Fox | 20s | ACCOUNT IS 18+ AND BLOG OWNER LOVES HOT MILITARY MEN MDNI
25 posts
Seaglass-fox - SEAGLASS FOX - Tumblr Blog
Your Honor, in my defense, it was my very last nerve and I did warn them
🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋🐚 𓈒𓏸 • 🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋🐚 𓈒𓏸• 🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋
SEAGLASS FOX
(or just Fox)
🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋🐚 𓈒𓏸 • 🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋🐚 𓈒𓏸• 🌊˖°𓇼⋆🐋
About Fox
⇾ 20+ years old
⇾ They/He + xenos
⇾ Trans male (more specifics are complex)
⇾ Uranic Acesexual(MAYBE?????)
⇾ College man
⇾ Writes COD mostly
⇾ Horny on main
⇾ Does not like tik tok (wtf is skibbidi rizz actually)
⇾ Desperate to talk about blorbos and ships
⇾ Unfortunately uses tumblr on IOS 😔
⇾ does not have the patience to figure out headers
⇾ extreme meme consumer
About the blog and Rules
⇾ 18+ account. MINORS, AGLESS, AND BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT, SHIT WILL BE CHECKED. IN MY COUNTRY ANYONE UNDER 18 IS CONSIDERED A *MINOR*.
⇾ DO NOT USE MY SHIT FOR AI
⇾ YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR CURATING YOUR OWN ONLINE EXPERIENCE. IM NOT YOUR FUCKING PARENT.
⇾ Dumbasses and assholes will be blocked. Basic DNI goes here.
⇾ Age range interactions are fucking stupid. If you have them, disrespectfully fuck off. You're an adult, not an 11 year old on discord.
⇾ Writes whatever the fuck* I want for whatever fandoms I vibe with the most
⇾ WILL NOT BE ENGAGING WITH ANY DONATIONS ASKS REGARDING PALESTINE. I'm uncomfortable with it and there are so many scamming bots. Sorry, I don't want it weighing on my conscience that I helped someone with pure intentions get scammed.
⇾ Don't like don't read, ship and let ship**
⇾ I have the right to refuse anything and also have the right to publicly clown on you
⇾ Don't be a parasocial creep (except mutuals you can talk to me all you want and be parasocial 🫶 but expect replies ranging from either 20 seconds to 3-5 business days)
⇾ If you dislike a character just because of an actor/va or something, please leave unless you have a valid reason that isn't "their (actor/va) is problematic". We're talking about a character.
* I will not write: Age regression, Ageplay/ABDL (i think its fucking nasty so leave me alone), Underage, scat, waterplay, incest, rape, zoophilia
** Warning: Please do not use this to ship real people :( I've seen shit and do not condone this behaviour
(updated last: 15/10/2024)
so question (like actual genuine question)
what exact do mutuals do
im unfortunately very confused and socially anxious to talk to people. Like I wanna say hi but I'm like a deer in headlights
like do you talk about ideas or just vibe i don't know
cw// mentioned MCD, CODMW3 spoilers, (implied) self harm/self sabotage, [and op can't tag for shit bc he's in class]
Blue.
Ghost loved the colour blue for so many reasons. The sky, the ocean, the hydrangeas that grew outside his flat building. But he loved it the most because it was the colour of Soap's eyes.
Those high energy and effervescent blue eyes, they were the beginning of the end for Ghost. No matter when he looked, his Sergeant's eyes were always the same: Full of life and joy. The way the Scotsman's nose crinkled with every playful jab, how his lips would curl into a tight smirk.. Ghost loved it all, don't get him wrong. But he loved the way those crow's feet looked on the corners of Soap's eyes. And how they always drew attention back to them.
And because of Soap? He loved the colour blue more than anything.
But after that mission.. the day they lost Soap- no, the day he lost Johnny- because of fucking Makarov, was when the world started to seem darker. Despite his best efforts, Simon couldn't shake 141 off him. No matter how much he hurt them (or himself) they wouldn't leave. Price and Kyle said they understood, that they would be there, but they didn't understand. They COULDN'T understand what it was like. What Simon was going through. 141 lost Soap, but Simon lost his Johnny.
Simon hates the colour blue. Because it reminded him of Johnny.
(Aggressively slams table)
THIS IS GOOD SHIT!
Practice
About this: certified drabble gone out of hand. best friend!Kyle Gaz Garrick/fem!reader. PIV, fingering, oral (fem receiving). King of your firsts, you ask your best friend Kyle to take your virginity.
Part 1 here.
-
“Kyle?”
“Hm?”
“Can I talk to you about something?”
He sucks in a breath, like you’ve asked for something painful. “No can do, honey pie. I’m just here to sit in silence.”
You roll your eyes, though his joke breaks through the ice of your nerves and melts that anxious, frozen part inside you. Kyle’s good at that—putting you at ease. He does it in such easy, flippant ways that you aren’t even sure if it’s being done intentionally. Just another excuse added to the grocery-list-length of reasons why you’re here now, asking him for this.
“If I had a favor…a big one. Would you do it?”
He grins, a flash of pale, straight teeth. “That’s totally dependent on the favor. Does it involve burying a body?”
“No.”
“—because my answer is yes—“
“Would you have sex with me? For my first time.” The mirthful expression drops from his face, all teasing fading away. He turns to you—literally angles his body toward you—to give you his full attention. You do your best to meet his eyes. See, you can make eye contact too. You’re to be taken seriously.
He blinks placidly and asks: “Why me?”
“We’ve practiced stuff before,” you begin to recite, though that grocery list of reasons why Kyle would make the perfect party in your brain has suddenly gone frustratingly fuzzy. “You make me feel safe, and I’m—like, really attracted to you.”
His mouth wobbles, threatening to grin. “Yeah?” he asks, playing at unaffected. He runs a hand over his shorn hair and answers for himself: “Yeah.”
“Kyle. Focus.”
“Okay, okay, how’s this for focus: all those things you just said? Those are things you’ll probably feel for someone in the future. A partner. Somebody you really want to give yourself to. So why do it now with me? Why not wait for it to be real?” he asks.
It’s…it’s a good question. With a really good answer. But telling Kyle that this is real for you? That’s not an option. So ignoring the obvious, what’s another good reason you could possibly have for not wanting to wait for Mx. Right?
Kyle’s waiting, watching, brows raised in an smug expression that says, See. I’ve just talked you down from a dangerous ledge. You’re welcome, when you finally settle on the only excuse you can think of.
“Because,” you say, “I wanna feel good now.”
-
He can get behind that. He can get underneath it, on top of it. Anywhere it wants him—Kyle can get there. Because you deserve to feel good, and there’s nobody in this godforsaken world who deserves to be making you feel good, but Kyle comes close. You chose him, after all, and he thinks that must stand for something.
He sinks into the mindset the way other men must slip into well-fitting suits; this is tailor-made for him. He’ll give you the princess treatment: dinner, back to his place for wine, then he’ll sip the taste of it off of your tongue and—
At the first sign of his acquiescence, you whip your shirt off over your head and his brain blue screens.
“Whoa,” he says. He gives himself a solid moment to eat you up with his eyes: your soft curves, your dimples, the bra you’ve chosen with the lacy edges—god, did you somehow know that he’s a sucker for lace? After the moment ends he contents himself to going hungry, scoops up your shirt and hands it back to you. “I didn’t mean now.”
You frown, pressing your shirt to your chest to protect your modesty. “When, then?”
“When I have the chance to treat you right,” says Kyle, laying a hand on your thigh, smoothing his thumb along the curve of your knee. “To take you out first. Dress up. Light some scented candles, I don’t know—“
“That sounds like it will take forever,” you grumble. “Can’t we fast forward? Give me a sec.”
Brushing his hand away, you disappear into your bedroom and then the light to the en suite bathroom clicks on. You leave your shirt behind. Kyle’s fingers are drawn to it, feeling the warmth from where it pressed against your skin. He wonders if it smells like you, but Jesus he’s not going to sniff your fucking shirt. He’s not that desperate—
God, it smells good.
You reappear just a split second after he tosses your shirt back into its place on the sofa, and you set your boon down on the coffee table. It’s a scented candle, blueberry, half burned off. You flick the sparkwheel of the lighter in your hand and tip the candle dangerously sideways to light it.
“There!” you say cheerfully. “Candles. All my dreams are suddenly coming true.”
“You are a cheeky little brat. You want in my pants that bad?” he asks, just to watch the way your mouth drops, words turning into stuttered syllables. He laughs and pats his lap. “C’mere.”
You go, kneeling over him. His hips are slim, but it’s still a stretch for you, his hands finding your waist and helping to keep you steady, thumbs smoothing against the bare skin of your belly. He draws you against him in a hug, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down the length of your back, soft and slow, drawing shivers from you.
“What’re you so eager for, hm?” Kyle wonders. On his lap like this, arms looped around his neck, you have a small height advantage. He pulls back to look up at you, eyes tracing over your nose down to your mouth and back up again, memorizing your features in the dim lamplight. “Don’t even know what you’re missing, do you?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” you murmur, playing with the collar of his shirt. It tickles, but he doesn’t laugh. “Virginity is an outdated concept anyway.”
“You want it?”
Your brows raise. “Yes?”
He’s a bastard for saying: “Don’t sound too sure to me.”
“I want it, Kyle. Come on, don’t tease me.”
“Hey—if we do this, you’re in charge,” he tells you, finally relenting against his body’s fervent desire to see his cock harden. You shift on his lap and he has to pause speaking, hands flexing against you. “Whatever you say goes. Whenever you want to stop, we stop. Alright?”
“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”.
“Tough,” he says. “Those are the rules, honey pie. Take it or leave it.”
“Can I make my first rule?”
“I’m all ears.”
You clear your throat and mutter into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “Kyle, I want you to be in charge.”
Kyle’s breath leaves him in a rush. He’s a bad man. He must be, for getting so drunk off of those words. For wanting so badly to be in charge of you and your pretty body, for finding your overwhelming trust in him absolutely heady.
He leans up and kisses you. It’s not the first time you’ve ever kissed, but it’s easily the best. You take it to a hungry place and he doesn’t even attempt to rein you in, just sighs into your mouth and sucks on your tongue, your kisses turning into a heated give-and-take that reminds him of ocean waves he wants to be swept away in.
You settle more firmly in his lap, fingers stroking up through his shaved hair. Your nails against his scalp makes him groan. The two of you kiss until your mouths are numb, until you have devolved into little thrusts against him, seeking friction.
When you seem well and truly desperate, Kyle slips his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts, thumbs tracing your skin above the cups of your bra.
“Take it off,” you gasp against his mouth. “Please Kyle, take it off—“
“Pretty pushy for the girl who isn’t in charge anymore.”
“Kyle!”
“Alright, alright,” he says, hands tracing around your ribs to the clasp at the back. He undoes it on the first try and mutters under his breath: “Score.”
“What?” you pant, slipping your arms from the straps. The bra comes off, and tumbles from the couch to the floor, but neither of you pay it any mind.
Kyle can’t speak. He’s never seen you here before, miles of new flesh on display. Your nipples pucker in the cool air under his stare, and he reaches out to rub the pad of his thumb over one, watching you shudder. When he cups your breasts in his palms he can’t help but think how well they fit in his hands, how every part of you seems molded for him. He’s not going to be able to let you go after this. It’s like being behind the wheel skidding on black ice. He sees the collision course he is on, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
“Are you sensitive here?” he asks, thumbing at the hard peak of one breast.
“Isn’t everyone?” you breathe.
“No,” says Kyle with a warm laugh. He pinches you softly, attuned to the breath you suck in and the way your body trembles. You are a sensitive little thing, untouched by other hands, and fuck, Kyle’s never had a thing for virgins but he’s got a thing for you, and it threatens to destroy him.
“Gonna ruin you,” he says, leaning in to nuzzle at the hammering pulse in your throat. He opens his mouth and scrapes his teeth over your collarbone just to hear the way you squeak.
“Do it,” you whisper, hips grinding down against the hard line of his clothed erection. “Come on, Kyle, you’re all talk—“
“Me—?”
“—said I wanted to feel good,” you say. “Why am I still waiting?”
Well. It’s logic he can’t argue with.
He urges you off of his lap. “Bedroom.”
“Alright,” you laugh.
Just after you stand on shaking legs, Kyle adds: “Race ya.”
-
Kyle launches himself over the back of the couch in a move that would not look nearly so smooth if you tried, socked-feet slipping on the hardwood as he races toward the bedroom.
“Kyle, you cheater!” you howl, rushing after him.
“Blow out that candle, it’s a fire hazard!” he shouts behind him, sending you whirling back to the coffee table to huff a breath against the flame.
By the time you make it into the bedroom, he’s reclined on your bed, ankles crossed, hat resting over his face like he is taking a restful nap. You’d believe it if it weren’t for the erection tenting his jeans.
“If you’re tired, I can leave you to nap,” you snark, feigning for the door.
Kyle whips his hat off of his head and tosses it like a frisbee with frightening dexterity. The hard brim clatters against your knuckles and makes you gasp, clutching them against your chest as you stare at him in shock.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Kyle says. He sheds his shirt in that slick little maneuver men have mastered, gripping the back collar and tugging it up and over his head. It reveals a length of dark, soft skin stretched taut over muscle that has your mouth watering. You’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times—God, you’ve seen him naked, really, though not all at once—but it never stops having such a heated effect on you. He kneels up and comes to the edge of the bed, sitting on the side, reaching out one hand for you, palm soft and facing up. “C’mere.”
You go to him, taking his hands and lacing your fingers together. He strokes his thumb against yours.
“You wanna finish undressing me?” he asks.
“Do you want me to finish undressing you?”
Kyle stares. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. He gets it; he always does. Standing up, he guides your hand to rest flat against his abs, drawing it downward toward his belt buckle. He says: “Undress me, then.”
Your hands shake as you unfasten his belt. You don’t bother slipping it free of the loops, just let it dangle open while unfastening his jeans. His erection makes that a little more difficult than it might have been otherwise, and every time your knuckles brush against him, he gives little sighs that go straight to your head.
He’s not wearing any underwear.
“Gaz you devil.”
“That’s me,” he says with a warm smile. His fingers find the waistband of your leggings, and it’s his turn to draw them down your legs and let you brace yourself on his broad shoulders while he helps you out of them. With any other man you might have been shy, but there’s no room for it with Gaz. The way he looks at you takes up all that space in your brain for anxiety. He looks at you like he’s seeing artwork, like he wants to pin you to the wall and stare at you for the rest of his life.
“Bed time,” he says, coaxing you down onto the soft duvet. You shift to scoot back but his hands grip your thighs, fingers denting the soft flesh as he tugs you back toward the edge of the bed in a show of strength that has your heart hammering. He kneels and spreads your thighs. Then he shuts his eyes, muttering under his breath.
You lean up onto your elbows. “What is it?”
His eyes flicker open. “In my house we pray before we eat, thank you.”
“Kyle!”
He’s still laughing when his mouth presses against you. You slip off of your elbows and onto your back, both hands clasped over your eyes as he licks a broad stripe over your folds. Gaz eats pussy with remarkable tenderness, no hint of teeth, all tongue and soft kisses. He lets you hide your face and muffle your noises but draws the line when you try to close your legs with his head still between them. Winding his arms up over your thighs, he pins them open to the bed with his forearms, hands framing your cunt nicely. His thumbs slip in your own arousal when he tries to spread your folds too, and in the end he gives up, burying his face deeper into you to tongue at your entrance.
He draws back for breath at one point, his pretty jaw smeared with your slick. He sounds winded when he asks: “What do you think, honey? Can you cum like this?”
You continue covering your eyes with one hand, but the other reaches down to grip at his short hair and guide his mouth back to your clit. He chuckles against you but takes the hint, lapping the flat of his tongue at that aching epicenter of nerves, taking it into his mouth and suckling with sweetness.
You’re climbing that first peak when he carefully slips his first finger inside you, giving you just enough to whet your appetite. You hadn’t realized how badly you craved something inside you until you had that slender finger to grip, but now you want more.
“Another, Kyle, please,” you ask.
He groans, mouth full of you, and shifts on his knees. Pulling back, he guides two fingers into you, easy as anything. “I love your manners. You’re so fucking good, you know that? So good.”
He stops talking before he can make you uncomfortable—knows the way your chest feels fileted open with any kind of praise or compliment—and gets back to his important work. With his fingers gently working you open and his mouth on your clit, it takes hardly any time for the pleasure to crest, the muscles in your belly tensing as your pleasure draws tight and then snaps clean in two. Your toes curl, groan bitten off as you clamp your mouth shut, pussy spasming around his fingers. He works you through it, dark eyes shut like he’s savoring the taste of you.
“Can you take more?” he asks, mouth wet, lips swollen.
Your head bobs in a nod, throat dry from all the sounds you’ve been making. Kyle’s grin is beatific, and he leans down to kiss your closest thigh while he works a third finger into you. This one gives you a pleasant stretch, but there is no pain; you are plenty wet and relaxed.
“You want me to use a condom?” he asks, smoothing his free hand over your belly to watch the muscles jump and twitch at his soft touch. “You been taking your pill everyday?”
You roll your eyes. “Jesus, yes, Kyle I’ve been taking my birth control. Do you—?”
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “This one’s on you. Condom or no condom.”
“Could we—without?”
“We could,” he teases with a smile. He stands, fingers slipping free from inside you. It leaves you feeling empty, aching.
You hope that he’ll make you cum again.
Leaning over you, he plants a hand on either side of you and kisses you, still tasting faintly of where his mouth has been. You loop you arms around his neck, pulling him down until he rests his weight against you, chest-to-chest, your legs hooked around his waist. When he pulls back, it’s just to encourage you higher up onto the mattress so he can follow, finding his home once again in the hollow of your thighs. He says: “Let me know if anything hurts, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, looking up at him. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like there’s enough breath in your lungs. You feel starstruck by him, by the look of concentration on his face as he angles his hips until his tip brushes against your folds. Slowly, he slips inside you, and it’s a fullness you’ve never known from your own fingers or even his. Your eyes fall shut, but your mouth can’t help smiling, beaming practically.
“Yeah?” Kyle laughs breathlessly. “That good already?”
You get the giggles.
“Not the best time to laugh at a man, you might give him a complex,” Kyle says, grinning.
“All men deserve complexes.”
“Except for me.”
“Sure.”
He sinks in, deeper, deeper until there’s nowhere left for him to go. His forehead brushes against your own, and your eyes open to find his own closed, mouth parted as he pants softly, looking almost as wrecked as you feel. He opens his eyes and catches you looking, but instead of calling you out, he just cocks his head, giving one of his pretty, closed-lip smiles.
He sets a slow rhythm to start with, and it’s not enough. Your ankles lock around his back, urging him on, fingers scrambling for purchase against the smooth skin of his shoulders. Every thrust drags against the wet, swollen walls of your cunt, and at the apex his pubic bone meets your clit in a touch that’s nearly soft as a kiss.
“Is it good for you?” you wonder, taking note of his uncharacteristic silence.
He drops his head to rest in the dark juncture between your neck and shoulder, kissing you there. “Best it’s ever been,” he admits with a little laugh. “Your pussy is perfect. I’m trying not to cum and end things early.”
You groan. Something about that knowledge makes the heat in your belly rise up to a boil. You clench around him on instinct, and he hisses a breath against your neck, then teases the spot with his teeth. When he’s drawn blood to the surface of your skin, he leans up onto his elbows to admire his work. His mouth is swollen, but he looks unquestionably pleased with himself.
For a while the two of you continue on like that: his lazy thrusts and mouth leaving bruises on your neck. Bracing himself on one elbow, he takes your hand and kisses your fingertips before guiding it down between you both toward your pussy.
“Make yourself feel good,” he says. “You probably can’t cum just from this.”
Your body agrees. He felt good inside you, but it isn’t until you touch your clit that you feel the first tendrils of that addictive heat in your belly. You chase it immediately, eyes falling shut as your fingers work faster. It’s different with him inside you—like there’s no room for the pleasure to fizzle out and die the way it sometimes does at your own touch. Instead he drives you higher, especially as his tight-knit control wavers and his hips drive into you with more force.
You forget to tell him when you’re close. It creeps up on you, really. All at once your muscles seize, everything focused on that narrow place between your legs and the epicenter of an orgasm that has your back arching until your breasts press flush against his chest. (You hear him suck in a breath like you’ve stabbed him, his voice shaky when he asks: “Are you cumming?” but there’s no breath to answer him with.) There’s no more room for your hand to work but Kyle’s thrusts drag you through the aftershocks. It seems to go on forever, your sounds embarrassing but your brain wiped clean of embarrassment.
“I’m not pulling out unless you tell me to,” he says once your ears have stopped ringing. He sounds strained, his chest brushing against your nipples with every shallow pant. “So jot that down.”
“Don’t want you to,” you admit, boneless. “I want to know what it feels like when you cum inside me.”
Kyle moans quietly. His head drops, forehead resting against your own as his thrusts grow hectic. He mutters the quietest fuck in your ear when he cums, filling you with a rush of wet warmth that turns the sounds of his cock slick and lewd as he works himself through it with your pussy.
When he pulls out, it’s jarring. You feel so empty. He kneels back on his heels and spreads your thighs to watch his own spend leak from your entrance and says it again, that quiet little fuck that makes you feel invincible.
Collapsing on the bed beside you, he finds your mouth, cradling your head in one of his hands, turning you to angle your mouth just right for his tongue.
“You were perfect,” he says when he breaks the kiss. His knuckles skim your cheekbone. “Thank you. For choosing me.”
You nod, throat suddenly tight. It’s over now, time to return to reality. Except you don’t want it to be over. You don’t want a reality without Kyle by your side or in your bed. How did you think that this would be a good idea? How did you think you could be so intimate with him and just let him go? Stupidly your eyes burn, and he must see something on your face because he rushes to assure you: “Hey, we’re okay. Nothing’s different now, yeah?”
Yeah, you think dully. That’s the problem.
NO BECAUSE HE IS LEGIT! I just
I can't put it into words
If any of my followers watch Vox Machina, can we just talk about Zurxus is basically hot demon price????
aw I love this! I can't wait to see the finished product!
My friend wanted me to make a Garrick as an otter, so there he is. Not quite ready yet, but in the making :D
Gaz reference sheet I'm using was made by @ave661
Supp! I was you have a Minors DNI and that your blog is 18+ and I totally don't wanna disrespect it but I was wondering if a 17 year old is actually within that dni or a sorta whatever type thing? I'm assuming it's still gonna be a minors dni but I'm just curious- sorry! Hope ya have a great day/night and remember to stay hydrated! (And I saw some of your art on google and like the monster au stuff I saw and was just curious before I actually interact ans such!)
hi there! yes, 17 is absolutely within the minors DNI category. sorry!
Wren my friend says Soap looks like he has horse girl energy and refuses to elaborate what the fuck does that mean
Please take this wiki-how page which has actively me sobbing.
(Your friend is right)
not an entirely interesting apocalypse scenario, but i'm loving the idea of reader has to cope/deal with the consequences of taking in another survivor and his friends who were basically on death's door when she found them. 5 mouths to feed during the winter in little house that really should be able to only fit one is a dangerous game, especially since the dead never seem to freeze or stop coming. And when a blizzard comes? Nothing around them seems safe anymore, not even each other.
-🍋
(its 2am sorry for any errors)
hooooooooooooooooooo omg, lemon, this is eerie af.
i love the image of like...a white landscape, snow powdering the ground, and just that stark red blood against it.
this is good.
in my head, zombie au simon talks more to fill the void whenever he's alone. like all of the 141 survived the initial hit when it happened but having to be on higher alert creates a little loneliness so he talks to himself or js out loud.
tht is until he finds reader and he stops talking for a little because there is no void. there's only her voice and her cats (2) purring all the time. so now he can go back to listening and sometimes talking. <3
ughhhhhhh you're making me blush i swear.
angst with guaranteed comfort
I support perverts. Like all of you for example
