#Hardened washer

[sunflowertoonz]

Man I sure hope I didnt leave any nice drawings in my pockets when I washed it!

*pulls out a wad of hard paper from the dryer two hours later*

Ffffffuck-

[seventeenpins]

sniff

pairing: worst!Logan x neighbor!reader word count: 3k summary: You catch Logan with your stolen panties. content/warnings: pervy old man Logan, panty sniffing, masturbation with panties, mutual masturbation, a whole lot of fantasizing, kinda sub!Logan a/n: Still deep in the trenches here, folks. The Logan brainrot has gotten out of hand. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for making me worse ilu 😘

Logan was a bad man. He knew that. Had spent years knowing that.

Sure, he’d saved this universe, but he still had his demons.

The first time he’d crossed paths with you, you’d knocked him out. You’re a pretty little thing, all sweet and soft. There’s no way you’d ever want a man like him, all anger and failure, grey in his hair, face lined with time and exhaustion.

But you were kind, and charming. Made him smile every time you saw him in the halls or in the laundry room.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But when he sees you in your leggings and a tight little top, every curve on display, he just can’t help it. He can't tear his eyes away.

Your ass jiggles as you’re bent over the washer, tossing your dirty laundry in the machine haphazardly, and you don’t notice when you drop a lacy pair of panties.

He should tell you. He should really tell you. 

Instead, though, he moves closer to you. Makes up some lie about this machine having been on the fritz. Gives the washer a little smack, the metal of the machine twanging against the metal of his bones.

And, as you thank him and turn back, he snatches up your lacy panties and slips them into his pocket. 

“You have a good day, now, sweetheart,” he tells you, and you turn to face him, a bright smile on your face.

”You too, Logan! I’ll see you round.”

He makes a quick exit, cock already hardening, panties burning a hole in his pocket.

When he gets back to the apartment, he slams the door behind him hard enough to shake the doorframe. He slips into the bathroom, away (hopefully) from the prying ears of Wade and Al, double checking to make sure he has the lock latched securely. He thinks they’re out. He hopes they’re out. If they’re not out, they’d better not say shit if they hear him.

With a quick tug, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, letting his cock spring free from its confines. He slips the panties from his pocket and sighs. They’re barely more than a glorified shred of lace. He holds them up, examines them. Do you wear this style every day, a little thong like this, or is it only for special occasions? Maybe you were wearing them for someone else, some little boyfriend?

The thought enrages him. He knows it’s unfair, that your life is none of his business. Maybe you are dating someone. That’s fine. You’re young and pretty and deserve someone good. Someone better than a man like him.

But fuck he would take care of you right. Wouldn’t stop till you were shaking and crying, utterly fucked out and satisfied, covered in sweat, the slick of your release all over both of you.

With that thought, he brings the panties to his face.

He takes a deep sniff and groans.

He could smell them already, smell you, but it was different from a distance. With your panties in his face, he breathes deep, tries to take you in, all you, only you.

It’s dizzying, the scent of you. The smell of your pussy is intoxicating and he wants so much more. He darts his tongue out, licking at the crusty gusset. He groans as he tastes you. The panties had been worn days ago, but as he sucks at them, he makes them wet again, slippery.

He fists himself with one hand, painfully hard to the point he’s dripping, and with the other, holds your underwear up to his mouth, soaking the fabric.

Then, he wraps the wet panties around his cock and starts jerking himself off.

God, he hopes no one’s home. He tries to quiet the sounds coming out of him, but he simply can’t. The feeling of your panties choking his dick is incredible, even better than he’d hoped when he nabbed them. His breaths are coming out in pants and growls, and he feels more like an animal than he has in a long, long time.

“Fuck-” he grits, imagining all the things he’d like to do to you. He wants to taste you, straight from the source. Spread your pretty little pussy and spit, mixing saliva with your arousal. He wants to fold you over, shove your face into the pillow and ass in the air, all for him to smack and grope at. Spread your cheeks and thumb your asshole. Maybe you’ve never taken a cock in the ass before, maybe he can be your first.

His mind swims with every filthy thought he’s ever had about you. He wants, he wants, he wants—

He wants to bite down on your inner thighs, leave bruises on that soft, soft skin. Plunge three fingers into your glistening pussy and take.

Logan can still taste you on his lips. 

It’s with that thought, and one more slick tug, and he’s spilling into your panties.

There’s a lot. More than he would’ve expected. He keeps coming, the jerk of his hips punctuated with heavy breaths and growls, sweat dripping down his temples and brain blissfully blank from his exertions.

Fuck.

The post nut clarity starts to hit, slowly at first and then all at once.

FUCK.

He should not have done that. 

Stealing your panties? Really? God, he really was just a perverted old man. You could never know, he’d have to find a way to slip them back in your hamper the next time you met doing laundry.

And despite that, despite the shame and guilt and absolute self loathing, he brings the wadded ball of panties to his mouth and licks one last tentative time, tasting both of you together on the flimsy lace.

It tastes like heaven.

Gingerly, he tucks his dick back into his jeans. Glances at himself in the mirror, and fusses a little, straightening out his disheveled appearance.

After one more look over himself, ruined panties balled up in his hand, he unlocks the bathroom door and steps out. 

He exclaims when he sees you, smile on your face, reclined on the sofa next to Wade. Fuck these fucking walls had better be soundproof. FUCK.

”Peanut,” Wade sing-songs, “We have company! This little morsel from down the hall was just telling me how she’d run into you earlier today. She brought us some muffins.”

He puts undue emphasis on muffin in a way that makes Logan blush, just a little.

”Just had some bananas that were past their prime and I made too many. After I saw you earlier I thought I should drop some off as a thank you!”

“A thank you?” Logan asks, suddenly confused.

”Yeah, for helping with the washer!” You frown, surprised that he’d already forgotten.

Logan hesitates to make eye contact, instead only grunting vaguely in your direction with a curt nod.

He shuffles over to the kitchen and grabs himself a beer. Much to his chagrin, the muffins do smell good. 

He’s not sure if you notice that he’s trying to ignore you, but you still seem cheerful.

”Well,” Wade sighs, “I’d better get going. I have a hot date tonight and I will not be late. Again. By more than fifteen minutes.”

”Say hi to Vanessa from me,” you tell him, and right as he’s standing you turn to him. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” You ask, and Wade points you towards the door Logan had just exited.

”Have at it,” he says, and then in a stage whisper tells you, “But if you die, I’m not to be held responsible. Peanut was in there for a while and I can tell you from experience, a wolverine-dump is frightening to behold, even if it’s just the aftermath.”

You snort a laugh and move towards the bathroom as Wade tugs a particularly hideous hat on top of his heinous toupee. “Play nice,” he mock-glares at Logan, “We want more friends in this building who bring us delicious, delicious baked goods.”

With that, he slips out of the apartment.

It’s then that Logan realizes–the panties are no longer in his hand. He’d dropped them. He’d fucking dropped them!

It’s so fucking stupid. So unbelievably fucking stupid. He’d dropped the panties when he saw you, startled out of his train of thought.

And left them on the floor of the bathroom.

”NO!” Logan calls, and tries to get to the door before you make it there, but he’s already moments too late.

As he dashes around the kitchen island and towards the bathroom door, you’ve already shut the door behind you. At the sound of his footsteps, the door swings back open, and you’re standing there, panties in hand.

He physically recoils and then stares, deer in headlights.

You look at the bunched up ball of underwear and back up at him.

“Logan?” you venture.

He glares at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. You can see the tick of his jaw, the dart of his eyes.

“Are these mine?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Logan gives one sharp nod.

“You seem to have made a mess of them,” you muse, suddenly feeling very, very warm. You should be angry. Hell, you should be scared.

But he stands before you, still looking at the floor, looking to all the world like a bashful child who’s just been caught misbehaving.

He doesn’t respond with words, only grunts.

You take a step closer to him.

“Logan, look at me.”

He finally does. He’s not sure what he sees in your eyes, but it doesn’t look like fear or anger. Instead, it’s almost a hunger.

“First," you tell him, "You’re gonna clean up your mess,” You're suddenly more bold than you know yourself to be, aching with it. “And then you’re gonna show me, and you’re gonna do it all over again.”

“I’m sorry, what–”

You take another step towards him, close enough to touch him. As he’s about to say something else, you take the opportunity to shove the cum-drenched panties right in his open mouth, shutting him up instantly.

He stands there, unmoving, panties half-dangling out his mouth.

“Good boy.” You say, and his eyes widen, mouth agape and panties nearly slipping.

Of all the scenarios he’s played out, for months now, this was never one of them.

He’d never realized how much he can enjoy surprises. The hunger in your eyes—it’s delicious.

He regains a semblance of composure and you guide him backwards. He stumbles blindly till the backs of his knees hit the sofa. He collapses with a huff.

“Go on,” you encourage, “You like playing with my panties so much, you get to do it for me.”

He groans, puts a hand to his mouth, and sucks at the fabric. 

It’s still wet, and full – full – of his cum. 

He slurps at it, pulls them out of his mouth and stretches the panties wide. Licks all over it, tongue running along the gusset where he can still taste the two of you together.

It doesn’t matter that Wade could come back home, that Althea may already be home. It doesn’t matter that he’s mortified; at the very least, his dick doesn’t seem to have gotten the message. He’s getting hard again, refractory period already practically nonexistent. He’s at a loss for words, but that doesn’t matter, either. 

All that matters is the panties in his mouth, and your eyes on him, slight smile tugging at your lips as you watch.

”Do you make a habit of this?” You ask, and it’s more curious than condemning.

Logan shakes his head. “Uh-uh,” it comes out muffled through the mouthful.

“Don’t make a habit of stealing my panties, or don’t make a habit of stealing anyone’s panties? For all I know, you’ve got some secret collection. Got a pair of Wade’s briefs in the back of your drawer?”

The blush that blooms is pretty, flushing all down his bared throat. You desperately want to touch him, but more than that, you want to tease him. Humiliate him. Call him a dirty old man and make him sweat, and then show him that you want him anyway. That you have been wanting him.

You just didn’t think he’d fall so easily for the bait of dropped panties.

“Suck em clean,” you tell him, and he makes a half-strangled moan, slurping loudly against them.

He works at them with his mouth. It could’ve been comical but instead he simply looks feral. He makes a lewd, wet sound, and pulls the panties out of his mouth, dragging them across his teeth, saving every last bit of the mix of cum and reconstituted pussy juice that had been soaking them.

You take them from his outstretched hand and sniff them yourself. You see the way his eyes widen again, but he’s restrained. He holds himself back, stays still.

“I’ve gotta say, you do put on a good show. You can keep these,” you smile, and toss them back at him, smacking him square in the face.

“But these-” you slip your thumbs up your skirt, the one you deliberately chose to wear just for this purpose. You hook the waistband of today’s panties and slip them down, stepping out of them and handing them to Logan.

“You’re gonna show me exactly how you touched yourself with those panties you stole.”

“Hey,” he huffs, “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“I’m not,” you cut in, “If you hadn’t stolen my panties, you wouldn’t be showing me just how dirty an old man you are.” You wink, “And I like it.”

“Watch who you’re callin’ old, sweetheart.”

“Logan, baby,” you croon, “You ain’t the one calling the shots here.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you take another step towards him and grab him by the belt buckle. He buffers, opening and closing his mouth several times, never taking his eyes from your face.

He watches, awed, as you undo the buckle, pop the button, pull down his zipper.

You grin when you see he isn’t wearing any underwear himself and, with a swift, deft movement, you reach into his jeans and slide out his cock.

If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. He moans as your hand wraps around him, pumping gently. It’s far too little pressure. He wants more. He needs more.

As if reading his mind, you snatch your panties from his hand and wrap them around his cock.

He whines, immediately overwhelmed. He’d barely dared to notice them when you’d placed them in his hand. Now, he realizes just how absolutely soaked you are. The crotch of your panties, (another lacy pair), is slick with your arousal.

“Show me,” you tell him. “Show me-”

Reluctantly, he tightens the grip on his cock and starts jerking himself. 

Against his own will, a ragged moan slips out. It makes your body hot and your pussy even wetter. You sit back on the sofa and spread your legs, letting your hand rest on your needy pussy.

Logan notices and, encouraged, wraps his fist tighter around his cock and strokes himself faster, his hips moving rhythmically.

You start to touch yourself in earnest, dipping two fingertips into your slick heat and swirling the arousal around your clit.

Little moans start to escape you, egged on but his ragged breathing. He starts muttering, worn and desperate; “Fuck, fuck, wanna taste that pussy. Eat you right. Smells so good, tastes so good, wanna make you cum on my tongue, hold you down, fuck you through it–”

The touch of your fingertips is exquisite. You’ve masturbated to the thought of him a lot. More than you’d prefer to admit. But seeing him like this, undone and aching, it hits you all the more. 

You sink into the fantasy. “Want you, Logan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Gettin’ close now,” he warns. He should be embarrassed at the speed he's reaching his peak, but he's so drunk on sensation he simply cannot find it in himself to care.

You nod, and adjust the pressure on your clit.

“Wait for me,” you tell him. He groans, but nods. “Nearly there,” you assure.

You press tight circles around your clit working yourself up, closer and closer and closer to that high–

“Fuck,” you shout, suddenly overwhelmed by it, “Fuck, I’m— I’m coming. Show me, Lo, show me–”

You tip over the edge, cunt pulsing hungrily. You wish you’d had something inside you. Wish you’d had him inside you.

He lets out a ragged groan, followed by curses, and the most explosive ejaculation you’ve ever seen. The head of his cock is buried in your panties and he fills them, but his cum shoots out of the holes of the lace, spraying his spend across the floor and towards you. A single drop hits your cheek, and you nearly laugh, but the sound he makes–something primal and animalistic–sends another pulse through you and suddenly you’re coming again, untouched.

It takes a while to come down.

He’s panting, sweat dripping down his temples. Reality absolutely living up to the fantasy.

When you both catch your breath, you smile, sated and tired. You reach out a hand and, hesitantly, he hands you the ruined panties.

Mouth agape, he watches as you run a finger through the cum and dip it in your mouth, humming a pleased affirmation. Then, you step into the cum-drenched underwear and put them on.

He stares at you dumbfounded, burning with so many thoughts that he can’t pinpoint a single one.

“Next time,” you smile, standing up and pressing an unexpected kiss to his cheek. “You can just ask.”

You wink, half dazed yourself, barely able to believe everything had turned out exactly as you’d orchestrated it.

“I’m in Apartment 8,” you tell him, and then you’ve turned on your heel and stepped out the door.

Logan stands there, bewildered. He fingers the damp panties he still has in his pocket, and listens as your footsteps echo through the hallway.

[selenezq]

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞MDNI🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

I'm back with a fic I've written that was inspired by the wonderful @home-for-wayward-fawns

Edited by the lovely @the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes

Alastor x Reader

Reader is AFAB

CW: Stuck trope, dub con, semi public sex, penetration, oral, porn no plot

Help Me Mr. Radio Demon, I'm Stuck

It had been a long day. There had been lots of things to do: Charlie's bonding exercises, helping Husk restock the bar supplies, and taking an inventory of everything that was running low around the hotel—some general day-to-day tasks to keep it running. The only thing left on your list to do was your least favorite: laundry.

It had already been started, the melodic chime of the washer alerting you that it was time to move things along. With a sigh, you head to the laundry room and open the lid to the washer. Pulling your wet clothing out carefully, you ascertain what pieces need to be hung up to dry first. Humming softly as you work, you pull all the special care items out and hang them one by one.

Finally, all that needed extra care are hung to dry. Now you can focus on putting the rest in the dryer. You reach into the washer, grabbing a handful of wet clothes and chucking them into the final machine when you hear a loud clunk. Wondering if you had left another lipstick in your pocket, you bend down to investigate.

Getting down on your hands and knees before the dryer, you reach around, trying to find whatever had landed in there, but without success. You quickly decide to stick your head in the metal contraption to see if you could find whatever had dropped inside. Popping your head into the dryer’s opening, you immediately see exactly what you thought you would find: a forgotten container of lip color.

Grasping it firmly in your hand, you move to pull yourself out, only to find that you can't. You jerk yourself backwards, using more force this time, only to hear the faint ripping of the fabric of your blouse. Unwilling to ruin your shirt even more, you realize you are stuck—inside the dryer of all things. You groan in frustration, and it echoes in the small metal chamber. Briefly, you consider yelling for help, before deciding against the embarrassment that it would bring. "Fuck." You utter in frustration.

Alastor walks at a leisurely pace through the halls, lamenting the lack of occupants in the hotel today; they are off on some ridiculous adventure, providing for a less than entertaining afternoon. Mulling over his thoughts as he passes the laundry room, he wonders what everyone was up to, what amusements they were entertaining themselves with. Lost in thought, he almost misses the faint sound of your groan, quickly followed by an unladylike curse. Alastor halts, pivoting around in immediate curiosity. He steps through the door, only to be met with a sight that causes his trousers to feel too tight as his cock hardens within them.

You are currently bent in half and low to the floor, your plump ass barely covered by the short skirt you wear. Your top is bunched up, exposing the luminous skin of your lower back as you appear to be caught on something inside the dryer—trapped and waiting for him just like prey. How would your skin feel under his hands? His name would sound so sweet falling from your pretty lips. The thoughts came unbidden into his mind as an image of him rutting into you follows immediately afterwards.

Alastor had never dealt with these kinds of urges before—at least, until you. Your quick wit and kind smile had him yearning to spend time with you. The fact that you were the most breathtaking creature he had ever seen was only a bonus. He reaches his hand out, as if to touch your perfect posterior, before he seems to think better of it, letting his arm fall back down to hang at his side. He’s plagued with the desire to take you right then and there. Driven by his need, he takes a step closer so he is close enough to reach out and grab you. His cock twitches eagerly in his suit pants.

The Radio Demon's lips quirk into a sinister grin as his eyes rake over you hungrily. Feeling his licentious gaze, you call out helplessly, "Is somebody there?" Your voice echoes in the metal drum you find yourself captive within.

"It seems you've found yourself in a bit of trouble, my dear." Alastor remarks in his radio-filtered voice.

"Oh, I'm so glad you’re still here, Alastor. I seem to be stuck on something and I don't want to rip my shirt too badly; could you help me?" You ask, trying not to let the rising panic you feel at being trapped seep into your voice.

"I would be delighted to help a beautiful damsel such as yourself, pet." Alastor purrs, his radio voice filling the silence of the room. Using a shadowy tendril, he pushes the door shut, the echo of it closing loudly before sliding the lock into place with a snap. His feet bring him even closer to you, the heels of his boots clicking loudly. Close enough to touch, he stops, his large frame towering powerfully over you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body. "You silly girl; how did you even get stuck in there?" He chuckles deprecatingly.

"I wanted to remove the lipstick that fell in here so my clothes wouldn't get ruined." You answer, your voice muffled from the machine surrounding your upper body. You can feel him standing close to you and your heart races, pulse quickening. You've always found Alastor extremely charming, with his protective nature, dangerous aura, and hilarious jokes. Hips moving as you wiggle, jittery under the weight of his gaze, you try to free yourself once more.

Alastor watches as your shapely rear gyrates back and forth in your futile attempt to free yourself. He represses a groan, pondering what it might feel like against his throbbing cock. Bending at the waist, he leans down to place a clawed hand on your exposed lower back. "Calm down my dear; I'm sure I'll have you out in no time. I'm here to assist." He says, the static in his voice crackling dangerously, a direct contrast to the words the demon is saying. "Although, I don't see why I shouldn't have a little fun while I'm here." Alastor says, his usual smile taking on a predatory edge.

He kicks your right leg to the side, giving himself a clear view of the tiny strip of fabric barely covering you. You should feel the sting of embarrassment, but instead you can feel your pussy clench with need. "Alastor, I don't see how this could possibly help." You argue feebly, not really meaning for him to stop.

Not listening to the words he knows you don't mean, Alastor grabs your waist. His hands are on either side of your hips, claws digging lightly into your skin as he pulls on you, hoping to get you free. The material of your undergarments clings to your pussy, slick with want. As he tugs on you, your ass grazes against his barely constrained hardness and you bite your lip, aware of how big he feels against you.

"I plan to help myself first. Then I'll help you." The tall demon growls, his voice thick with his radio filter. You can hear static crackling and popping as he grinds into you. Using his power, he wills a cold tendril to pull your panties swiftly to the side. You don't protest, feeling a pleasurable jolt every time he humps and rubs his covered manhood against your backside. You find yourself desperate to feel him bare against your needy quim. As he pulls away momentarily, you find yourself holding back a whimper of disappointment.

Before you have too long to feel discontented, you feel his hot breath fanning against your bare cunt. Alastor's tongue darts out of his mouth, eagerly lapping at your clit and you can't help the gasp that wrenches its way from your mouth. He moves slowly, as if he's savoring a meal, each stroke sending pleasurable tingles through your body.

Alastor loves the taste of your juices, unable to think of a sweeter treat he's had in his life. Sliding his tongue down your slit, he plunges it deep within your cavern without warning. You let out an obscene moan as you feel his lengthy, demonic tongue reach just the right spot inside of you. Curling and slurping it, Alastor attacks your pussy with an intense vigor. He brings a hand up to your sensitive bud, massaging it with his digits in steady, circular, motions.

As he continues his ministrations for quite some time; you can feel pleasing tingles travel increasingly through your body and you know you won't last long. "Alastor, please don't stop!" You cry out, not caring about your volume as long as he doesn't cease his movements. Increasing his pace, his finger and tongue move in unison to bring you closer and closer to that edge you feel quickly approaching. With a loud scream of ecstasy, you feel your orgasm crashing, waves of pleasure flowing over you.

Holding onto you as your legs quiver, he continues to lick as you quake through it, his fingers still moving against your over-sensitive nub. You feel the creeping of shame as your post-bliss fades away. You can't believe you enjoyed this while trapped in this infernal machine.

With one final swipe, the overlord collects one last taste of your saccharine nectar. Pulling himself off of your sensitive flesh, he licks his lips with an indecent smacking sound. "You taste simply divine, darling." He coos delightedly at you. "You simply must let me sample that again sometime."

"I would love to do this again, but I still need help out of this dryer." You murmur, embarrassed. "Please Alastor." You tack on at the end pleadingly.

"Ah, I still intend to free you my dear, but I'm not quite finished. What kind of hunter would I be if I turned away such a gift, my prey already trapped and laid out deliciously for me?" He says with a tsk, tsk, tsk. Bringing his hands to his belt, he undoes it with a hurried, urgent pace. Sliding it through the loops on his trousers he pulls it out, discarding it recklessly, and you hear it clatter against the linoleum.

You hear a metallic zipping sound before his colossal cock is springing free, hitting your ass with a hard thwack. Alastor slides his considerable length along your already soaked hole, teasing you playfully. "I'd like to hear you beg again, pet." He decides, and you can hear in his tone that this isn't a request.

"Please, please, please, Al; I need this. I need you inside of me." You beg prettily, desperately. Without even waiting for you to finish, he's shoving himself inside you, his thick hardness stretching you almost painfully. Your slick walls grip his hardened member perfectly and he lets out a throaty groan.

"You are just as warm and tight as I always imagined, my doe." He praises, thrusting into you, driven by his overwhelming desire to feel you come apart around his aching cock. His hips move at a brutal pace, slamming into you over and over again, his tip hitting your cervix every time. The dryer shakes with the force of each thrust as he chases his own release.

"Before I reward you with my seed, I want you to cum for me one more time. No holding back those beautiful noises you make." He says authoritatively, not stopping his movements.

"I don't,” you pant out, “know if I can." Pleasure overwhelms you as he drills into you over and over again.

"You can, and you will. I'm not asking, darling." He commands, snapping his hips into you, hitting just the right spot as he does. You can sense another orgasm creeping upon you, despite saying you couldn't. You focus on that feeling as his cock moves in and out of you, producing a wet squelching sound. With a loud shout, you're pushed over the edge a second time. You shake as the force of your climax causes your knees to go weak, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

Alastor supports you as your body goes limp, your last bit of energy spent. His thrusts become erratic and sloppy as he follows his own high, the tightness of your soft cavern milking him. With a loud, guttural cry, he releases ropes of cum inside you, his cock twitching with every spurt. He calls out your name, his member deflating as the cooling mess of his seed slides out of you.

With a frustratingly easy snap of his fingers, you are freed from the dryer. In an instant you are on your feet in front of him, your blouse repaired, and your clothing all back in its rightful place, his suit fresh and pristine like nothing ever happened. "You could have just done that this whole time?"

"Ah, but where would have been the fun in that? We both enjoyed our time here tonight, after all." Alastor responds, patronizingly smug. A blush blossoms on your face as you think about the sex you've just had with the man you’ve been distracted by for quite some time. With a smug grin, he slides the lock on the door back open with a click. Grasping the knob, he holds it open for you, ever the charming gentleman. "Ladies first." He says holding his other hand out to help you. Together, you both leave the laundry room behind.

[meowmeowriley]

Ghost wants a dog. He's thought about it for a while, done some research, put out feelers. He's allowed to have a dog where he live, has a house to himself not five minutes from base. Waste of space, he used to think, but space enough for a dog.

He needs a big dog. He's a big lad. When some people think "big dog" they're thinking of a German Shepherd Good dogs, he's sure. But only 40 kilos, max. He needs something bigger, he thinks.

At first, he thought he'd like himself a Rottweiler. Hefty. Big bodied and boisterous. Easily trainable if you've got the time and the grit, both he figured he had in spades, so long as he wasn't on an op. But then he read about tail docking and, well... he couldn't bring himself to think about it any more. Those poor puppies, he thinks.

He goes home with Soap, visiting the MacTavish farm. They're friends, he wants to see the sheep, he tells Soap. Tells himself. He won't admit that he just wants to spend more time with Johnny.

The MacTavish's have Border Collies to herd their sheep. Practical. Cute, he likes the pups, but much too small for him. Not to mention intelligence to rival the rookies he had to whip into shape on base and tripple their energy. He wasn't sure he'd want to deal with that.

But while out, on their way into town, he saw it. A huge dog standing amongst someone else's flock, head heald high and nose in the wind. Soap knew the farmer from his childhood, drove them up the lane when he caught Ghost staring. Due to his staring, Ghost had missed the sign they passed, though Soap didn't. 'Pyrenees puppies 4 sale' it read.

The farmer smiled when he noticed John, the boy who left the fields to play soldier and came back a man. John introduced him as Lieutenant 'Ghost' Riley. Ghost rolled his eyes and stuck out his hand. "Simon. Saw your dog in the field, never saw one like it. Wanted to know more." A short introduction, straight to the point.

The response was the opposite. The farmer gave him what felt like his life's story. Took what seemed to Ghost to be a year before he got to telling him about the dog, a Great Pyrenees, apparently. A large bodied, heavy white coated livestock guardian breed. He had two, the one in the field was the sire, the dam was in the barn. As he spoke, he lead the two men towards that very barn.

The farmer entered first, to separate the mother from the pups, for their protection, he said. In the barn was a sight that melted the hardened Lieutenant into a puddle of goo: a litter of snow white, fluffy puppies. Huge puppies. Sticks and hay and debris were stuck all over their fluffy bodies, Simon picked out what he could from the pups as they wallered and slobbered all over him.

Soap took over speaking to the farmer as Ghost slowly accepted that he would never again have crisp black clothes. That everything in his future would be covered in white fluff. The life expectancy of his washer and dryer had just been halved, he suspected.

The farmer explained their personality: that females tended to be more protective, they'd be a home body, not exactly a jogging companion. Loyal but brutish, often misconstrued as lazy. The beast out in the field with the flock would lay about and let the sheep climb all over him, wouldn't even bother to get up if someone hopped the fence like. But if he heard a sound he didn't like, or saw another dog or a predator in the field, he'd let loose a bark that'd freeze a man's blood, and hunt the perceived threat down come hell or high water. "And you should see her in action," the farmer laughed and shook his head. "Almost killed the male over getting too close to his own pups. Protective to a fault. 'S why I had to turn her out, you see."

Ghost saw an oversized cotton ball trip over it's own feet as it tried to get to his fingers because it needed to be pet. It was the only one without any tan or grey patch. Ghost saw his future best friend.

The farmer started to explain that these pups ought to be sent off to other farms, they wouldn't do as family dogs, but John walked him out of the barn. Explained that the man they'd left behind had no family to speak of, needed something other than work to focus on, and if anyone were able to handle the instincts and behavioral issues of a livestock guardian without livestock, it'd be Simon. The farmer agreed, so long as he made sure to choose a male, for safety reasons.

The two drove off another twenty minutes later, after Simon had listened with rapt attention to the farmer detailing everything about what the pups had been through up to that point, and what he'd need to do moving forward to make sure his little guy was happy and healthy, Ghost holding young Spirit to his chest.

From that point on all of Ghost's belongings had long white fur and drool on them, courtesy of his personal polar bear.

On the day of their wedding their ring bearer was their own pseudo-bear, and nobody left the venue without drool or fur on their clothes.

[planetpedri]

Heyyyy oh my gosh I love your work so much, I was wondering if I could request a Pedri where he forgets about his plans with her and she was always understanding but with this being the fifth time, she’s over it and confronts him? Angst please!

All I ever asked — Pedri Gonzalez.

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

Summary: He was late. For the fifth time that month. You’d waited in the restaurant for an hour and a half, coming up with flimsy excuses as to why your boyfriend hadn’t arrived, come to find out, he was sitting at home. The whole time. You’d had enough. Arriving home exhausted and upset, you can’t help but ask the question you’d been wondering for a while. “Do you even care?”

Word count: 920

Disclaimer/s: angst to comfort , but thats pretty much it! oh and lots of cursing..

A/N: men (forehead slap)

Leaving the restaurant, you felt embarrassed. Humiliated, even. The waitress had given you the most pitiful look as you excused yourself, leaving her a tip and apologizing profusely.

You’d finally gotten home exhausted and angry. Your heels had dug themselves into your feet, leaving a throbbing ache even as you took them off. Holding them by the tips of your fingers, you trudged your way to your bedroom.

Opening the door, your eyes land on Pedri, who was sitting comfortably in bed on his phone. Was this a sick joke?

“Hey baby—“ his voice trails off, eyes scanning your outfit curiously, “where were you?”

You scoff. This had to be a joke. “Oh, just at the restaurant, waiting for you. Because, well! We had a fucking date tonight.”

Pedri’s smile falls instantly, “oh fuck.” He mumbles, throwing the comforter off him as he moves to stand, but you raise a hand, stopping him. “Shit, i’m sorry—“

“Save your fucking apologies, Pedro.” You snap, tossing your heels off to the side before opening the closet to fish out some pajamas. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Like seriously, five times in one month? Are you actually fucking kidding me.” You begin rambling off, angrily shuffling through the drawers.

Letting out an anger filled noise, you slam the drawer shut. You’d forgotten today was laundry day, so your favorite pajamas, the ones you’d been dying to change into the whole ride home, were in the washer.

Pedri watches nervously as you angrily look through the closet. He’d been so busy lately, every date you’d reminded him off, had slipped his mind. There was no excuse, he knew it. And you’d been so understanding, but tonight he knew he really fucked up.

“And! To make it worse, do you fucking know what day it is? How special of a date this is supposed to be?” You whip around, pointing a finger at him.

Your anniversary.

Pedri groans inwardly. He was such an idiot. “I’m sorry, I don’t how it slipped my mind—“

“Our anniversary, ‘slipped your mind?’” You make air quotes around it, your eyes rolling. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Pedri stands from the bed. “Hey—that’s..” but he stops. He knew you’d need your space, but kicking him out of bed? Seriously?

“That’s what? What Pedro.” Your jaw tightens, using his full name just to show how pissed off you really were.

“Stop calling me that,” he sighs, taking a few steps toward you, “i’ll make it up to you.”

“Good fucking luck.” You laugh, although it’s full of spite, not humor. “You’re a real fucking dick, you know that? Four dates, and our anniversary. All forgotten. For why? I get you are busy, but am I seriously that forgettable? Do you even care?”

You seemed to have struck a nerve, because Pedri’s face hardens. “You know you aren’t, and you know I do. I—“ he closes his eyes, running a hand over it, “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

Your lips purse and you grab a T-shirt off the rack, “whatever. I’m tired, I need to shower, and I want to go to bed. We will talk tomorrow.” You laugh, “oh, unless you forget about that too.”

Pedri says your name, almost hisses it. “I know you’re upset, but seriously? I’m trying here. It’s been a busy month, and I know that’s no excuse—but can we just talk about this like adults?”

Eyes widening, your face contorts, eye twitching. “You are such a—a man! You—“ Your voice cracks, but you suck in a long breath. You will not cry. “All I ever asked of you this whole month, is that you take me on a date.”

Pedri’s face softens and he takes the final few steps toward you, pulling you close to his chest with one hand on your lower back, the other holding your head near his heart. “I’m sorry, i’m being a dick—I am a dick.” He murmurs, placing light kisses to the top of your head.

“I love you.” He sighs out, “I love you. I—“

“I fucking get it.” You huff, eyes closing as you listen intently to his heart beat, the soft, rhythmic thumping calming you down. “You owe me big time.”

“Whatever you want, it’s yours.” He smiles, hands coming up to hold your face, “anything you want, i’ll give you. Just know, I am sorry.”

You pout, nodding. “Let’s start with you switching the loads while I shower, you’re on laundry duty for the next two months. And dishes, and cooking, and—“

“Got it! I got it!” Pedri chuckles, leaning down to place a small kiss to your lips, “i,” peck, “love,” peck, “you.” peck.

You try not to smile, you try to stay mad, you deserved to be mad. But you fail. Your cheeks pressing into Pedri’s callused palms with how wide you were smiling. “You make it so hard to be upset.”

He hums, kissing your forehead. “Good for me, honestly.”

“Whatever, i’m still pissed off. You’re lucky I love you.” You grumble, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

“The luckiest man alive.” He agrees, squeezing you thightly. “So..” He really shouldn’t push this right now.. but he has to ask, “do I still have to sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Oh, well, yes! You’re not getting out of this unpunished.” You pull away, bopping his nose with your finger before skipping toward the bathroom.

DTS , @halfwayhearted !

[deadsetobsessions]

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1]

Peter’s no stranger to memories that comes as nightmares. There’s something different to them, the taste of terror that’s tinged with a feeling of “that’s happened.”

Flashes of Aunt May, dying as he stood next to her while choosing the city over her? Old hat. Inky darkness surrounding MJ falling as Peter reached for her, over and over again? Been there, seen that, didn’t even get a sick scar out of it. Racing against the clock to defeat some bad guy or an unknown threat? That’s his Thursday.

But this?

This isn’t his. It’s real, Peter could tell that much. Sure, it’s wrapped up in silk hisses and heart crushing terror, but Peter could always tell whether a nightmare was a nightmare or whether it was a memory.

This was a memory. Not his. His. It’s complicated.

“Your father, papito, he-,”

Then, it’d be the ruffle of his hair, brown eyes. It reminded him of his mom. But the crease of these eyes were different. Hardened, mean. Even towards him.

“Well, he said no, but I knew what he really wanted.”

The base of Peter’s neck always crawled when he remembered that line. His spider-sense warned him that whatever he’s remembering, he would not like.

“Ey, Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, looking up from where his arms were elbow deep in wires.

“Don’cha need gloves with that?” Frank asked, munching on some jerky. They were sitting in the living room, repairing a TV and a washer Frank had somehow managed to lug back to the apartment. It’s a toss up between Frank’s network of orphans (Peter included), street rats (these things are not mutually inclusive), or his own slightly higher than average strength. Not that they needed to thrift broken things, considering Peter’s funneling money from offshore bank accounts belonging to this America’s 1%. They just made it so easy! He and Ned had been hacking into government bases in middle school back on his world. This world? Not even a challenge. Regardless, this was kind of like… Frank’s version of those fancy sensory boxes for Peter.

“Oh, no. It’s not plugged in, see?”

“How’re ya gunna know it works then?”

“Plug it in after I’m done. Turn it off and on, you know?”

Frank stared at him, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“If you burn down that portion of the house, at least we’ll be warm for a bit.”

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“I do not! Excuse you! If I’m old, you’re the expired knock off cup ramen in the back of a convenience store!”

“Yo, shrimpy, that’s rude, ya hear?” Frank snickered, impressed at the quip. The Alley kid turned brother stood up to plop next to Peter.

“So… you gonna go…?” Frank made a whooshing sound and held his hand in a web shooter position.

“Tonight? Prolly. Anything I should look out for?”

“You’re gunna get yourself killed, but yeah, heard the gang’s back up north.”

Peter flashed a smile, dimples coming out. “I’ll try not to. Thanks, Frank.”

“Anytime, Spidey.”

Frank, though little (to Peter), was a good friend. Then again, considering Peter saved his ass both in mask and out of it, it’s to be expected. One would think that after eight years of hiding his identity, Peter would be better at it. Then, he got punted into a different world and got made by a child.

To be fair, the circumstances all but screamed Parker Luck, so Peter’s not counting this instance.

See, the first few days of this sudden cohabitation, Peter had asked Frank to find them furniture. Both because he was getting real sick of eating on the floor and because Peter needed to fix his suit to match his much younger body. Then, once he readjusted the shrinking nanotech and the spider legs to fit him in a way that wouldn’t break him, Peter had promptly swung out of the building and went patrolling. He stuck with the wandering Frank, taking out muggers and robbers and everything in between and past that around the area where Frank is.

Looking back, Peter realized how lucky he was when he decided to go on the “helping joyride” at the beginning of the evening. His spider-sense activated way later in the night, the moment where he began seeing and sensing the cameras that kept pointing towards him. He ducked and dodged out of the way, and eventually, the feeling left. Somebody was watching. And he doesn’t know where they stood on the moral side of things.

Anyways, it happened after three weeks and a half of going out and just… settling into life in Gotham. He had already been struggling to find a way home, scouring the libraries around Gotham on any subject that would aid in his multiversal travel. Peter would like to know which emo kid named this city.

Eventually, Parker Luck decided to strike once more.

“Get back, freak!” The lady brandished a wicked knife.

Talk about deja vu.

“Oh no! Knives! My greatest weakness!” Spider-Man yelled, sticking to the shadowed windows as he let his voice echo in the alley. Gotham had a lot of nice hiding places. Spider-man dropped down on her head like a bat out of hell and webbed the knife out of her hands. He webbed the mugger up onto the alleyway above normal reach, and told the man to call the police.

Frank screamed, just as Spider-man wrapped it up, loud enough to reach his enhanced hearing.

“Wait-!” The man tried to stop him, but Peter, small, trained, and having readjusted his reach, slipped away.

“What’s your name?!” The guy he saved yelled at his back.

Spider-man, distracted, yelled back, “SPIDEY!”

He shot webs upwards and used them to slingshot his way towards where Frank was. And… car! Peter used his webs to swing up, up, and let himself fall to gain momentum. At the last moment, Peter shot a web to the top of the car and pulled himself to it.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s stupidly attached to the kid, and he was stupid enough to let Frank go out into Gotham looking both well-fed and well clothed.

The world slowed as he locked eyes with a terrified Frank, who was getting dragged into a car.

The world narrowed to speed and Spider-Man landed on top of the car roof, sweeping his leg out and thankfully remembering his much shorter reach. His foot collided with the kidnapper’s face with the equivalent force of a grown up, slightly annoyed Peter Parker who’s letting his strength go a bit unchecked. Basically, they went flying, blood spewing out of the undoubtedly broken nose Spider-Man had just given them.

Standing on business, the shorter webster promptly flipped down wards as he all but glued the would-be kidnapper to the curb.

“You alright?”

“You’re- You’re that new mask.” Frank whispered, scuttling away from the car where he’d been dropped.

“Yeah, man. You okay?” His voice modulator came in clutch.

“Fuck. Fuck, I gotta-” Frank stumbled. The kid looked like he was one bad break away from snapping. Peter hated it when kids got that terrified look on their faces, it reminded him of himself, helpless as Ben bled out because they should never have to fear something that much.

Something’s wrong, though. As much as Peter wished otherwise, Frank was a Gotham bred and true alley kid, through and through. These kids don’t spook easily. Peter already stopped a couple of kidnappings and at least two of the kids had yelled at him to stay out of the way before unloading a rain of nut kicks on their kidnappers that left Peter wincing for days in sympathy. Frank being this spooked? Something’s going on.

“Woah, easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

Frank shot him a half hysterical, half condescending look. Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Ob-obviously. I have to go before more of them comes,” Frank muttered.

“More of them? You know what they want?”

Frank stared at him, looking up and down at his blue, red, and gold ensemble.

“I can help,” Peter promised.

“What’re your thoughts on metas?”

Suspicious.

“Uh, they’re fine? Depends on the person, why?”

Frank sighed. The skinny teenager, barely 14, tugged at his hair. “They’re traffickers. Meta kids, mostly, so the Bats don’t do nothing. I- uh, I got caught.” He held up a thin wrist, showing Peter his new accessorie, a think metal bracelet that was beeping red.

Peter cursed in his head. Fuck, of course he’d stumble into a-

“Caught? You’re a meta?”

Frank nodded. “Strength. This is an inhibitor, illegal kind, you know?”

Well, that explained how he got all of those furniture without struggle.

“Right. Hey, don’t stress, kid, I’m a meta too.”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

Peter walked up the side of the car and did jazz hands.

“You’re a meta?! But- but you’re a mask operating in Gotham!”

“Yeah…? Is that weird?”

Before Frank could reply, Peter’s sense screamed and Spider-Man shoved Frank away from the spray of bullets.

“Move, Frank!”

Peter flipped away, vaguely aware of Frank’s gaping realization. He took down the shooters in quick succession, stopping the speeding car with his bare hands and some webs.

“Shooters, no shooting!” He yelled, liberally applying force he tended to keep under wraps. Frank was like a brother to him, and there is no universe where Peter Parker would hold back when his family was in danger.

When he got back to Frank, who had oddly stayed instead of running, Peter found out why the kid stayed.

“Peter?!” Frank hissed lowly, looking more pissed off than terrified. “Are you fucking insane?! Why are you running ‘round as a mask?!”

“Shhh!” Shit, he got made. “Come on, get back to the apartment and we can talk there. I’ll get rid of this-”

Peter casually snapped the bracelet in half, tearing the tracker out, and tucked it away to study later.

“Fuckin’- shit, fine, but you’re explaining everything, motherfucker!”

They split, Peter guessing correctly that he was in another lecture of a lifetime.

——

“Your vigilante name is Spiderman?”

“Hey, I can hear you say it without the hyphen! There’s a hyphen in there!”

“You’re not a man! You’re a twerp!”

“I’ll show you twerp, you-”

Five minutes of tussling later, in which Peter did not try to bite Frank’s arm off, thank you very much, Frank leaned back on the couch.

“Besides. People in the streets are calling you Spidey, anyways.”

“Spidey?”

“Some dude you saved from a mugging said you told him.”

Peter slammed his head on the floor where he was laying face down.

“Ughhhh.”

——

“He could have been great. I saw his potential.”

Anger. But he shouldn’t be afraid. The woman loved him.

“Hey, Peter. You’re up here again.”

“Hi.” Peter stayed curled up. His mind had refused him sleep for the last three nights, causing dark circles to appear underneath his eyes. The memories of what he assumed to be this world’s Peter was merging with his. What he’d seen so far did not fill him with confidence of a happy childhood. Flashes of wielding weapons, the sterile smell of a metal dissection table, and hundreds and hundreds of spiders crawling over him, getting startled into biting down. Plus, the stress of tracking down the meta trafficking circles in Gotham was no joke. He doesn’t know Gotham nearly as well as he knew New York, and he had to be extra careful running around and trying to catch every bit of the circle before making any moves. Frank was helping with his network of homeless Meta kids, but the traffickers were everywhere except for Crime Alley.

He should be dead. They sold his body to an organ harvester who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version.

“Everything all right?” Red Robin clambered down to sit next to him, cowl hiding the concerned scrunch of his brow. He’s never seen Peter like this.

Peter grumbled, staring down at another alleyway. He knows his alternate died. His shit excuse for another sold his body to an organ harvester, when he seized on the operating table, who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version. He does, however, have to worry about missing vital organs.

“I… remembered something.” Peter remembered a lot of things. And pretty much none of them were good. This Peter suffered a lot in his short life.

Red Robin nodded. The issue of Peter’s spotty memories had come up in their discussions over the past month.

“Ah. Something unpleasant?”

Peter thought back to the voice who, despite all of the other, highly traumatic memories, haunted his brain like nothing else.

“He didn’t live up to it. He refused to kill. So I made the decision for him.”

“Yeah. Not for me, but unpleasant that I know about it.”

“Yeah, I get that. You wanna talk about it?” Peter hid a small smile. Even though Red Robin kept his tone light, the concern still bled through. Warm. It made Peter feel warm. Even if it appeared that the Bats don’t really care about the trafficked meta kids… maybe Red Robin would come save normal kid Peter if he got kidnapped. A backup plan to consider. For now…

“Sure,” he said. Red Robin waited patiently.

“I think, I remember someone. Maybe, maybe my…” Peter grimaced. “My mom? She… told me something. And uh, I think I’maproductofrape.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, so awkwardly that Peter had to crack a small smile despite the gravity of the topic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not myself, but for…” Peter waved a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t a good person,” Peter whispered and hated how he missed the browns of her eyes- her middle name was Marie, and god, Peter wished he hadn’t known that because he gets why her eyes reminded him so much of his own mother- and she besmirched everything Mary Parker stood for.

“You have our combined potential, Peter. Make sure not to be like him too much and live up to it, papito.”

“It’s okay, to love her even if she hurt other people,” Red Robin said, gently ruffling his greasy hair. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he ducked away. Red Robin withdrew his hand. “Because you can’t really help that. Trust me, I’ve tried. You just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to do what they did again.”

Cold, cold voices and his voice gave out from screaming. “You really are your father’s son. Never being able to do what’s necessary.”

And Peter wondered what happened to Red Robin and who hurt him. Peter would just like to talk. Red Robin reminded him of himself, way back when being Spider-Man meant finding out Harry became Green Goblin. Pained. Tired.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. But that’s not really a problem, considering the last thing the organ harvester said before dumping him in an alley. “She’s dead in a ditch in Siberia or something. I’m not really worried she’ll do it again.”

“Uh.”

“It’s cool,”

“Right. Have you… remembered your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s in Gotham,” Peter unfurled a little.

“You want help tracking him down? I’m good at that kind of thing.”

Peter glanced at Red Robin. “I think you just admitted to being a stalker.”

“Vigilante,” Red Robin shrugged, like it explained everything. And yeah, it kind of did. Peter snorted.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to meet him anyways.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about me,” Peter ticked off his fingers. “I’m a literal walking, talking, breathing reminder of his trauma. And I don’t need a dad.”

Red Robin looked at him silently. Peter doesn’t think about it.

He never wanted to see his parents suffer. An alternate version of his dad, hurt so irrevocably by an alternate version of his mom?

Peter hated that this Catalina dirtied his mother’s name, and went against the most fundamental parts of what the spider symbol was meant for. And considering he’s been doing this longer than her, he had first dibs on defining it. He’ll look after his dad, as long as he’s stuck in Gotham. It’s only right.

“His name? Oh, my son, it’s Richard Grayson.”

——

Peter, who Trusts his instincts: no head rubs?? awwwww

Tim, who’s been trying to get a dna sample for the last month: how does he keep evading me?? He must be a genius or a spy or- *spirals down the conspiracy board*

——

Tim: I’ve connected the dots!

Peter: you’ve connected jack shit

——

Listen, the moment I learned Catalina Flores’ middle name, the pieces clicked, okay? Like legos. It’s like, former FBI agent in this one and former CIA agent in Peter’s home universe? Wow. Middle name Marie? Mary Parker? Incredible. Spider themes run in the blood apparently?? They both have brown eyes!! Trying to do good with no qualms about murder!! (I’m assuming since Mary Parker was SHIELD and I don’t think SHIELD cared much for the sanctity of human life if it threatened the country or something)

[yourfatherlucifer]

Oh Bite Me (CS)

Vampire!San x afab!Reader

Summary: A blood thirsty demon of the night, but he’s your best friend and your roommate. You have to deal with his antics and his flirtatious acts.

Warnings: MDNI, male masturbation, slight voyeur, getting caught, unprotected sex, biting/blood, marking, pervert!san, short pwp, switch!san, cursing, sarcastic!reader

Trope: Friends To Lovers

Genre: Smut

AU: Supernatural

WC: 1.1k

Rated: R

“San, quit leaving your underwear in the damn washer! You’d think being alive for so long you’d know how to do your laundry.” You had growled in frustration, slamming the washer lid shut.

San snickered from the other room, “Oh well, you know you love it!”

You threw a disgusted look towards his voice, “I do not like seeing your underwear.”

San brought himself out of his room, shirt missing from his torso, “Then what about this~”

You groaned and turned away from him, “Please put a shirt on, dude.”

You waved him off, having enough of his crap, "Whatever, I've gotta go to work, so see you later. Don't," you point your finger in his face, "do anything weird."

San smirked, "No promises, baby girl."

You grimaced, "Don't fucking call me that."

You grabbed your things and left for work, leaving San to his own devices. Which meant...he went through your underwear drawer, pervert.

San smiled as he held the fabric in his hands, twisting the material in his fingers, it was fresh underwear, but that didn't mean it didn't have your smell anymore, right? San tried to locate your smell anyway. He buried his nose in the fabric as if trying to pull your pheromones from it.

His dick hardened just from the smell engulfing his nostrils, he knows you'd drive a stake through his heart if you caught him. It gave him a thrill, going out like that.

He ran to his room with the panties in hand, his dick straining against his basketball shorts. He didn't even bother shutting his door as he knew you'd be home late. With his back to the mattress, he trailed his hand up his chest, giving his small nipples a squeeze. His back arched off the bed, giving a breathy moan.

"f..fuck, oh my god." San whines out while tweaking his now pointed nipples, giving them equal attention. His cock twitched in his pants, eager for the attention he was giving to his chest.

He whined in frustration and shimmied off his shorts, he didn't wear underwear, it was like he was expecting this to happen.

When his cock slammed against his abdomen, he grabbed it hastily, wrapping the panties around his base. The precum from his cock was near dripping, almost as if he came untouched, but he hadn't yet.

The fabric created such a friction on his wet and red cock that he was near tears from the feeling. His hand pumped up and dumb, twisting left and right in a vigor motion, eager to cum on your panties.

He was already pussy drunk, but without the pussy, god he wanted to be inside you so bad, but your underwear would have to do for now.

His fangs bit into his lips, nearly drawing blood from the pressure. Little did San realize you had turned your car back around to return home, you forgot some paperwork you needed for work.

You had walked into the apartment, San's moans filling your ears, but you didn't see any other shoes by the door. Was he by himself?

You slowly walked into the hallway, stopping in front of San's room, eyes wide, the door was wide open for you to see his lewd act of getting off on your underwear. Which were now stained with his cum.

"San?"

He quickly shot up, grabbing a pillow to cover his still rock hard cock, "Y/N! Fucking hell, you're home! Hi!" He smiled nervously, his fangs retracting into his mouth.

"The hell are you doing, dirty boy? Is that my underwear?" You approached him and in return he backed up into his headboard, staring at the dirtied pair of underwear in his fist.

"Uh..Maybe?"

You shook your head and pushed San down onto the mattress, 'You're such a pervert."

San's eyes grew in size as he became nervous, "no.."

Something snapped in San as he flipped you around, to lay you on the mattress, "Why, does it bother you? That I fuck myself to you? To your underwear?" He licked a stripe up your neck, "Can I bite you?"

You nod and pull him closer, "Do it."

San sunk his teeth into your neck, careful to miss an artery. As the blood filled his mouth, he moaned in pleasure, “You taste so good, Y/N.”

You held his head to your neck, eyes closed in pure bliss, "More, feels so good."

San smirked against your neck, "If I do, I could drain you dry, and I don't want that. I want to fuck you everyday if I can have the chance. I want to feel your wet cunt around me. I want to feel your heat as I push my cock into you."

The vampire pulled himself away and moved down to your clothed cunt, pulling down your work pants, gawking at your soaked underwear, "Awe, this for me?"

You glared at him before rolling your eyes, "Who else, dumbass?"

San's cat-like eyes narrowed at you and decided to punish you by sinking his teeth into your plush thighs, gulping down the blood. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling each way. What a fucking tease.

"Watch it, don't be a bad girl."

San slipped a finger inside of you and stared into your eyes, smiling mischievously. His finger pumped in and out, curling around the sponge-like surface.

Your moans filled his ears, it was bringing him pleasure just by hearing your delicious sounds and listening to your heart racing. He kissed along your stomach and abdomen as he brought you pleasure with his fingers.

"San~ faster, please!"

He bit along your stomach, leaving marks behind but not drawing blood, he didn't wanna drain you too much.

Once he felt you begin to tighten around his fingers, he pulled his fingers out. Now replacing it with the tip of his large cock.

"Ready?"

You nodded, eager.

San pushed his cock in slowly, throwing his head out, his tongue flying out of his mouth, "Fuck! This is so much better than I imagined! I fucking love your cunt wrapped around me. I never want anything else again."

His grip on your waist tightened as his cock pounded into you, his moans were overpowering yours. Whines poured out of his mouth as he thrusted his own hips into yours. Curses flew out of his mouth as he kept going.

San was near tears once again, "what, pretty boy, can't keep up with the pleasure?" you teased.

San growled, "Shut up! You know you feel just as good as I."

His orgasm was rapidly approaching, "Gonna cum in you."

He bit into your neck once more as his cum spurt inside, some even spilling out as you came with him.

San fell to your chest, "Fuck..that felt so good."

He then sat back up, "wanna go again?"

[yournextbimbogf]

imagine perv! Konig I’m gonna cum and die at the same time😀🪦

Me too hun me too!! So here’s some headcannons!!

(I just wrote what my brain was craving hehehhe)

TW: könig is a meanie but a perv here :((!!

Perv! König loves to watch you shower. He’ll walk in just to say “sorry i walked into the wrong room”.

Perv! König knows that he’s your roommate and he can take advantage to that. He plays porn out loud knowing you can hear so you can get all hot and bothered.

Perv! König definitely would ask to take you shopping and thanking the gods for you randomly losing your underwear and bra’s (he’s taking them) and he can only lead you to go pantie and bra shopping.

Perv! König walks around the house only wearing tight boxers that hugs his cock like a glove. His cock almost looking like it wants to be freed, you can see the base poking out the boxer hole.

Perv! König can see your panties poking out under your sleeping shorts, as your bending down to put clothes in the washer he walks up to you and smacks your ass lightly while saying “goodmorning Engel.”

Perv! König always watches you like a hawk when you’re gonna go out. He always asks you questions like an overprotective father.

“Where are you going?”

“With who?”

“Engel you sure you wanna go? Why don’t we stay home and watch movies hm?”

Eventually he knows you’ll skip your next date and cave in.

Perv! Köing invites ghost and soap over just to talk and catch up with them. He tells you to wear a cute sundress for all of them. When you come out to serve them a drink they immediately smile and laugh at each other.

“I see you könig. Inviting this cute girl over to give us drinks.” Ghost says with his thick British accent lingering.

“That’s my roommate asshole.” König argues back.

“Even better that you got her walking around here all the time.” Soap adds.

Perv! König has your panties under his pillow. He jerks his cock to you while sniffing your panties dreaming and fantasizing about you on your knees innocently sucking his cock, looking up at him with doe-like eyes, all cockdrunk and slurring your words.

Perv! König watches pornstars that almost look exactly like you and groans when he sees the woman on screen cumming.

Perv! König was about to leave but before he left you mumble out..

“M’ gonna miss you könig”

He suddenly loses his breath and feels his thick cock hardened against his cargo pants. When you hug him he can feel your cunt press up against him unknowingly. His breath gets caught in his throat. He can feel your plump breasts rest against his chest.

Perv! König sometimes imagine you pregnant. Your tits swelled up with milk, your belly creating a slight bulge, your hips starting to widen and your hormones begin to rise. He imagines what it would be like if you cooked a warm meal for him and already on your knees ready to suck his cock when he comes home.

Perv! König get’s hard at Imagining your puffy cunt clenching around nothing as his warm sperm leak out of your cunt.

König might be a perv but he’s ur perv <3.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Little Roommate Series thing, smut mndi (18+), horny thoughts from Simon

Being roommates, there is always the possibility that when doing laundry something gets left behind in the washer/dryer. It happens, especially when both of you end up doing laundry one after the other.

Most of the time it’s shirts or pants, not a huge deal and since you both live together it’s not like it’ll get lost.

But sometimes other things get switched, like socks or maybe a dress. On the rare occasion though, someone’s underwear gets mixed up.

Mostly yours, really just yours.

Simon tries to not make it a big deal, because it’s not, but he can’t help the thoughts that race through his mind the moment he sees the price of clothing accidentally mixed in with his.

He can’t help but think about what you’d look like with just you panties on, hugging your ass that he so desperately wants to feel and concealing your pretty cunt from him.

How it’d feel to tease you through the fabric, slowly running his hand up and down to feel the wetness from you as he played with your clit through it just to hear you beg for him to really touch you.

Maybe he’d pull them to the side and push his hard cock inside of you without taking them off so when he shoves his hot cum in you, your panties will keep it nice and secure in your abused cunt. Or maybe he’d take them off and slip them into his pocket for safekeeping, so when he’s on base he can wrap it around himself when he misses you too much.

He’s thought about sniffing them once or twice and maybe “accidentally” putting it in his drawer with his briefs, but he quickly pushes those thoughts away with a red face. He wouldn’t want to be caught by you and be pegged as a creep.

Usually when he sees that your panties mixed up with his clothes he lets out a soft sigh, feeling his cock harden slightly, before he leaves it in the washer/dryer.

“You left something.” Is all he’ll say to you, just to keep your embarrassment down because he knows you’re going to be embarrassed, and goes to his room.

Simon has to relieve himself because if he doesn’t you’ll see but it also stops the crazy horny thoughts so he can focus on spending time with you instead of with his cock in his hand.

A/N: a little filthy thing I thought about it because I was doing laundry

[egrets-not-regrets]

Perfume: "Infatuation" for Big Cats (2)

Lenora assists a colleague in big cat research with some interesting results. When the new Emperor’s Children “Infatuation” brand of perfume was said to be even better at attracting big cats than the human “Obsession” perfume, Lenora was expecting to attract actual big cats like cougars, not her own Astartes. 

Author's Note: Part One. This is part two.

Warning: SMUT. OVERSTIMULATION. CUNNILINGUS. Also, Erriox feasting on Lenora like a big cat on his prey. Yeah, he’s a service top. 

Dialogue in the Gothic language is italicized and bolded.

Lenora’s nickname for Erriox is “Mountain Lion”.  

@kit-williams inspired this pheromone perfume smutfic. It’s been a wip for a long time.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy , @whorety-k

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams

In the back of his mind, Erriox knew he should get rid of the perfume to lessen some of that pervasive scent that was affecting them both. He’ll need to let his brothers know about this perfume and it’s… heavily distracting effects. He filed the reminder away in his mind, turning towards more immediate issues… such as the sight of Lenora unknowingly presenting herself to him, ass up, face down, as she was stretching. Erriox wasn’t done with her yet, not by far; not until Lenora had fallen to him completely and utterly, like the ruins of the enemy fortress after a siege. 

“Why is it not going away?” Lenora groaned, still bothered by the pressing need to fill the aching emptiness between her legs. 

She felt the hard metal ports on Erriox’s chest as he pushed her down onto her front on the mattress. 

“Erriox?” A whining gasp. She grabbed his arm when he reached under and pressed against her lower lips, stroking and teasing, trying to coax more slick from her already messy cunt. Lenora shuddered, tightly closing her legs together, trapping hIs hand.

“Mmmnnerriox… sto-a-ah…” Lenora bit her lip, one hand trying to grab his hand and stop him. Despite that, his fingers continued their teasing, dipping in and out of her core. His other hand pinched and pulled her sensitive nipples. Lenora shook her head, whining, desperately trying not to fall into the temptation of pleasure to piece together a thought she had. 

“Relax Lenora. Let yourself feel it.” He purred as he started to rut against her, making sure she felt his thick length against her back. 

“Erriox… the perfume… it’s driving me crazy.” She whined as she could feel his love bites and kisses along the back of her neck. The effects of the perfume were still strong and Lenora could still smell it. 

But the perfume wasn’t in this room… 

Her train of thought was sharply cut off when Erriox flipped her over and pinned her back to the bed. Purring, he bit her hardened nipple, soothing and swirling around it with his tongue, then biting harder and pulling on it. Lenora growled at him to stop but it came across as a wet needy mewl instead. 

He chuckled then switched to suckle from her other nipple. Lenora whimpered as her cunt pulsed with need. she clenched her thighs together, feeling the build up of slick between her legs. 

“Open your legs Lenora, I could smell your arousal. You’re not fooling anyone here.” He growled deeply as he gave her nipple one last hard suck before nipping and kissing his way down to her pussy. He growled as he easily pushed apart her thighs and delved his tongue inside her slit again. Himself rutting against the edge of her bed. 

“Erriox…” she tugged his hair insistently to get him to stop, “Please stop. Just wait a moment! I need…!” pleading. 

“What do you need, Lenora?” He glanced at her briefly, not stopping his feast, smirking when Lenora’s hips bucked against his face. 

“Aaugh… My clothes. They’re covered…mmm… in perfume. In the laundry basket… ah… I need to throw them into the washer?” her breath shortened with each suck, each lick, “Hah… At least get rid of the scent from here…mnngh…” tears squeezed out from the corners of her eyes, she couldn’t stop rutting against his face. Her hands clawed into his hair, “Please… pleasepleaseplease… mnn… sto-haaah… Nnnnghh!!!.” Lenora cried out as she came, back arching, thighs squeezing tightly around her Astartes’ head, him not stopping his relentless devouring, as if trying to suck her cunt dry. Erriox grunted as he spilled his seed onto her bedsheet. After catching her breath, she weakly tried to push herself away to get off the bed, “I need…”

“Relax, Lenora. I’ll take care of it.” Erriox gave her a quick kiss, pushed her down onto the bed again, then stood up. He grabbed her clothes basket and went to dump its contents in the washing machine. Remembering the perfume bottle and her clothes still on the table, he went over and double bagged the perfume bottle and put it in a sealed container then gathered their clothing. He sniffed the bundle of clothes deeply, his cock hardening again as his brain registered the heavy scents of both their sweat and arousal heightened by the pheromones of the perfume. Erriox purred. He was about to bring them to wash when he decided to pull out Lenora’s torn shirt and her cum-covered panties and tossed them into his room before throwing the rest of the clothes in the washing machine. She won’t miss them anyways...

The Iron Warrior smirked when he returned to his beloved’s room. His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, tasting the heavy scent of his beloved’s arousal in the air. He could hear her quiet whimpers as she moved up and down, grinding on the bunched blankets with a hand between her legs. He could see the goosebumps rising over her skin. 

“Lenora…” Erriox's deep voice drawled as he watched her from the doorway. 

Lenora stopped, face flushed, noticing his hungry stare. Erriox’s pupils were blown out as if the perfume hadn’t dissipated from his system at all. His erect cock hanging stiff with anticipation. 

“Erriox… I…” She froze as he stalked closer, licking her lips nervously. 

Sitting down on her bed with his back against the pillows, Erriox pulled her into his lap, “You haven’t had enough?” he chuckled as he pulled Lenora into his lap, her back against his chest. 

She gasped as his hands slid over body to tease her open and massage her breast, “Erriox…” she let out a breathy sigh and reached back to stroke his hardened dick, “Same goes for you.” grinning when she heard a soft growl.

“Tease.” Erriox nipped her ear and bucked against her, making Lenora lose focus and let go as his finger suddenly dug deeper into her core. 

Swallowing the building drool, Lenora’s fluttered closed, panting softly as she focused on the building pleasure between her thighs as she rocked against her Astartes’ fingers. She keened when a second finger sunk in to join the first inside her. 

“You’re so desperate, holding my hand for you to rut on like a whore in heat. Do my fingers feel that good, Lenora?” Erriox chuckled into her ear. 

Her lower half clenched at his words, her body flushed with embarrassment, “Shut up!” She hissed. 

“You… nnmmgh!!” Whatever further reply she had was cut short when Erriox curled his fingers in her, pressing into that spongy spot that short-circuited her brain. Her pussy gushed as she came on his hand. He purred as he thrust his fingers several repeatedly, feeling her wet channel tighten around them and more moisture leak down his hand. 

“Please. Erriox.” Lenora begged, delirious as the heat in her belly started building again, “Please. I need you inside me.”

He decided to be a little cruel and continued to finger her cunt, keeping his heavy hand pressed hard onto her swollen clit, making her whine each time her clit rubbed against his calloused palm as she rocked against him, “I am inside you.” He purred as he nipped her ear. 

Lenora leaned back against him, her hands gripping his… her hips still rutting against his right hand… body bowed to press more of her soft breast tissue into his left, determined to chase that delicious friction, “Stop teasing me…” she mewled. 

His voice was rough and sultry, “Tell me what you want. In Gothic.” Even though it was obvious from the way her juices covered his hand and leaked down the inside of her thighs. 

“I want…” her voice hitched, feeling his cock head tease open her slit, gathering her fluids. Up and down. In and out.

“I want…” her mind blanking as his hand squeezed her breast. Lenora realized she didn’t know the word for “fuck” in Gothic. She let out a breathy moan, feeling him slide his thick length against her bottom lips repeatedly, spreading more of their mixed fluids along it. 

“I want you to fuck me. Repeat it.” Erriox growled, the vibration sending shivers down her spine. Losing his patience, he pushed Lenora onto her hands and knees and shoved his cock into her, his cockhead forcing its way past her hole and into her slick channel again. 

Erriox groaned, “Lenora…fuck. Lenora…you’re still so tight.” almost losing focus. She was so hot and wet, so ready and breedable, and her cunt constricted his cock in just the right way. He didn’t know if his hand could ever replicate the same feeling. 

Lenora moaned as he started moving, “Mmmm… I want… oh… you… ah… to fuck… ahngh… fuck me... hah… Please.” Each gasp punctuated by a push of his hips as he thrust his dick deeper and deeper into her cunt. 

Her sinfully lustful moans and pleas almost made him lose control. It was incredibly tempting to dick her down with wild abandon, but he wanted to savour her, to claim her fully in body and mind. Erriox set a steady pace, fucking her with powerful strokes. He could hear Lenora whine and mewl like a cat in heat beneath him, her hips moving back to meet his thrusts, desperate to quell the burning desire rising in her. 

“Erriox… More... Hah… Need you. Please… Erriox!” The squelching sounds her wet sex made with each thrust only urged him to fuck her harder. 

He could feel her cunt tighten even more around his cock. She teetered on the edge of cumming, he could feel it. Chuckling quietly, he slowed down. 

Lenora tried to push her hips back into him, but turned her head to him, looking confused and hurt when he trapped her moving hips in his arm. 

“Why….?” She whined. Her sex pulsed around the length of his dick as he sawed in and out of her at a torturously slow pace. 

“Again. I want to hear you say it again. Tell me what you want me to do.” Erriox rumbled next to  her ear. 

She looked at him with a dazed and heated expression, pleading nonsensically, trying to push and wiggle in his grip; looking rather pathetic with how much she craved her orgasm, “Nnghnoo… I… I want you… hah… I…want…please… aaah… Eek!” 

Lenora squealed as Erriox smacked her ass, the impact heavy enough to leave a red mark. 

“Focus!” He sneered, “Or is your mind too fucked dumb to understand what I am saying?” 

She let out a strangled moan when he slapped her ass again. 

“Or is getting slapped around like a whore is what you want…” he commented dryly. He had felt the way Lenora’s cunt strangled his cock when he spanked her, felt the way her juices leaked from her slit shortly after. Erriox caressed her ass, slipping his hand between her legs and pulled it out, coated in her arousal. His eyes pinned onto her form, watching Lenora moaning at her own taste as she sucked on his fingers that he stuffed her mouth.

She had no idea what her Iron Warrior just said. All she knew was that she needed him to dick her down again. Punish her if he had to. “Please fuck me.” She begged when he removed his fingers. 

“In Gothic, Lenora. I want you to fuck me.” He growled. 

“Erriox… please… please… I want you to fuck MEEE!!!” 

‘“Good girl.” was all Lenora heard before the end of her sentence dissolved into a high pitched quail at the same time as Erriox slammed his hips against her ass, spearing his cock deep inside and started to fuck her again, rough and deep. Lenora came  hard, back arching, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. 

The Iron Warrior grunted at the feeling of her warmth fluttering around his cock, “You feel so fucking good around me, Lenora, like you were made for me.”

“Erriox… nngh! Erri… Erriox… hah… please more… aahn…” Lenora moaned his name repeatedly in a blissed, fucked out state, beyond listening or trying to understand what her Astartes just said. Her face planted into the bed as her arms lost all strength to brace her body against his thrusting. She could feel his girthy cock carving its shape into her.

Lenora babbled, words in English and Gothic tumbling out of her mouth, “Erriox… oh god…mmm… so good… yes… all mine… Erriox!”

“All for me. All mine. I will ruin you for any other man.” He growled possessively as his thrusting got  faster, more frantic, more rough. Lenora keened, her insides clenching at her Astartes’ dark possessive growl. 

“Tell me who you belong to!” He snarled

“Erriox! You! I’m yours! All yours…” she moaned loudly. 

He suddenly flipped them both over so that Lenora was sitting in his lap. Startled, Lenora planted her feet onto the mattress, pushing her hips up to keep her balance. Erriox snarled and pushed her down onto the base of his cock. Lenora squealed, her cunt fluttering around his dick as it tried to accommodate the sudden deep intrusion. Her trembling legs were spread wide over his legs. Erriox's large hands gripped the soft flesh of her cum-smeared thighs, grunting as he bucked into her from underneath. His breath stuttered, listening to her whimper as he could feel her cunt strangling his cock. His balls twitched, he was close to cumming as well. 

Erriox moved one hand over her pelvis and pressed against where his cock was carving into her vagina, “You feel that? You cunt, moulding and shaping around me?” he growled breathily into her ear, “You’re only ever mine, so be good for me and cum on my cock.” 

Acutely feeling the pressure of his thick cock pressed into her walls, Lenora let out a loud broken moan, drool leaking out of the corner of her mouth as another powerful buck of her Astartes’ hips and the rush of liquid heat into her womb ripped one final orgasm from her. She gripped tightly onto Erriox’s hand that was placed over her lower abdomen, her juices squirting all over his lap, further spoiling the bed sheets underneath, as her body shook from the rush of high running through her system. Lenora collapsed back against his chest, boneless and panting from exhaustion, her cunt still twitching around his dick, their mixed fluids slowly leaking out between them. She whined as Erriox slowly pulled out her, feeling the rest of their cum spilling out of her pussy. 

Erriox gently gathered her into his arms so that she was facing him, and licked her tears away, pressing his forehead against hers, “Are you alright?” he asked, a concerned look in his eyes. 

Lenora had an exhausted, but fond smile as she shakily reached up to caress his face, her smile growing bigger as he leaned into her touch. Her fingers tenderly traced over the scars decorating his face, reassuring him, “Tired, but I’m good. The effects of the perfume are gone… I think. I don’t feel the heat anymore. So thank you.” She reached up to kiss his lips. 

Erriox purred as he pushed into her kiss. “You are beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, brushing away her sweat-drenched hair plastered to her face. 

Lenora blinked at his sudden comment and blushed, then giggled shyly, “Thank you for the compliment. You are rather handsome yourself.” 

He chuckled as she kissed him again. 

They stayed cuddled together for a while when Lenora had something to ask him. 

“Mountain Lion…”

“Yes, Love?” 

She smiled at the term of endearment. Lenora relaxed into Erriox’s embrace, coveting the heat emanating from his body. 

“We should get rid of that perfume bottle.”

“Mmm… Maybe.”

She lightly smacked his chest, “Erriox!” 

[seresinhangmanjake]

It’s oh so quiet

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Summary: you are in a bad relationship, and you just want to be with Jake.

Warnings: angst (?), but fluffy end. cursing. cheating/unfaithfulness. poor relationship.

notes: its technically jake seresin x reader/bradley bradshaw x reader, but barely

Sorry i’ve been so awol. there has just been a lot going on

Words: 1668

-----

"Did you know the sheets pilled?"

There's an oblong table in your kitchen. Large. Out of place in the cramped space. He sits at one end, you at the other. The distance between you is enough to keep one another well out of reach, but you're used to it. With your hands in your lap, you stare at the outside of the flimsy newsprint in his grip that obscures most of his face. 

"What?" He asks, taking a sip of coffee. He doesn't bother to flick the corner of the page down to meet your eye. 

"The bedsheets,” you pick at your thumbnail, “they pilled. From the washer." Cheap things. So thin you can see the label of your mattress through the fabric. That they're not littered with holes is a miracle. “That’s why it feels like someone dumped a bucket of cracker crumbs in the bed.”

"Oh," he pauses, maintaining his full attention on the article. You know he didn’t bother to fully absorb your words before opening his mouth. His stupid mouth. "I hadn't noticed."

Of course not, you think. He sleeps soundly. Thoroughly. He sleeps like a cradled cat with a belly full of milk. Always waking perfectly rested; yesterday’s troubles as thick and potent in his mind as a cup of watered-down coffee is on his tongue. His side of the bed might as well be silky soft, smooth. You wouldn’t know. You haven’t spent much time there in a while. Meanwhile, your side is filled with little balls of hardened fabric that scrape their way into the uppermost layer of your skin. As irritating as kneeling on a pile of uncooked grits or chipped pieces of rock. 

You don’t sleep anymore. You can’t blame the sheets. You think of him. The other him. The him whose face is tattooed on the inside of your eyelids. Ever present. Following you with each blink—each attempt at rest. 

-

“Are you going to leave him?”

Your hand runs softly down the side of his face, skimming across the light blond scruff coating his jaw. “Is that what you want?”

He grabs your hand from his face. Kisses your palm. “You know it is.”

-

The man before you doesn’t speak—he reads. He doesn’t look up. You’re not there; not to him. The room is once again silent—silence in its rawest form. We have silent sex, you suddenly think. Well, had silent sex. You don’t touch him anymore and he doesn’t try to touch you. He knows better; knows you prefer those touches to come from another’s fingers; he just doesn’t know whose. He doesn’t ask. 

It’s so heavy, this silence. Thick. Hard to penetrate. It’s different here, in this space. Uncomfortable and achy and soon it will morph into pure pain—it always does. It makes you miss the noise. The days you used to fight. The screams and the curses and that time the walls shook when his fist pummeled through the plaster. Without the noise, this silence is a murderous little thing. It seeps into your pores, nestles under your skin, and slowly eats away at your insides until you feel ugly and rotten, like a festering wound. Something to be cut out and discarded. 

It’s not like that with him. With him, silence is easy; it’s peace. It turns your brain into cotton candy clouds. You’re free to not have to think. You’re free to breathe. You like breathing. It’s oddly pleasant. Even more so when you’re laying beside him while his fingers sift through the stands of your hair. 

-

“I love you,” he says. 

“I know—I love you, too.”

“Then when do I get to clear out half of my closet?”

You raise a brow. “Get to?”

He only smiles and tugs your body closer to his. “I want to have you here. I'm ready for you to be mine. Only mine."

-

You are ready, too. So, so ready. Each moment of acting otherwise seems to age you. Like nature looks upon you every day, shaking its head in disappointment, and decides that if you’re going to waste your time being miserable when you could be happy, then you don’t get to keep your youth. You’re wasting it and you don’t deserve such a gift. 

You understand nature’s irritation. You hadn’t been too thrilled with yourself, either. But then last weekend happened. 

For the first time, you hadn't left his place to shuffle your way back to your apartment. You woke up in a bed other than your own and when you opened your eyes, you flipped over to be met with the peaceful face of the man you loved—asleep, and yet awake enough to subconsciously wrap his arm tighter around your waist and nuzzle his face into your hair. You knew in a half-second that that was where you belonged. With him. In his arms, his bed, his heart. Your life is meant to be by his side. It's just a matter of speaking it aloud to more than yourself. 

Your eyes penetrate through the paper. You can practically see his face; emotionless, dull, the entirety of him unmoved by your presence. 

“It’s Jake,” you finally say, your voice powerful, slicing through the air. You take a breath. "It's been Jake."

He still doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. You start to think you’ve reached a whole new level of insignificance to him. But then he folds the newspaper and lays it flat atop the table. He looks up at you—stares straight into your soul.

“It was that girl from the bar,” he says. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not one bit. You don’t feel anything in your body at the thought of his limbs entangled with another woman's. Your heart doesn’t crack, your head doesn’t ache, your fingers don’t tremble. It’s nothingness. There’s nothing.

You only nod in response, but truthfully you don’t know which girl he is talking about. There were many options. Women fling themselves at him whenever you go out, and he lets them. His voice is a beacon from the moment he sits himself down on that piano bench. A beacon to all women but you. With his eyes on them, yours are always on Jake, standing on the other side of the bar, his hand outstretched for you to take and sneak off somewhere more private. 

He shakes his head as he crosses his arms and fully leans back in the chair. His snort is a puff of air. “He’s always talking about you,” he says. “Drags your name into every damn conversation.”

You hold back the smile his words beg to spread across your face. But his own meaning is clear. I should’ve known. It was so obvious. It was right in front of me the whole time. 

You agree. It was right there, in plain sight, from the moment it started. He just never cared enough to bother seeing. Neither did you care to notice how easily he fell into arms that were not your own.

“No one else to pick but my teammate?” he asks.

You shrug. “Why did you pick the girl you did?”

“She was there and she wanted me.” 

"Jake was there and he wanted me," you say. “And I fell in love with him.” To say the least. Jake Seresin hit you like an avalanche; showing you all the things you didn't know you could have. All the things that completely and simultaneously swell your heart and set your body aflame.

"Well." Fingers run through his brown locks. “Are you leaving or am I?”

“I am. At the end of the week.”

He scoffs, but there’s a hint of a dry laugh buried beneath it. “All planned out and everything, huh?”

You can practically taste the bitterness on his tongue. You know it all too well from past kisses. It's his pride this time, though, that has been damaged. You feel an ounce of regret for that. Hurting him is not your intention. It never was. But anything he feels now is not a wound to the heart. It's been quite some time since you could have had that power.

“When was the last time we were good for one another, Bradley? When was the last time you looked at me and could truly say you loved me?”

He's quiet, yet again. This time appearing to think on your question. Perhaps he believes it's for your benefit to not seem so terribly obvious in already knowing the answer. But he’s not alone. You've both known the answer for far too long. 

“I don’t know," he says. 

You nod. "Neither do I.”

—-

He's leaning against the back of his truck; muscled body clad in jeans and a black t-shirt, the short sleeves straining from the thickness of his biceps. He hasn't noticed you yet and you let yourself stare at him—taking him in, absorbing him the way his skin absorbs the summer sun. 

Then you smile wide and run to him from the entrance of your apartment building. He notices you just in time to catch you in his arms, spinning you around once before setting you on your feet. 

"Hi," you say. 

He shakes his head with a smile that mirrors your own, and then he kisses you. A soft press of his lips to yours, but it's enough to burst tingles throughout your body, reaching down to your toes and to the tips of your fingers that are weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Hi, baby," he whispers between the narrow space separating your lips when you break the kiss. "I missed you."

A chuckle escapes your mouth as he sighs and rests his forehead against yours. His arms tighten around you, as if holding you loosely would give you the freedom to evaporate from his grasp. But you never will. Not by your own choice. "I don't think you'll be saying that for a while, Jake."

"Good." He gives you another long kiss. "Let's go get your stuff."

-----

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[billythenightguard]

Run Away: Detention (2011) & FNAF Movie Crossover - Chapter Seven

Masterlist

Mentions: self harm, bullies, Cinderhella (brief)

Word Count: 875

Warnings: same as mentions

Older!Clapton/Mike x GN!Reader

Finally, a day off for you and Mike, the owner wanted to fix the security cameras and some other miscellaneous items, so you and Mike at last had a day off together, but you hadn’t known that yet, still peacefully asleep in his bed. Mike opened the front door and trekked in quietly at 4:30 in the morning, an hour before you were meant to show up to Freddy’s.

“Hey,” he said softly, hating that he’d have to wake you.

“Mmph, not now Clapton… too early.” You mumbled, not fully awake, not realizing whose name you said. It made Mike’s chest tighten as he bit his lower lip, hating that now he was outright lying to you.

“Not Clapton, sweetheart.” He murmured, “it’s Mike. We have the day off today.”

You sat up slowly and rubbed your eyes, blinking up at him, “we do?”

“Mhm, there’s a bunch of technical dudes there, with a paper signed by none other than Mr. Afton himself.”

“Want your bed back?”

“Not yet, you go back to sleep okay? I’ll take Abby to school, rest as much as you need.” His words warmed you as you settled back into his bed, face buried in the pillow and letting the cologne engulf you once again.

“Sleep, you know you need it.” Clapton said to you sweetly, stroking your hair as you laid on his bed, tears stained your cheeks from the past hour spent crying into his chest. “I’ll be just downstairs okay? I want to make us some dinner.”

“M’kay…” you had murmured, falling asleep easily, Clapton smiled and watched you for five minutes before his gaze hardened and he got up, grabbing his old baseball bat.

“Don’t!” Smash. “Fuck!” Smash. “With!” Smash. “My!” Smash. “Best friend!!” He yelled, his baseball bat colliding with the metal and windows of the old ‘98 Chevy, the boy who was not only his age, but had asked you out only to humiliate you. He was ready to kill this boy, to make him hurt physically like you were hurting mentally.

“They’re fucking awesome! They’re incredibly smart, kind, and loving! And you hurt them?!” He pointed his bat at the boy who ran out, his chest heaving. It was how he got arrested at 18, how at 13 you brought the police yours and his piggy bank’s savings for his bail, the sheriff wasn’t fond of Clapton’s actions, but he could appreciate your effort to free your best friend, so he covered the remaining $75 of the $300 bail.

Your eyes slowly blinked open, fluttering to adjust to the sunlight peeking in from the blinds, a smile on your face as you recalled your dream, how Clapton had told you what he had done for you.

“I miss you Clapton, more than you know.” You whispered, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side, stretching slowly as the faint smell of breakfast filled your senses. You walked out to go greet Mike, noticing he was shirtless, most likely doing laundry as you heard the faint hum of the washer. But your eyes couldn’t tear apart from one spot. His lower back on the left side. The scar you knew too well. Your mouth felt dry, your throat seemed to close as questions filled your head, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Clapton.” You said firmly, watching how his shoulders tensed for a second, and then he turned to you and smiled.

“Are you still in dreamland? It’s Mike.” He chucked, those deep brown eyes, the faint sunbleach in his brown curls, the way his smile created the dimples you adored. You stepped towards him, tears in your eyes and rage filling you. He lied. For months.

“Liar,” was all you said, watching the panic set in just before you slapped him.

“I can explain!” He stammered out, grabbing your hand, hardly flinching from your slap, it hurt, but he was scared to look away. “Please, please let me explain.”

“You left me!” You shrieked, trying to get out of his grip, “for ten years! Not a text, a call, a card, nothing! I was alone, Clapton!”

“I’m sorry!” He pulled you into a hug, tightly holding you to him as you beat against his back.

“I was so blind! So fucking blind!”

“I-”

“You don’t get to speak, Clapton Micheal Davis!!” You cried, shoving yourself back from him, trying to avoid the wounded look he gave you. “You left, and then you lied to me… for months.”

“It was to keep you safe.” He said quietly, willing himself to not cry.

“I would have been safer with you!”

“No, you don’t get it, Sander-”

“Oh, like he was the problem? Not the fucking bullies, or the guys and girls who would humiliate me, not myself?!”

Yourself? His eyes flicked to your arms, he barely saw them before you crossed your arms over your chest, his heart dropped to his stomach and he felt sick. Not you, not his firecracker. He knew his absence caused this.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, head hung low as he felt tears escaping.

“Leave me alone…” and with that, you had left, the front door opening and closing, and Mike was alone in the world again, his sobs filling the kitchen as he sat down at the table.

Tags: @na-is-salty @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @mad-die45 @cancelledkaley @mschmidt @dessxoxsworld @madihatter0

[holygrailimagines]

Cleaning Day

Summary: Cleaning Day literally becomes dirty day, SMUT!

Author's note: This was requested a long time ago, so I am so sorry to whoever requested this, I hope the wait was worth it! Enjoy!

You and your husband shared the same, mutual distaste for cleaning day. It was something you both dreaded but knew it was necessary. No matter how much you disliked cleaning, the both of you knew it was much more preferable to live in a clean house than a dirty one. Thankfully, the two of you were an excellent team and always conquered cleaning day. 

After several hours, the only thing left to do was place the final load of clothes inside the washer. Then, an idea creeped into your mind. You began undressing yourself, leaving yourself in your bra and panties. 

“Leo? Ven aquí por favor.” You called for him, instantly hearing his footsteps making their way into the laundry room. When he walked in, he was stunned. He did not expect to see you nearly nude in the middle of the laundry room. It was silly but he was definitely getting turned on at the view of you doing laundry in your undergarments. You knew what this was doing to him, smirking to yourself as you placed your set of dirty clothes inside the washer. 

“Yes?” He asked, finally snapping himself into reality. 

“I was thinking it would be a great idea to just wash our clothes now instead of waiting for the next load.” You explain. It really was a great idea, a sexy one too. He stared at you, wondering whether you were joking or not. 

“Are you gonna take off your clothes?” You ask impatiently, pointing at his clothes. He looked down at himself and hesitantly began stripping. You watched him, smiling at his disbelief. He handed you his clothes, and a smirk formed on his lips. 

“What about these?” He asked, his fingers pinching the hem of his boxers. You didn’t even answer him, unclipping your bra and sliding down your panties, placing them inside the washer. Again, he was stunned at your actions but he quickly followed suit. You closed the washer lid and slowly leaned forward on the washer with your palms, arching your back slightly. You took your sweet time scanning the washer’s cleaning options as if you hadn’t used it for years. Messi was behind you, his cock undeniably hard. 

“Should we pick…deep clean?” You asked innocently, turning your head to the side so you could catch a glimpse of your husband. He wasn’t even paying attention, silently thanking god that your hair was tied up so he could admire your bare back. You pushed your ass back, instantly coming into contact with his crotch. He quickly held your hips, completely stopping you from moving any further. The room suddenly became freezing cold as your nipples hardened. He quickly attached his lips to your jaw, sucking on the soft skin. You threw your head back, resting it on his chest as you felt your cunt flare up. 

He guided his tip, sliding it up and down your glistening lips before pushing himself inside. He grunted, entering you entirely. You whimpered at his touch, your pussy taking all of him. As soon as the base of his cock reached your ass, he pulled out and slammed himself back in. You moaned loudly, your walls clenching tightly around his girth. He groaned at the warmth and grip he felt from you, his thrusts becoming rapid and stronger. The washer beneath you squeaked with each pounding thrust Messi gave you. You couldn’t hold yourself any longer as you laid flat against the washer. You gripped the edges of the washing machine, as his balls slapped against your ass. He placed his palms on either side of your head, thrusting deeper inside of you. His grunts became louder as your moans grew in pitch. 

“Please,” you begged, not really sure what for. He groaned, pulling you up by your hair. 

“I wanna see you when I come,” He said huskily, staring at your face. His eyes were dark with lust, a thin layer of sweat coating his face. You moaned in response, staring in his eyes. His cock twitched inside you and his thrusts became messier. With one final thrust, he coated your walls with his seed. You whimpered as he slipped out, his juices running down your legs. You laid limply on the washing machine, your cunt still sensitive and pulsating.

“Did you come?” He asked through deep breaths, you shook your head no, too weak to respond with words. 

“I have another great idea, how about a shower?” 

Another Author's Note: I am really sorry if I haven't completed any requests as quick as I should have. I am planning on catching up on all of them by the end of this month. If I haven't completed your request by then, it is probably because I wasn't comfortable or was unsure how to write, I am sorry if that was the case with any of your requests. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!!

[monstrousaffections1]

Willabella,

Willabella,

Willabella Muckwab.

Willabella the Washer Woman.

Willabella the Witch.

The Witch in the Web.

Burnings embers and toiled soil. Cloths of cotton and fleece. Stirred in the barrel an beaten clean. Hard is her labour by the river's edge, unmarried and underpaid. Hands hardened and shoulders sore. Young of age but brittle bone. Willabella the Hatchetfield Washer Woman.

Man by the river, man by the river. A handsome man by the river, money filled waist coat with green silken sheen. Mannerisms not of the worldly speaks of the unholy, tempting grin, emerald eyes. Unable to tell truth or lies.

Wiggly,

Wiggog y'wrath.

[random-conspiracy]

Oh my god, oh my fucking god, GUYS, IT'S HERE, SOMEONE TRANSLATED IT!!! This is peak spanish copypasta shitpost AND IT'S HERE in english!!! READ IT. The rat with thinner

Some time ago, I was renting a flat with one of my cousins, but the bloke was a sexually deranged man. He often came back home with car-washers, natives, orphans, beggars, and even Mexicans directly from the railroads.

My cousin, out of goodwill, fed them, let them shower, and even sometimes gave them clothes and shoes; but with the condition of having sex or at least receiving oral sex. I admit that at first, I disliked the idea and preferred to lock myself in my room, listening to music, hitting my joint—anything but smelling the tramps. But my cousin was bringing more and more fucked-up junkies, spoiled and crazy fuckers, and he asked me to take care of him if they became aggressive, besides he gets too dunked when on poppers.

I accepted reluctantly, but I have to admit I got used to watching my cousin being drilled by bums without rubber lmao. Once I was in the kitchen when my cousin arrived, and I got a really fucked-up stink. I initially thought he had brought home a corpse or something, but when I looked up, I saw he had the most fucked-up drug fiend deadbeat. Filthy, lousy, with his hair made into dreadlocks of blood and shit, shaky, and with a lost look, dressed in a mud-hardened jacket.

We gave him instant ramen, and meanwhile, he was eating, I told my cousin, "Shiiit, you went too far," and he just said, "Haha, I know." Then, the shithead puts a hand in his jacket, and I almost took out my twenty-two. But no, he only brought out a fucking giant dead rat, soaked it in paint thinner, and snorted it like a puff.

I said, "Holy shit, what the heck?" but somehow my cousin got fucking horny and he started to blow him without bathing him. The hobo was there, legs open, “mousing him up,” and my cousin was already taking off his pants and plucking him out. He was so big, maybe even his scepter would be rich without the coats of smegma and crabs that adorned his pubic hair. My cousin gulped him entirely and I didn’t know whether to turn on or puke, so I opted for smoking some weed.

My cousin, concupiscent, took all of his clothes off and offered his ass to the vagrant, and he, without thinking twice, started to lick it. My bottom cousin was in pure ecstasy, in a state of trance at feeling his ass pampered by the mouth of the drifter. Eventually, he shoved his big ass shaft, diamond hard without protection, making my cousin moan and scream like a dying cow, all of it while on poppers.

They were “tunneling the cave,” when the dude brought out his rat again, hit it profusely and—wham!—shoved it in the butt of my cousin.

Sheesh.

He kept pumping it harder, pushing the rat more and more deeply inside my cousin. It was an intercourse getting feral increasingly. After a while, with my cousin dripping in cum, the bum pulled out his flaccid weenie, ate all the ramen, and started yelling at me. I didn’t know what he was gibbering, and I was high AF, so I just pointed my gun at him and sent him off. The dude whited out so quickly that he forgot his pants on the floor, and I just stayed there napping.

An hour later, I was woken up by the shrieks of my cousin. He was sobbing that his ass and guts were hurting, he didn’t even remember what he did with his lover hehe. I helped him get to the toilet to shit the cramped cum and—HOLY SHIT—he farted out the whole rat, but butchered and dripping in maggots. He almost passed out and asked me to take him to the hospital to have his guts washed.

But he was feeling so brave in his horniness, hehe I swear it’s true.

-Traslated by Umeboshi

[startseeingstars]

Collision Path - Mike 5lbs of Pressure

CH04 Mike’s POV 🎶 {Obsession - Thornhill}

Male masturbat!on

I opened the washer and dumped the first load in when I noticed something black in the corner by the dryers. I squinted and stepped closer, a smile tugging at my mouth as I realised it was a lacy pair of panties. Maddi’s panties - or Lilith’s? It didn’t matter - I recognised them from the first time I saw her at the club. That pleasant image had been scorched into my mind. I looked around, making sure I was alone but picking them up and stuffing them in my pocket. I quickly started the two loads of laundry and made my way back up to the apartment.

I sat down on the couch in my room in front of the TV, feeling the small bit of fabric burning a hole in my pocket.

I could feel the urge to pleasure myself bubbling to the surface. Just knowing they were hers and she had worn them so recently was a turn on - even though they were clean. I inspected them carefully, letting my mind imagine her dancing for me in them as I felt my cock harden.

I unzipped my pants and instinctively wrapped them around my cock as I stroked myself to full hardness. I leant my back, resting it on the back of the couch as I closed my eyes and let the fantasy of her play. I knew it was wrong to steal her underwear, but I couldn’t help myself - she was so gorgeous. The impulsiveness of the sinful act was what made it all the hotter. She would have no idea I’d used her lingerie to get myself off to her.

It’d been a while since I’d been with anybody and I felt myself quickly reaching my limit as my breathing fastened.

My phone rang and pulled me out of the intense build up. I groaned, knowing it would be Leff. It was always fucking Leff.

“What?” I answered.

“Need you down here for a drop. Sicky will be there in five.” He said simply, hanging up before I could even respond. I tossed the phone aside in annoyance and looked down at my cock. It was still hard, Maddi’s panties still draped around it seductively - but I knew the phone call had ruined it.

I sighed, feeling regret for my actions. She may not know it happened, but I would. Even if I found it hot, I was still ashamed.

I got up and shoved the panties into my jeans pocket as I grabbed my coat, ready to head to head downstairs.

As I walked past her apartment, I wrapped the panties around her door handle and smirked, finding the idea a little funny. Truthfully, I hoped she would wear them on Saturday when I planned to visit her at the club.

I got in the car and Sicky flicked his finished cigarette out the window. He whistled and I looked up to see Maddi walking toward the building. “Alright, love?” He called out to her and she looked up. I slapped his arm and he looked at me, confused.

“What?” He asked, eyeing me as if I’d just said something absurd.

“Leave her alone.” I muttered and watched her look at me in the passenger seat. I gave her a small wave and an apologetic smile, to which she chuckled as she went inside the building.

“Oh, fuck off. That’s the stripper?” He asked incredulously, eyebrows raised at me. “That’s the bird you’re trying to get chummy with?” He laughed, shaking his head as he pulled away from the curb.

“You’ve got taste kid, but a woman like that needs a real man.” He winked, grinning at me suggestively and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t appreciate the way he looked at her - like she was some piece of ass he wanted to use the way he did every other woman I’d seen him pull.

I may be the sick fuck jerking off with her underwear, but there was something about her that intrigued me.

Or maybe it was just the fact I hadn’t had sex in three months? Who knew.

I thought back to the last time I’d had sex and felt more guilt. Eli’s girlfriend, Lori and I had fooled around for a little while during one of their ‘breaks’ as she had put it. She’d insisted on keeping it up once they’d reconciled, since she had little faith in their relationship working out, but I had to draw the line. Eli was my only friend in this city - I’d already done enough damage, even if he didn’t know about it.