could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her
tysm for requesting, 1k
Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence.
You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign.
You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it.
Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup.
What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed.
Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.
She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no.
What if you're forcing yourself on him?
You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it.
Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks.
"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.
Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside.
"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap.
The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said.
Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal.
"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks.
"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says.
"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?"
"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done."
"Don't rush it for my sake."
Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should."
Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.
You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else.
His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder.
"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"
You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it.
"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down.
"What?"
"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea."
"What's not a good idea?"
You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth.
"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield.
"I don't want to torture you," you say.
Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection.
Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist."
You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask.
He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes.
"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone.
Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty.
And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things.
"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?"
You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.
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|| notes: because I think this trope is always hilarious and also very cute
|| warnings: the Inner Circle (Mor and Cass) being nosy, fluff, Az and reader being silly and cute, alcohol mention
"You've been spending an awful lot of time with Azriel lately."
Looking up from the book you've been reading, you meet Mor's questioning look with one of confusion. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"No," Mor protests, "I was just wondering."
You raise an eyebrow, eyeing her. There's an edge to her tone that you're not sure that you like, as if she's trying to get you to admit to something. "He's my friend," you say slowly, "and I like spending time with my friends."
Mor hums. "That's fair," she says, then drums her fingers on the table. "Speaking of friends, we're friends, right?"
"Of course," you agree. Where is she going with this? Had you done something to make her doubt your friendship?
Mor watches you carefully, weighing her words before she says them. "And you'd tell me if you were interested in anyone, right? Romantically, I mean."
The look you give her is equal parts suspicion and befuddlement. "Probably? Mor, what is this about?"
"Nothing, nothing," she reassures you hurriedly. "Listen, we're going to Rita's tonight. As in me, Cass, Nes, and Azriel." She pauses. "I think he'd like it if you went with us."
You close your book. "I'll go," you say, and Mor beams. "But what does Az wanting me there have to do with—"
"Great!" Mor chirps, pulling away. "We'll be leaving at eight!"
And then she's gone, leaving you more bewildered than you've ever been.
Your friends are up to something. You know that they are, considering Mor's behavior from earlier, and now their (Mor, and now Cassian) insistence that you sit next to Azriel in the booth.
"I can't pick my seat?" You ask, and Cassian shakes his head.
"Nope," he grins, and you throw Nesta a pleading look that she answers with one of quiet amusement.
"Okay..." Not that you truly mind sitting next to the spymaster, but it's made strange for the way Mor and Cassian are watching the two of you and sharing looks you're sure they think are subtle.
"[Name] looks nice," Mor prompts after a while, "right, Az?"
You blink as Azriel turns towards you, and the slow sweep of his eyes over you makes your cheeks warm more than the alcohol does.
"Yes," he says quietly, and your lips quirk when you catch his eye before you turn back towards your drink. Whatever it is that Cassian and Mor are looking for or trying to incite, you're not sure, but you don't miss the look of frustrated confusion the pair share.
Cassian rallies himself for another attempt at whatever it is they're up to, and you cut him off. "I think I'm going to head back," you say, apologetic smile tugging at your lips. "I'm tired."
Mor looks like she's going to protest, only to stop when Azriel moves to follow you when you slip from the booth. "I'll come with you."
You don't protest, but you also catch the pleased look Cassian and Mor share before you step out of Rita's. The night air is a little cooler than expected and when you shiver, Azriel steps closer. "Cold?"
"A little," you admit, and you don't protest the wrap of his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer.
Once you're far enough away from Rita's, Azriel speaks again. "Cassian is convinced that I have feelings for you."
You look up at him, finding him watching you already, coming to a halt. "And?" You prompt, raising an eyebrow, "do you?"
Azriel's eyes gleam with amusement as he leans down, meeting the answering upward tip of your head so he can kiss you. It's sweet and familiar, and you press to make it linger a little longer before he pulls away. "I think you know the answer to that."
"I do," you grin. "How long do you think it'll take them to realize that we're already together?"
Azriel snorts. "Longer than you think, honestly." He tugs you to him, enveloping you in his arms to ward off the chill of night. "I take it that you have feelings for me too?"
You huff a laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I think you know the answer to that," you answer.
Azriel's lips meet the top of your head. "I do."
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Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Explain
Requested: yes
Prompt: 18) "My mum thinks we're dating."
Warnings: Max being dumb asf
Y/n and Victoria had been friends for as long as they could remember. They would visit eachothers houses, carpool to school, go shopping on the weekends; you name it, they did it and they did it together. Now both girls had a set of rules for eachother and Victoria's number one rule was not a surprise at all; her brother was off limits. Y/n didn't have a problem with it because well, Max was older and they rarely talked. Even as children she didn't like him that way, mainly because as a child she thought he looked like a strange lizard of some sort. When Max became a Formula One driver, Y/n found herself with Victoria less and less due to her still having to stay in school, whilst Victoria travelled the world with her brother for a good part of the academic year. But it didn't tarnish their friendship in any way.
In fact, once Y/n graduated from high-school, Victoria managed to get her to a few races that the whole Verstappen family attended. She grew closer with the family as a whole and even became one of the regulars in the paddock after a while. However, Y/n went on to study in Italy and her paddock appearances were significantly lowered to once or twice a year.
The weekend of Monza 2023 was a special one to say the least. Y/n smiled as she walked into the paddock with Victoria, like she did every other time. The cameras took photos, like they did every other year and they walked straight to the hospitality. "I missed this place." Y/n sighed as she looked around the hospitality, holding her godson Luka's hand as he waddled about the place. "I know. They've changed a few things since you've been here last." Victoria smiled as she wheeled the stroller through the paddock. "And where is the golden boy himself?" Y/n asked, obviously referring to Victoria's now two-time world champion brother. "He's with Mama. They're having their weekly lunch like they usually do." Y/n nodded. "I can't wait to chill in the hospitality. I'd argue it'd my favourite place."
Just as she said she would, Y/n sat in the hospitality of Red Bull. She got her usual place; a table by the window that overlooked the whole paddock, and close enough to Ferrari so she could get a glimpse of Charles Leclerc walking by. All heads snapped around as the heard large footsteps pounding up the stairs and there appeared a delirious looking Max Verstappen. They locked eyes and Max began walking over to her quite quickly. Did he really miss her that much?
"Hi, Max. How are you-" Max sits down rapidly, making Y/n freeze and look at the dutchman as if he had two heads. "I have a problem. Well, no. We- we have a problem." Max said, stumbling on his words. "You look like you've just seen a ghost." Y/n chuckled as she continued to scroll through her phone. "I- I think I really messed up." Max muttered. Y/n scoffed in reply. "Can't be worse than the time you-" She paused and looked at the familiar face of Max's I fucked up face. "What did you do?" She asked, not putting the phone down. "I- You're going to hate me." Max said. "What have you done?" She asked again. "My mum thinks we're dating." Max blurted out, leaving both of them in stunned silence. "She what?!" She put her phone down and stood up. "I know! It was really dumb!" Max repeated over and over again. "Max! Why did you tell her that!"
"It was an accident!" Max replied defensively. "What exactly did you say?!" Y/n asked. "Well she said we would make a cute couple and I kind of joked that well, what if we were but nobody knew. And then she started smiling like that and asking questions so I just went with it so now-" He paused. "Now she thinks we're together." Max mumbled the last bit. "Max, you need to tell her we aren't!" Y/n said. "But why? She seems so happy-"
"Max! Victoria might actually murder me! I have known her since we were seven!" Y/n whisper shouted. "It'll be fine! She won't know, I am sure of it-"
"Y/n?" Y/n froze as she heard her loving friend Victoria call out her name. Max and Y/n turned to see Victoria walking towards them, almost in the same fashion that Max walked over just a matter of minutes ago. "Victoria, I can explain!"
"Oh I'm so happy for you both! It makes so much sense now! Why you were looking for him this morning, I mean." Vuctoria squealed, engulfing Y/n in a hug. Max stood up chuckling along. "You- you're not mad?" Y/n asked, audibly confused. "Mad? Of course not! Me and Mama have said it many times; that the two of you should be dating. It's about time, to be honest." Y/n smiled and looked between the two Verstappens. "And you! Oh thank goodness you found a nice girlfriend after that last one, she was horrible." Max nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Even Dad is happy about you two!" Max and Y/n didn't know what to say. "And you all want us to...date?"
"Yes! For the longest time. It was so obvious you liked eachother too. So, so obvious." Max looked down at Y/n. The pair's faces turned as red as the Ferrari garage next door. "Well, I'll let you two lovebirds have some alone time. Ill see you both later?" Victoria asked, getting ready to leave. "Yes. Definitely."
"That didn't go how I thought it would." Y/n muttered. "Are we missing something? Do we like eachother but we're just too stupid to tell?" Max asked. "I- I don't know." She whispered. "But, I think we should tell them we aren't together before this gets out of hand." Y/n went to walk, but felt her hand being grabbed. She looked back to see Max. "Or we just play along until it dies down." Max suggested. "That is possibly the most stupid thing you've ever said." Y/n retorted. "Bot really. We both get benefits out of dating. You get recognition for being my girlfriend which comes with brand deals, magazine shoots-"
"I would never date you just for the benefits. I date someone because I love them."
"So so you love me?" Y/n didn't really know how to respond to that. Her mouth opened and closed, searching for the words but she couldn't couldn't a singular sentence. Max's grin widened. "Don't even! I'll see you around." Y/n said storming off, her face red from embarrassment. "Okay. Bye my love!" Max teased. "Shut up!" Did she like him? Did she love him? No! Of course...well....maybe.
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Vaccines don't cause autism. Papyrus Undertale breaks into your house and stares at your baby like this
Until they're autistic. Sometimes Undyne comes with him and this makes your baby gay. If Mettaton is with him. Baby will trans gender.
If Sans shows up all hope is lost the baby is ruined and it's first words will be "get dunked on". Throw the baby away. Start over. New baby.
Y'all keep misunderstanding my vision so here's the run down. Warning: I'm doing just about every character in the gane
Papyrus = autism
Undyne = gay. All sexualities included in this
Mettaton = trans. All gender identities included in this
Sans = ruined baby. Start over
Frisk makes the baby determined
Toriel takes over. Her baby now
Asgore makes the baby terminally divorced
Alphys makes the baby a weeb
Flowey makes the baby a video game completionist
Napstablook gives the baby depression
Burgerpants makes the baby a loser
Temmie gives the baby Adhd also a college scholarship
Bratty tries to eat the baby. And catty like. Totally saves the baby!!! Omg Bratty!!!
Mad Dummy gives the baby anger issues
Asriel becomes a big brother to the baby
Monster Kid makes the baby an Undyne and Papyrus stan
Snowdrake makes the baby the worlds worst comedian
Greater dog plays cards with the baby and loses
Lesser dog is overwhelmed with affection from the baby
Dogressa and Dogamy cancel out Asgore's terminal divorce. Only a 5% of them showing though.
Doggo gives the baby a nicotine addiction
☝✌💧❄☜☼ ☜☼☜✌💧☜💧 ❄☟☜ 👌✌👌✡ ☞☼⚐💣 ❄☟☜ ☠✌☼☼✌❄✋✞☜
Grillby wants the baby to pay its tab already
Heats Flamesman makes the baby Really Good at remebering names
Chara makes the baby terminally misunderstood
Jerry makes the baby the absolute worst. Another ruined baby.
Froggit makes the baby not know why it's here
Vegetoid teacges the baby the importance of a balanced diet
Whimsalot makes the baby a battle hardened knight akin to Joan of Arc
Loox gives the baby a Complex
Woshua cleans your baby. Why is your baby so filthy
Aaron makes the baby a gym rat
Shyren gives the baby Vocal Talent
Knight Knight makes the baby sleepy
Madjick makes the baby a wizard
Astigmatism gives the baby an even bigger complex
Whimsum makes the baby anxious
Icecap wants your baby to stop looking at its hat
The baby puts a decoration on Gyftrots horns much to his dismay
Annoying Dog runs away with the baby and leaves a strange dog residue in the crib
The Nicecream guy makes your baby want to open a business in the worst locations
The Royal Guards make your baby a Dude Bro in the best way
Tsundere plane totally doesn't think your baby is cute or make it a tsundere or anything
Vulcan makes your baby the ultimate hypeman
Pyrope makes your baby turn up the heat
Muffet makes your baby broke. Also it owes her 9999G
Moldsmal makes the baby understand the world
Gerson makes the baby Old
Migosp makes your baby friends with the wrong crowd
Final Froggit makes the baby know exactly why it's here
Moldsbygg makes your baby respect boundaries
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PUPPY LOVE !
ft. leon s. kennedy x f!reader
tags. puppy hybrids, knotting, chris is the owner but he’s like not fucking, virginity loss, vendetta leon, age gap, lots of spit
notes. i write gn reader usually but this is super sickeningly self indulgent so it’s fem reader ughdhfh im so sorry this is crossposted on my ao3 :3 NOT BETA READ If u see a typo no you didn’t!!! I am so humiliated by this fic um this only makes sense with vendetta Leon so keep him in mind
“C’mon, buddy, ain’t it a cutie?” You’re being held up, some scary man's hands under your armpits, legs dangling in the air as he shows you off to an older dog.
It. How rude. You’re a lady for god's sake. An ill-tempered little lady in fact. This is growing tedious, so you let out a noise of warning, and clamp down on his forearm with your canines. They’re just in. Fresh and white. Had taken a while, you were a bit of a late bloomer, but they're here now, and that’s all that matters.
“Shit,” the man clicks his tongue, “you got some spunk, huh, pup?” He places you down on the ground, and you sink to your knees with a soft huff. “What’d you think, Leon?”
So that’s his name. The older dog, Leon. He looks worn out and mean. Brows furrowed, wrinkled forehead, dark hair that obscures most of his face. What a creep. You’ve been set up, the old lady at the pet shop told you this was going to be fun! She said you were gonna meet someone handsome, a stud who’d give you puppies. This dog looks like he doesn’t even go into rut anymore. His glory days are so over. Ten years past his prime. You stick your nose in the air and refuse to acknowledge him. He does the same.
“Leon, come on, buddy,” the man, well, you guess he’s your owner now, tries to coax him over, “don't be like this.”
Leon simply rolls onto his side, his ears flopping over so the pink underside is seen. Rude. You’re so pretty any normal mutt would be begging for it. But, you guess he’s just faulty. ‘Cause he’s an old man. Duh. This is so unfair, a pampered pooch like you deserves so much better. A two bedroom apartment with a single bathroom, and an open-plan kitchen is just not classy.
“Fuck, Leon, you always gotta be so damn difficult.” Your owner crouches down, fastens a collar around your neck. It’s pink so that's good at least. You’re a stupid pup, can’t quite make out what’s engraved on the doggy bone charm, but you assume it would be your name. “There you go, girl, you like it?”
You tilt your head to the side, but ultimately nod your head with a forced smile. Getting on your owner’s good side would be ideal. Maybe he’d spoil you a little extra. He’s awfully handsome when you take a moment to really look at him. Why couldn’t he have been the stud?
“That’s a good girl,” he presses a soft kiss to your head, “why don’t you go make yourself comfortable, pup?” He gives you a little smack on the bottom, makes you jump. Gosh. His hands are so big. He’s so big. You felt the way he flexed under your teeth earlier. So much meat to him.
With another huff, you walk around, sniff the couch cushions, press a dainty paw to the wall, admire all the framed photos. They’ve been together for a long time it seems. Your owner and Leon. He used to be perfectly pretty. Sunflower blonde, dopey smile on his slightly rounded face, puppy fat softening all his rough edges. Cute. You wish he still looked like that. His tail looks like more of a blur in the photos, towards the end he starts to mellow out, turning into what you’ve seen of him today. Moody.
“Leon was a military dog,” your owner explains. You don’t know what that means, but you think it’s important. Considering all the strange clothes with leather straps and that ugly green print, there’s even a gun in your owner’s hands. “He’s retired now though. I thought you’d cheer him up a little.”
You blink at your owner, pressing your nose into his hand when he offers it, pink tongue licking at his salty fingers. Yeah, you like him. He’s firm and sweet. Smiles at you in a way that’s kind. Leon is the only problem. Whatever. He’ll kick the bucket soon enough, or maybe your owner will get tired of him. After all, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you’ve got plenty up your sleeve to show off. Rolling over, batting your lashes, smiling, looking pretty. You’ve got it handled.
“You know how to speak, pup?” Owner cups your cheeks, “my name is Chris,” he says it slowly, waits till you repeat it back to him.
“Chris…” you’re hesitant to speak, unsure of if you did it right. He pats your head, offers you a paw-shaped treat, that must mean you did well.
“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” Gosh. You like him lots ‘n lots. This place ain’t so bad after all.
“She’s settling in well,” Chris is on the phone with somebody, “no, course not, god, she’s a star.” He’s talking ‘bout you, and you like it. You’re the apple of his eye these days.
He scratches behind your ears as you sit beside him, chewing on a squeaky toy you gnawed at so bad it popped. Leon is laying on the floor as usual, sleeping soundly on a warm spot. You'd given him a shifty kick earlier, but he just grunted through a heavy snore.
It gets lonely when Chris leaves for the day, you often find yourself nesting in his bed, sniffing his pillow, chewing on one of his shirts for comfort. You get scolded for all the pin-sized holes left by your needle-sharp teeth, but you continue to do it. Leon is mean. He bares his teeth when you try to play, kicks you away when you try to curl into him at night, all sorts of things. He’s no fun, it’s why you cling to Chris’ leg, whine and scratch at the door, kick your legs and throw back your head to wail.
The door clicks shut after a short tussle between your teeth and the rough fabric of Chris’ jeans. You sniffle and curl up against the front door. This is so cruel of him. Why can’t he just stay and play all day? You have so many games planned that Leon never wants to partake in. Tug of war, fetch, tummy rubs, kisses, cuddles. It’ll be so much fun! And yet there’s nobody to do it with.
You nose at his cheek as he sleeps in his usual spot. Just by the window, bathed in the warmth of the yolky sunlight, chest rising and falling in tandem with his breaths. His nose scrunches ever so often, his tail mostly still, other than the little flick to the side it makes when you approach him carefully. He smells good. That’s the one thing you like about Leon. His scent. It’s thick and rich and has your gut bubbling with an unfamiliar feeling. However, you welcome it, it feels good to you. Makes you squeeze your thighs together.
“Leon,” your slurring speech makes his brows furrow, his lips downturned, “play with me.”
A low sound rumbles deep in his chest when you continue to prod at him, is he seriously growling at you? This dog has no manners whatsoever. Seriously, who raised him? It can’t have been Chris. “Leon,” you drag it out this time, whining as you clamber on top of him.
Sniffing his neck, you lick at his Adam’s apple, watch as it bobs when he swallows. He opens his eyes, glares at you through light lashes, swats at your face.
“Play with me, Leon,” your bottom lip juts out, giving him those eyes that no one is able to say no to. None of the pet shop workers could, and Chris certainly can’t, so Leon should surely fall for it.
Leon’s eye twitches, his lip curls upwards, flashing those big teeth of his. It’s a warning that you take with a grain of salt. “Leon, ‘m wanna play,” you say again, wriggling on top of him, your hands planted on that firm chest of his.
You’re a pest. A mutt at best. A bother, a hindrance, all of the above. Leon doesn’t know many other words. He has no clue on whose idea this was, couldn’t have been Chris on his own, must’ve been his sister. Or the lady with the pixie cut, one who brings him treats whenever she visits. ‘Cause Chris knows him well enough. Knows that Leon likes to be alone lately. That a new puppy is just an extra mouth to feed for Chris. He doesn’t need company, doesn’t appreciate a hyperactive pup kneeing him in the gut every hour in an attempt to play some kiddy games.
Total cutie. He’ll give you that. Soft and sweet like all puppies are. Floppy ears, fluffy tail, cute teeth that don’t do much damage. Droopy tits, layer of pudge that puppies tend to have, full hips, and a pert ass.
Now, Leon would never hurt you on purpose. It’s why he sticks to threats he never follows through with. Snarling, baring his teeth, the regular shit. Would get any normal pup scampering away from him, but you’re spoiled rotten. You get what you want at the drop of a hat. He blames that on Chris. Old age has made him sappy. Old age has only made Leon feel like shit. His bones ache on the daily, can’t even get up to bark at the mailman anymore, his walks have been cut down to half an hour once a day, finds it harder to chew on those dental bones Chris tosses him. Stressful times. And the cherry on top of his shit sandwich is you. The little nuisance who insists on bothering him no matter what.
“Leon,” you start again, talking in that high-pitched tone, an excessive amount of spit garbling your speech, “play!”
Christ, you don’t know when to give up. He gives you a light shove, hopes it’s enough to deter you, of course that's just wishful thinking. You bounce back fast. Pressing your forehead to his, you muster up your nastiest glare. Cute. You’re cute when you do that. “Play with me.” Each word is punctuated by your fists smacking down on his chest.
You’re hovering over him, bare bottom on his clothed lap, tits pressed flush to his chest. Every piece of clothing Chris tried to put on you was deemed itchy. Snipping off the labels never helped, you seem to only like cashmere, expensive taste. So he gave up. Lets you wander around in your birthday suit.
“I don’t want to play,” Leon gets out through gritted teeth, expression contorting into one of restraint when you rock your hips back and forth absentmindedly. You’re being playful. Trying to get him up, trying to get any sort of reaction from him. But he can feel you. Leon’s been out of business for a long time. He was so damn sure his dick had malfunctioned a couple years back. No seed left to spare. This old dog was dried out.
This is all it took to get him fixed up? Puppy cunt? God. What a sicko. He sits up, hands on your hips to still you. Your brow quirks in confusion, blinking at him dumbly. Poor puppy. Don’t even know how wet you are. How your heady scent is coating the walls, making it unbearable for Leon to even breathe. He’s going fuckin’ crazy.
Leon pins you down, hair hanging in your face as he hovers over you. “Playing?” You ask him, face lighting up at the prospect of getting him to join in on your games.
Oh, he’ll teach you a new game, alright. It’s cute how you act all haughty, get Chris running around like a headless chicken ‘cause you’ve got so many demands, when really you’re just a stupid pup. Can’t even take care of yourself. Walkin’ around with this drippy pussy, an itch so deep in your core you can’t scratch it. Leon can’t lie, he’s cracked open an eye to see you trying your best to get rid of it. The ache in your lower belly. Rubbing yourself all over that pink teddy Chris brought back after a trip. Pressing its wet snout deep into your cunt to get rid of that strange tingle, but to no avail. Leon found it a little funny. He remembers being that way.
The sound you let out when he spreads your fat pussy is adorable. A whine that borders on a yelp. You’re frightened and confused for a moment, until his fingertips find your swollen clit, pushing back the hood, swiping over it again and again. Then you melt into a puddle of goop. That’s right. Must feel so damn good. You’ve got a chubby cunt, pillowy lips that hide your bud from his view, fluffy fur all over your tummy and crotch that’ll shed in a few months time and grow back in a darker shade. Cute little thing. He’s gonna eat you up.
He bullies his way between your thighs. Your scent is so much thicker now. Clinging to his skin in a way he’ll be unable to wash off. The first swipe of his tongue through your folds has your hips bucking up, pelvis mashing into his nose a little painfully. Leon makes sure to hold you down. You’re sugary sweet in his mouth, like he’s bitten into a ripe fruit. Your pussy sure is the sweetest peach he’s ever seen.
“Leon…” you grab at his ears, tug on them to combat the immense pleasure that tears through you. Ouch. He’s gotta get Chris to trim those claws of yours down.
His hand is splayed across your tummy, holding you down as he buries his face in your cunt. Leon nips at your inner thighs then goes back to making those obnoxious noises that any lady with dignity would be mortified by. But you’re a stupid puppy that can’t tell left from right. Eyes rolling back into your skull as he slurps away, lips smacking noisily, his tongue fucking in and out of that tight hole.
Your toes curl in your fluffy socks, hips arching up despite his hold on them, pussy gushing like a burst pipe all over him. “There you go, atta girl,” Leon hums, flicking your clit one last time for good measure. He smiles at the sound you let out, a pitchy yap of irritation.
More where that came from. You got him all worked up. That hasn’t happened in years. His cock is dripping, a wet patch forms in the front of his sweats that he’s quick to lower. Your mouth waters at the sight, smiling at him all dopey. It’s instinct, it seems, for you to be a greedy, cock-hungry little pup. Leon’s all for enthusiasm, so he’ll give it to you, reward the spoiled little pup.
He’s sheathed inside of you in no time. You’re made for this sorta thing. Made to be a breeding bitch if he wants to get crude about it. So he doesn’t worry too much ‘bout how you’re adjusting. Just moves his hips forward sharply, fat tip jabbing at your cervix, and watching as you tremble.
“Mmm, Leon,” your nails scratch down his chest, ears flattening against your head as you gaze up at him with starry eyes. This all it takes to calm you down? Some dick? Leon’s willing to give it whenever you get rowdy. Spit pools in your mouth, dribbles down your chin, and he’s quick to lick it up. You don’t know how to kiss him. But you try. It’s clumsy and open-mouthed, your tiny hands cupping his stubbly cheeks as you just kinda slobber all over the lower half of his face. That’s alright. Leon got the hang of it after about five years. He can teach you.
You’re sucking his dick in, pussy tight around him like a vice, his balls slap against your ass. It’s so good. Fuck. He should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve jumped you the moment Chris brought you home. What an idiot. He was basically gifting Leon a living fuckdoll and he missed out on it for a good month or so. You’re so easy, kicking your legs, and digging your nails into his biceps as you cream on his fat cock, leaving a ring of milky white around the base.
He’s old now, can’t help the way his breath is a little ragged as he nears his high, can’t last as long as he used to. Don’t matter anyway. ‘Cause you’re satisfied. He fills you up like a creampuff. There’s a little surprise on your face when his knot begins to swell, stretching your cute hole till it’s gaping.
“Fun.” You tell him with a sleepy smile. Leon’s tongue smooths over your fluffy ears, he remembers his fur being this soft. They’re wet with perspiration, but he likes the taste of you. He grooms you to his heart's content. It’s been a while since he’s done any of that. Makes him feel rather happy actually. Like a weight has lifted from his chest. You’re falling asleep so he manages to roll over, careful not to move too fast and tear you in half while he’s knotted. He has you on top of him, face in his neck as you snore lightly. The warmth is putting him to sleep too.
Leon only stirs when he hears the jingle of keys and a few voices from down the hall. You’re still knocked out and drooling. The front door opens, Chris is talking to someone he tries to pick up on through smell.
“Jesus, buddy, what’d you do to her?” Chris kneels down beside them, pats Leon’s head then yours.
“They do get along well, Chris,” it’s Rebecca, she’s smiling down at Leon, he can sniff out those expensive treats in the pocket of her winter coat. “Guess it’s just when you’re around.”
“No, no, I swear,” he holds his hands up in defence, “Leon’s always being a fuckin’ bastard when it comes to her.”
“You’re just being mean to him,” Rebecca says, cooing as she pinches Leon’s cheek, “hey, there, good boy.”
“Yeah,” Chris lets out an exasperated laugh, “sure, whatever, glad you like your new pal, buddy.”
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