reaction time." Horangi commented, still watching you closely as you tried to keep up with König's hand.

"Ask her questions, let's see how coherent she is. Even if I don't like it, there's must be answers we can get from this." Laswell commented from the front of the van, speeding up at bit too much for it to be safe.

Not that any of them seemed to care about road safety right now.

"I-I can understand you all just fine, I'm just a bit tired...." You murmur back, giving up on following König's hand as you started to feel a bit nauseus.

Horangi hummed at your words, quiet and considering, staring at your little form still being held by König.

"When were you transformed?"

"Uhh... like, bitten...? Like, a week ago..."

That gained you a big pause inside the van, the three of them staying in apperantly quiet shock. The van was going even faster now.

"By who?" König almost snarled, his hand tilting your head up to look at him properly. "Stop pulling on my head all the time... this actually hurts..." You mumbled back, trying to pull his heavy hand away from your head and neck area. "And you think I know who did this...? I have no idea...!"

König only let out a low growl, clearly unamused, but it was Horangi who called your attention back to the matter, snapping his fingers to make you look at his face — or rather, his glasses, in this case.

"Can you describe them?"

"No, it was dark and I have no idea what that vampire looked like, h-he was covered from head to toe too...." You frowned, also not very amused by your situation. "I-I... look, I'm really confused, if you could... I mean... where... where are we going...?"

"The Coven." Laswell answered easily, seriously, still speeding up through the streets. You wished you could see outside right now, but here was no windows in the back of the van. "And to the nursery."

"What even is that...?" You whine softly, unsure, leaning slightly forward to try and look at Laswell. "L-Look, I have school, a-and work, could we just... be quick about it?" "Fledgling, you have no idea the gravity of your situation." Horangi commented slowly, shaking his head. "This is your life we're talking about. You might die, if we are not quick enough. And by our laws..."

"She'll understand. After we deal with what matters right now." Laswell interrupted, going even faster now. Well, fuck your group projects then. If you're lucky, maybe you'll manage to contact them to at least help out a bit before the due date.

[codnasties]

cod characters fucking fleshlights

this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

soap 🧼- the one that takes his time

now, this ain't soap's first time using a fleshlight. he started with a tenga egg or something like that, just for the sake of trying something that wasn't his hand. and i just know that troughout the years he has created a decently sized collection with a lot of varietiy: fleshlights imitating pussies, asses, mouths,... even if a man like him could easily pull a pretty lass to fuck, with the job he has and what it requires of him, it isn't always ideal.

but there is one thing that soap does, no matter weather he's fucking one of his partners or a plastic replica: he takes his time. stroking himself tentatively before lubing his dick up and loweing the fleshlight onto his hard on until he's balls deep. and when i say he fucks it as if it were a real person i mean it. he's fucking int in diferent positions, jerking himself with it but also fucking into it, both slow and fast until cums all over himself

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

ghost 👻- the stretcher

ghost sometimes has to ask himself if he's really that big and thick or if it's just that the one or two fleslights he owns are way too fucking small. he doesn't know, but he very much loves it. there is something about the size difference, the way the plastic stretches to fit him and how he can perfecly see it expanding as he pushes his dick deeper into it that makes him go feral.

now, other than his size kink goin brrr, he finds himself swiping his cock against the flesglight's pussy-like entrance, as if he were teasing a real cunt, before fucking himself slowly into it. he's mersmerized by the plastic doll completely swallowing up his aching hard dick until he's balls deep. he also intends to pull out - just to save himself some clean up - but he finds himself so overwhelmed by the feeling and visuals that he just fill the fleshlight up with his potent cum - more than once, at that -.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢- mess making perpetrator

this may be my most repeated gaz headcanon but he's a mess maker and there is no deniying. when he get's home from a mission or something like that and he doesn't feel like trying to find a partner to fuck, he always has a trusty fleshlight. the thing is, he doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, deciding to just fuck it in his livingroom.

he just plunged deeply into the plastic pussy, stretching the plastic over his limit because his dick is too long for the small fleshlight, almos breking it. the pent up hornyness and the feeling of something other than his hand wrapped around his dick sending him into an orgasm faster than he expected. he pulls out to first his impossibly hard cock when he feels himself about to cum. and he stains the sofa with it as the mess perpetrator that he is - and let me tell you, it ain't the first time he's had to clean his seed out of that sofa.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬- the first timer

price is an older and more traditional man, he would rather fuck another person than some piece of plastic. but he keps hearing his men talk about fleshlights, how good they feel,.. and all that combined with the fact that he ain't getting younger, he's extra tired and trying to find a partner with a job like his is tedious, he decides to get himself a fleshlight just to try it out of curiotisty.

what he did not expect was that god forsaken piece of plastic would feel that fucking good. all it took was some slow deep strokes into it before he found himself cumming. and at that moment his lust filled brain took over and he started fucking himself into the fleshlight again, trying to extend the pleasure of the orgasm. let's say he now fully understands why his men praise them plastic holes.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡- the nasty fucker

lets be real, konig is fleshlight collector number 2. anxiety gets the best of him so he would rather to make do with some plastic pussy or ass than having to deal with the hassle of interacting with people. his not that experiended ass is fucking enamoured by the feeling of and ass or pussy, even if it isn't a real one.

now, konig allways finds himself doing two thing every time he uses one of his fleshlight. a. he moans. like a bitch in heat. he can't help it, it just feels overwhelingly good to have something wrapping tightly around his unexperienced cock. and the fact of finally getting some release. b. he makes messes - yup, mess making perpetrator no. 2 -. spit, precum, lube and cum mixing all together, covering his dick, hands and fleshlight as he fucks himself dumb and slaps his dick all over yhe plastic ass.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

graves 🪦 - the stressed

now, these military men always find themselves stressed out, it's a part of the job. but for graves, said job and the tension that it generates have kept him away for some time now from a real pussy or ass. so a fleshlight is a good alternative, giving him all that he needs to reach some much needed release.

the few occasions he has had enough time to indulge in some pleasure, he's going to make the most of it. alternating slow, sensual deep strokes and fast shallow ones. hands making sure that the fleshlight stays in place as he plunges into it chasing an orgasm and moanig at the sweet feeling of release. he for sure cums deep inside of the plastic masturbator, because it may be plastic, but he loves creampie-ing it the same way he would creampie a real person.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alejandro 🤠 - the tip teaser

alejandro doesn't strike me as the type of person that would have a proper fleshlight, you know? instead of a piece of plastic that fully engulfs his dick he has one of those quickshot ones. a transparent one at that. it gives him a lot of options, from fully jerking his cock with it to just teasing his tip.

and oh does he love to tease his tip! using that comact masturbator to play with his angry red bulbous tip. pushing just the head in and out, sometimes tilting it to make his dick pop out of the fleshlihgwith a wet noise. and seeing his cock breach into the plastic, dick twitching at the feeling, his stomach spasming from the sensation... he always inevitably cums all over himself, staining his hard shaft, lower hairy stomach, thights and even the quilt.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Uuuuh adding Los Vaqueros to the what if "faking it"?? Honestly any of the what if would do with me, i just roll in my bed giggling everytime i see u add them!!

hehe, oh, I am happy to add them to the Faking It prompt. Not enough people ask for them. Which is absolutely acceptable when requesting for the Task Force 141 Imagines. If they are 141 or 141-adjacent, I'll write for them for this series. These two are filthy and I will not be explaining further. It'll ruin the fun.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Los Vaqueros x afab!reader

Content & Warnings (mdni): unprotected piv, overstimulation, one-night stand, oral sex, creampie, married couple

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Alejandro Vargas

Sweat-soaked skin. The linger of cigarette smoke.

Beneath you, Alejandro, your one-night stand, grunts through his teeth as he brings you down on his cock, hips thrusting up in tandem. It drives him deep, stretching you perfectly, giving the feeling of fullness. Your hands rest on his pectorals, fingers slightly curled, his chest hair poking out between.

You’re on top, riding him—if you had the strength or stamina. Control is not in your hands. It’s in Alejandro’s, thankfully. Spent and on the verge of collapse, there are no more orgasms in you. Every muscle aches. Soreness is a leech, sucking you dry.

A quick tensing of your vaginal muscles and a moan should tip him over the edge.

Your head tips back, exposing your throat, pressing your breasts outward. It takes no effort to squeeze around his cock, to make Alejandro’s next thrust a full-body shudder. The moan you release is a bit dramatic, and far from how you usually sound. Not that this man would notice. He’s a one-night thing. A simple fling because the buzz of alcohol is too great a thrill to ignore.

Alejandro sits up and teases your nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Strange,” he muses, voice husky. “That’s new.”

Using his grip on your hips, he grinds up into you. The angle is perfect, adding sweet friction against your clit. Alejandro sucks your nipple into his mouth at the same time. Your pussy flutters involuntarily, the small gasp from between your lips unexpected.

“That’s better,” he drawls as he releases your nipple.

“You—”

“Hush, cariño.” One hand moves away from your hip to palm your breast. “Can’t fool me.”

Shit.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, though there is no room to backtrack.

A knowing glint sparkles in Alejandro’s dark eyes. “Made you come how many times now?” His hands ascend, gently squeezing both breasts. “Think I don’t know? Think I don’t notice?”

One hand falls away, sliding to your back, plunging downward until his hand is full of your ass. Giving it a rough squeeze, Alejandro returns to his previous thrusting, guiding your hips toward him as he thrusts up into you.

Friction returns, rubbing on your clit, building a pleasurable burn that you thought was snuffed out for the night.

“That’s it,” purrs Alejandro. “No faking it with me.”

Lips curling into a satisfied smile, Alejandro watches as you fall apart. You’re unable to hide from him, thighs tightening around his hips, fingers digging into flesh, clinging to him with a gasping desperation. Still, the friction against your clit continues, forcing you toward overstimulation.

A quick shift, and you’re on your back, Alejandro above, thrusting roughly until you’re full of his cum.

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

“No. No. Stop.”

Rudy, your husband, lifts you off his cock and deposits you beside him onto the bed. You’re momentarily stunned, surprised that Rudy is pushing you away during intimacy.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, crawling across the bed and over to him.

Rudy is already standing, naked, bare butt cheeks in front of your face. His hands are on his hips, and a deep sigh escapes him.

“If you’re not feeling it, just tell me.” Rudy turns around. His dick is still hard, glossy with your arousal. “Don’t want you to fake it for my sake.”

Rudy isn’t wrong. Not that you don’t want to have sex with him, but you’re tired, and it’s been a long day. It’s sweet that he noticed, that he stopped, and set a boundary. Rudy wants you safe and comfortable, to feel safe around him.

You shift to the edge of the bed. Plant your feet on the floor. His dick is hard, weeping a few pearly beads of precum. Placing your hands on his solid thighs, they crawl upward. With one hand, your grasp the base, and Rudy hisses, his head falling back as you palm him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice hitching slightly as you stroke him.

“You’re right,” you croon. “I was faking it.” Bending forward slightly, you eagerly lick up the precum with the tip of your tongue. Another one blooms there, taking its place, and you swirl your tongue around the flared head before licking the entire length from base to tip.

Rudy curses under his breath, one hand reaching out to clutch the back of your head.

“But I can please you.”

Before he can form a word, you take the head of him into your mouth. Holding there, you wait for your salvia to collect, then swallow him down, lips touching your hand.

Rudy’s eyelids flutter, all of his control slipping away from him like raging water. Hollowing your cheeks, you slide back up, and then repeat the process, bringing in your hand to pump him in time with your upward passes.

He exhales roughly through his nose, nostrils flaring as he tries to hold on to his control. Rudy is coming apart, and that knowledge pleases you, stirring a little coil of tension low in your belly.

Grasping the front of his thighs, you bob your head, and Rudy slides into the commanding man you know he can be. Your mouth and throat are his to use, and Rudy takes full advantage, guiding you up and down his cock repeatedly until you nearly gag on him.

He groans loudly, his hips flexing upward slightly as he brings you down on him.

“Swallow for me,” he purrs.

You hold still as he finishes down your throat. You relax, taking every drop he offers. Rudy’s thumb strokes your cheek, and when he’s spent, you draw back, lips making a wet pop as the head slips from your mouth.

You’re slick between the thighs.

 Scooting back, you lean onto your elbows, guiding your legs wide to show him.

“Think I want to fake it, now?”

[corporalellie]

Rudy♥

[gomzdrawfr]

video call and costume party