#Precious train wreck

[philiponmycracker]

This damn shot. The numbness in his expression, eyes swollen from crying his soul out in the bathroom. Utterly overwhelmed and blinded with grief, inside of him a ton of explosives about to go off... I love the way Dixon is putting on his tough guy face, trying so hard to keep the storm of emotions under control. And here, he has just realised he's about to fail spectacularly. Grief turns into anger. He is about to snap with the sudden, wild, most violent and blinding misplaced rage. We won't be laughing at him now, not after the monster is unleashed.

Sam Rockwell, fucking phenomenal.

[ofswordsandpens]

listen I am Luke Castellan hater first, and a Luke Castellan defender second, they are not mutually exclusive to me

[jacensolodjo]

Just saw a dude with Nicholas II and St*lin tattooed on his tiddies.

Sir.

Sir what sense does any of this make.

[francixoxoxo]

˚ .✧ Precious as Rubies

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒳 ℛℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽ℯ 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓈ℴ𝓂ℯ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒽ℯ𝓁𝓁． 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓋ℯ𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓌𝓇ℴ𝓃𝑔， ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇𝓈．

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭!

𝐓𝐖: 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Lollllll sorry for angst

Coriolanus’ world had nearly stopped turning when the doctor told him your pregnancy could be fatal.

He swore he would never, never love the child who killed the love of his life. The only woman he could ever love. Coryo’s late-night tears became cries of anger, tears of spite. That damn fetus. He did this to you, he put that parasite into your perfect body and now you wouldn’t let him fix his mistake. Now you forced him to live with the consequences.

He would never love the child that killed you.

Coriolanus had been paralyzed with fear that all that spite, all that hate for his own baby might dampen whatever love he had left, now that she had let you live. He was proved impossibly wrong, the very moment Ruby wrapped her little, chubby fingers around his pinky and his azure eyes flooded with tears. Oh, it was him wrapped around her finger from then on.

The first night you brought her home, Coriolanus held you close to him, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Telling you just how grateful he was for you. Murmuring just how much he adored you. Putting his foot down and whispering that you two would have no more children after this whole wreck. It seemed like just after you two fell asleep, Ruby’s cries came from the nursery.

Coryo moved to get up, but you shook your head. “She’s hungry. I’ll get it.” You cooed, a gentle hand on his chest pushing him back against the mattress. He grumbled something but obliged you.

When you slipped back into his arms, Coryo stirred only enough to press a kiss to your hairline and mumble a goodnight. You were exhausted, sleep was calling your name.

Until a few hours later you awoke to your daughter’s bawls from the room over. This time, your husband threw the covers off him before you could protest. He leaned over you to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “It’s only fair.”

You don’t protest. Childbirth has exhausted you, quite frankly. So you let your eyes flutter shut, and your mind slip into sleep.

You wake up only just a few hours later, though not to Ruby crying. Some instinct in you forces you to your feet— Coryo isn’t in his side of the bed. Barefoot and sore, you make your way to the nursery, all sorts of nerves shooting through you.

When you push open the door, the hallway lights pour into the dark nursery to illuminate Coriolanus, sitting in the rocking chair beside Ruby’s bassinet. He was absolutely knocked out, baby in his arms, bottle empty in his hand and head tipped back against the chair, blonde curls loose and mussed. Oh, what a sight.

You worked hard to keep your laughter to yourself, carefully stepping closer and kissing Coryo’s forehead. You almost lifted Ruby from his arms, but it was such a tender vision that you couldn’t bring yourself to. You slept very soundly, knowing that your baby was safely tucked into her father’s arms.

Coriolanus proved himself over and over again just how good a father he could be. You and him both agreed that you needed to be involved with Ruby, you couldn’t just leave her to a nanny as most capitol socialites would.

Ruby was a blessing, and Coryo always treated her as such. He read to her at night, you’d sit in that same rocking chair he’d fallen asleep in all those years ago, looking between your daughter and husband. His eyes would be trained on the book, occasionally he smiled up at Ruby. Oh, she’d grown into the most darling little girl.

With your dark locks in the shape of Coryo’s thick curls, and his bright, sapphire eyes, rosy little cheeks and sweet smiles. Ruby stole everyone’s heart the moment she spoke. Coriolanus absolutely spoiled her, adorning her little neck in expensive yet simple and childish necklaces, a favorite of hers becoming a dainty ruby on a golden chain. You dressed her in the cutest baby doll dresses, wrapping her up in the best fashions and most darling colors to suit her cheery nature. Every toy that girl wanted, her father was holding behind his back, cooing for her to close her eyes as he presented it to her the very next day. Spoiled absolutely rotten, you’d say to Coryo.

“Well, I don’t see a problem.” Coriolanus shrugged, looking up from the documents on his desk and peering at you through his lashes. You were sprawled out over a chaise against the wall of his office, feet propped up on the armrest and a hand splayed over your belly. You’d put a five year old Ruby to bed about thirty minutes ago. it was another late night for Coryo and a restless one for you, so you figured you might stay up with him.

You shake your head. “She’ll get a big head if we aren’t careful.” Coriolanus shook his head, smiling softly to himself. He scrawled his signature on a bill.

“She hasn’t yet. Ruby’s a very humble girl.” Coriolanus announced with pride, glancing towards you. You didn’t seem convinced, still worrying for your daughter. “My love, you never got snobbish. I could shower her in jewels bigger than her fist and she would still take after you.” You were relieved to find that, years later, he was correct.

She never got greedy, or snobbish. Surrounded by spoiled children of her father’s colleagues, you were very careful to remind her to be humble. To be kind.

While you and Coryo got ready for a gala, she’d sit on your bed, watching her father clasp expensive diamond necklaces around your neck, pressing sweet kisses to your shoulder as he zipped up the back of your dress. Watching as you fixed his tie, listening as your wit brought laughter from his lips. The two of you showed Ruby what love was, what it meant to give your whole heart to a person.

Coryo would stand behind you, letting you use up the mirror as he rested his hands on your hips. You’d adjust your hair, and your husband’d rest his chin on your shoulder, meeting Ruby’s eyes in the mirror. “Isn’t your mother beautiful?” He’d say, every single time, lifting his brows. And every single time, Ruby’d nod enthusiastically.

Coriolanus certainly made sure to raise a daughter who adored her mother as much as he did, especially when you’d gone through such hell to have one at all.

When Ruby turned seven, Coryo had excused himself from breakfast for a moment. You’d stood behind your daughter, your hands on her shoulders, raising your brows at your husband as he reentered. Ruby was watching him with big eyes.

“You’re a responsible little girl, aren’t you?” Coriolanus raised his brows, but unable to resist a smile at his daughter. He held his hands behind his back, hiding the present from her. She nodded passionately. “And you’ll take care of this gift?” Ruby would nod her head off her neck if she could.

Coryo glanced up at you, and at your little nod, he brought his hands ‘round to his front to present to a Ruby a kitten, hardly the size of both his palms. Ruby gaped at the little muss of fur, pelt white as snow. “For me? It’s for me?” Ruby gasped, grabbing at the cat eagerly.

“It’s for you, darling girl.” You cooed, watching her hold the kitten. Coryo steps around his daughter and her new cat to slip an arm around your waist.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Ruby squealed, moving to sit on her knees with her legs tucked under her, setting the kitten on the floor of the dining room. You watched as Ruby stroked the kitten twixt the ears, her brows drawing in deep thought.

“What’s the matter?” You frown. Ruby shakes her head, shifting the little kitten to the crook of her elbow and coming to hug Coriolanus. Her arms could only wrap around his hips, her head hardly reaching his stomach. His hand instantly came to card through her dark locks. “Nothing… I just don’t know what to name her.” Ruby mumbles into her father’s suit.

Coriolanus reaches down and scoops her up, resting her on his hip. He pretends he isn’t grossed out by the cat on his new suit jacket. “Well, it’s up to you.” He raises his brows. You shrug, slipping a hand between your daughter and husband to stroke Ruby’s cheek.

“What about…” You squint a moment, staring at the rosy hue of your daughter’s cheeks. The color of a— “Poppy?”

Ruby’s sapphire eye lit up, that was the one. She gasped a little, smiling brightly. “Poppy!”

“Mm, mama’s just full of good ideas.” Coryo hummed, leaning over to press a tender but quick kiss to your lips. He turns so Ruby can get a chance to smack a little kiss to your cheek. God, he wished she could stay so little forever.

But she couldn’t. She grew too fast for both of your likings. Before you knew it she was a teenager, earning scoldings from her father practically left and right. “She’s got your rebellious streak,” Coriolanus would huff in the aftermath of a reprimanding. You’d often send him to her room to make things up before bed. He would go reluctantly, but to your satisfaction always come back with a lighter heart and an easier mind.

Before your eyes, Ruby grew into a captivating woman. Yet often she’d still sit on the floor beside your chair, laying her head in your lap and letting her long, luscious dark curls wash across your legs. Ruby would come to you when she was arguing with her father, huffing harsh words about Coriolanus, but biting her tongue as you gently defended his intentions. You’d push your fingers through her hair, watching as those familiar azure eyes stared up at you with an equally familiar adoration.

“Mama, he’s just cruel sometimes.” Ruby muttered, nosing your thigh, her arms tightening around your waist. You absentmindedly braided a few ringlets together as you shake your head.

“He means well, baby.” You promise. Ruby was complaining of the most recent fight, over a man she was seeing. You personally took a liking to the boy, but Coryo made it very clear to you that he didn’t want him anywhere near his little girl. Ruby insisted that she wasn’t so little, that her father didn’t get to make her decisions for her anymore. “He just wants a good partner for you.”

“Nandor is a good man.” Ruby sighed, tilted her head and lifted her eyes to your face. “Won’t you convince him?”

You smile a bit regretfully, stroking the backs of your fingers down her rosy cheeks. “Not good enough for you, my heart.” Nothing would ever be good enough for Ruby, not to Coriolanus. But you agreed to talk to your husband about the boy.

Sometimes you missed when she had been little, moldable and curious. But you were so, unbelievably proud of how far from moldable she was now, as a young woman. Your Ruby was a steadfast, wise girl.

Late at night, you’d murmur these thoughts to Coryo. You’d trace the extra creases in his handsome face that time had etched as he spoke without any bite in his words. “She’s bullheaded.” He’d smile, the action creasing his eyes. You mirrored him.

“Like her father.” You’d remind him, gently.

No matter how stubborn she was, Coriolanus absolutely loved his daughter with his whole heart. He’d try and put up a strong face but she had him wrapped around her finger since the day she was born. And had been making Coryo proud ever since. Proud of her intelligence. Proud of her fiery spirit. Proud of the woman she had became.

All the pain Ruby had caused you was infinitely worth it.

Where the time had gone, Coriolanus didn’t have a clue.

He fidgets with the cuffs of his suit, trying to retrace his steps as if to find exactly where the past two decades went. Twenty-five years. Too soon, he had told Ruby, but that girl was stubborn as all hell. Too soon, he had told you, but you’d smiled and reminded him of how young you both were at your wedding.

Still, Coriolanus drew his eyebrows, he recently had become aware of the amount of creases in his forehead all that time had awarded him. Ruby had just been born, hadn’t she? He’d just had the scare of his life; the relief of his life. He’d just fallen asleep at her crib, watching her sleep through tired eyes. He’d just been picking out a kitten for his little girl, just been smiling like a fool at you while he let her stand on his feet as they danced, he could’ve sworn Ruby had just been little.

But clearly that wasn’t the case. He rubbed his temple, trying to sort the words that he needed to say when he returned to your side later. Trying to think of how he could describe how distraught he felt.

Coryo was giving her away. Too soon. Too young. Oh, it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. You seemed so calm. You were always calm, though, weren’t you? He’s glad Ruby didn’t inherit his anxiety.

No, you seemed happy for her. Coriolanus was happy for her, of course. But he couldn’t overlook the fact that Ruby would no longer be under his roof. No longer would she be at his breakfast table, or just down the hall, or just in the garden. He would send her off well, of course; he made sure she and her new husband had the house of their dreams, completely paid for. But that wasn’t any consolation.

It was bittersweet, that’s the word he decided on.

Coryo stood the moment the door opened, smoothing down his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. A smile creeps across his face as he takes in Ruby, his daughter, his darling girl, dressed in a smooth, white sheath dress. He steps forward, brows lifting as his eyes drift over her long sleeves, the lace around her waist, the elegance of the dress.

“Oh, darling.” Coriolanus breathes, nostrils flaring to keep the tears out of his eyes. He lifts her hand, giving her a little twirl and eyeing the lace of her veil. “You’re a beautiful bride.”

“I feel beautiful, really.” Ruby grins, and Coryo is forced to face it. Forced to look into her eyes, her irises like mirrors of his own, forced to realize that she was grown. She was a woman, not a little girl. She looked like you, his heart swelled to think.

Maybe his eyes are wetting, because Ruby hooks her arm around the crook of his elbow, and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. Coriolanus turns his face to look at her, smiling a bit sadly. “You ready for this?”

“Not in the slightest.” He admits, and as Ruby laughs he realizes that her eyes were wet too. His other hand comes to cup over hers resting on his arm.

Ruby stares at the double doors that they’d walked in front of, her eyes wide and bright. Coriolanus inspected her face. Oh, he didn’t care how old she got, or where she lived, nor who with, he would never stop adoring his daughter.

“I love you, Papa.” Ruby breathes as two servants begin to push the doors open, the muffled piano suddenly filling her ears.

Coryo blinks away some more tears, his chest swelling with a deep breath. “I loved you first.”

Perhaps half a year later, Ruby told the two of you over lunch that she was pregnant.

Pregnant.

Ruby, your little darling girl, was having a child of her own. Oh, you felt so happy that your heart threatened to swell enough to burst. Your daughter was making her own life, and though Coriolanus was convinced that it would be separate from yours, you two would most certainly be in it.

Coryo tried his best to hide it, but you could see those little tears pricking his eyes. Tears of joy, that boyish grin stretching across his lips told you. You clasped his hand tight, the gesture reciprocated with a lingering peck to your cheek.

You feared the worst for a bit. You were paralyzed by the thought that Ruby’s pregnancy would be as horrific as yours was.

But she seemed fine. She didn’t become gaunt, as you had. She was full, glowing and happy. Ruby didn’t feel faint or ill, though she did have normal aches. Everything about her pregnancy was just normal. Perfectly healthy.

Ruby insisted on having her baby at home. You had your qualms, but that girl had always been bullheaded. You just asked that she call you and Coriolanus, so you could be there.

Well, she hadn’t. Neither had her dolt of a husband.

Her dolt of a husband who, scrambling over his words on the phone to Coriolanus, he thought the amount of blood was normal, thought nothing of it, until it had been too late. The midwife couldn’t staunch the blood.

It took everything in him to not kill Nandor himself. He instead sent one of his men, his nostrils flaring as he used the phone built into the back of the limousine to call him, clutching your hand. That idiot, that fool, that devil had practically killed Ruby. The moment he hung up, he was consoling you. Coryo pet your hair away from your face as you wept, your fists clutching onto his suit.

How could this happen? She was perfectly fine, you thought. “She was healthy, she was meant to be healthy. This wasn’t meant to happen! It was meant to be better for her!” You rambled as you bawled, sobbing into Coriolanus’s chest. You stood in the corner of the room, paramedics swarming your daughter. Oh, your poor daughter.

Your darling girl.

Your Ruby.

Coryo, for one, was furious. White hot rage licked at his skin like wildfire. All of his power. All of his control. It meant nothing here. He knew this silly home birth bullshit would only end poorly. But had Ruby listened to him? Had Ruby accepted his money, his offer of the best doctors, the best medicine, the best hospitals? No. She never listened to him, that girl.

He feels out of his mind. His hand is on your band, holding you close and tight, his nose is in your hair, his eyes are stinging, but his mind feels like trudging through murky water.

Coriolanus vaguely recalls wishing that the baby would die, and not you. That God would save you, his love, his life, his everything, in return for taking the fetus. When he got to have both, he wondered how he could ever pray for such a thing.

But he was certain now that God was listening. What a sick joke, he thought, to let Coryo hold his baby. To let him dance with her, read to her, walk with her, love her, only to rip her away. Oh, he regrets every vile thought he’d ever had about Ruby before she was born, when all she was to him was a parasite trying to kill you.

She was killing you now, all over again. Your body shook with sobs, the sound heartbreaking. It was a sharp, consuming pain, to lose a child. To lose a daughter. You felt as if something integral to your soul had been shattered. What hadn’t taken you, had taken your baby.

What a cruel joke.

You weren’t sure when Coriolanus let go of you, his arms unwinding from around you to receive the infant from a paramedic. Cleaned and wrapped in an inoffensive, white cloth. There wasn’t much your distraught mind could manage besides resting a hand on— as the paramedics told you— your granddaughter’s head. You sniffled as fresh bouts of tears poured down your cheeks.

For a moment, Coriolanus was terrified that this was Deja vu. Paralyzing fear shot through him, fear that he would be unable to love this baby. The same way he feared he would be unable to love the child that killed you, he feared he’d resent the child that killed Ruby. His darling Ruby. How could he feel kinship to the parasite that killed his daughter?

But as he held the infant in his hands, his brow pulled taut, oh, no, it was clear. Crystal. He murmured, voice featherlight, “I’ve got you.” You thumped your head to his shoulder, your tears wetting his sleeve. You saw some kind of fierce love in Coryo’s eyes, his jaw ticking.

He could see Ruby in her.

[sageyxbabey]

Hospital Food | COD x Reader

MDNI

Summary: Your ex-husband (the biological father of your daughter) shows up when said daughter is admitted to hospital. Your current partner (and your daughter) put him in his place.

aka: stupid man gets verbally wrecked by a 17-year-old girl and a SAS soldier. Inspired by the time my stepdad and i roasted my bio dad.

For @the-californicationist 's Nameless Challenge! This means you have to guess which of the delicious war criminals I'm writing about below. (This has inspired a series, so you'll find out who I was thinking of when the second one comes out. ;) )

WC: ~700 words (oops, forgive me cali)

Pairing: f!reader x tf141 member (but who? 👀)

Your ex-husband stood at the foot of his biological daughter’s hospital bed, watching her tap salt out of the little sachet onto a piece of buttered bread. His face was full of condescension, and you knew yours was full of barely contained disgust as you stared at him. God damn the child support agreement that required you to tell him when she was admitted to a hospital. At least you had otherwise full custody of her, you’re sure your ex would’ve been murdered by now if you’d been forced to see him semi-regularly – either by you or your wonderful (deadly, military-trained) partner who hated the man in front of you almost as much as you did.

God, you wish he was here right now. Unfortunately, he was wonderful enough to have gone down to the cafeteria in search of lunch for the both of you – and something sweet to sneak back in for your little girl. He spoiled her rotten, and it made you love him more every time he did. 

“That’s a lot of salt,” your ex rumbled. If looks could kill, the stare your 17-year-old daughter levelled him with would’ve evaporated him where he stood.

“Yes. It is,” she spoke. 

Tap tap tap, she resumed shaking the sachet.

“They put salt in bread when they make it. White bread is about 3% salt,” he said. As if there was some important point your daughter was missing.

“I know. I’ve made bread before.”

Tap tap tap.

It was taking every fibre of your being not to laugh with sheer joy and vindication as your daughter, the blood of your ex-husband, so casually eviscerated him in the middle of this tiny white room.

“Which is to say, you don’t need to be adding salt to it.” You didn’t think the man could sound any whinier. You were about to step in, but your daughter let out a deep sigh beyond her years (definitely picked up from the soldier who shared your home) and threw the empty salt packet onto the bed tray.

“Tell me, why shouldn’t I eat that much salt?” Her arms crossed in front of her, your ex-husband looked to you for help. He would get none.

“Because… it makes your body retain fluid and raises blood pressure–”

“Correct. I am in this hospital because I have low blood pressure caused by a low volume of fluid in my blood. They give me the salt packet on purpose. I am prescribed literal salt tablets,” she shook the bottle in the man’s face, “because I need to raise my blood pressure up to normal levels.”

Silence. Blinking.

“So I am going to eat this bread because it is what the doctor ordered.” Her head snapped to you, with a chaotic glint in her eye only teenage girls could possess. The next words out of her mouth would stay with you until your dying breath;

“Hey, Mum. When’s Dad coming back?”

You could not fight the grin that spread across your face, the elation jumping in your stomach. A quick glance at your ex-husband’s sour face made it clear that your daughter’s point had struck true – You are not welcome here. I do not need you. I have a real father where you failed.

You opened your mouth to reply, “He’s–”

“Right here, love!” The warm, gravelly voice of your partner filled the room, your daughter’s eyes lighting up with his presence. He stopped to press a tender kiss against your cheek, passing you a toasted sandwich, before he made his way to stand over the shoulder of your precious daughter.

“And I got you something special,” he whispered playfully, “Don’t tell the nurse.” He pulled a poppy seed muffin out of the bag he was holding and placed it on the bed tray in front of her. 

“Sorry mate, who are you?” Your partner turned and cocked his head at your ex. 

Your man knew exactly who the snivelling creature across from him was. Your boyfriend was just deciding to be a little shit, and it was one of the sexiest things you’d ever seen him do. 

“Dad, this is Marcus. You know, the man who got Mum pregnant with me?” Your daughter’s voice was poorly disguised venom. 

“Oh, right! Of course. I suppose I should thank you for your part in creating my wonderful daughter.” He stretched a hand out to your ex-husband who, for once in his life, made the smart choice to shake it and give some poor excuse for why he was needed elsewhere.

As soon as he was out the door, you had your arms around your lover, pressing endless kisses to his cheek as your daughter laughed. 

“Did you hear what I said, Dad?” 

Your partner leaned down to hug the girl – his girl – tightly. He grinned.

“Every fucking word.”

----------

I LOVE MY STEPDAD SO MUCH HE'S MY REAL DAD and my mother and he are truly couple goals. I was on the phone with him the other day when I asked if he remembered this happening. he let out the most fatherly cackle of pure, shit-stirring joy I've ever heard. It was magnificent.

forgot the TAGLIST: @frogtowne @teenagellamaangel @universitypenguin

[anantaru]

DAY 12 — COCKWARMING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — blade, gepard

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, cockwarming, petnames: princess, love, slight meanie blade, sleepy gepard wanting you close forever, v cute as well, neck bites

𖧡 — BLADE

"oh my—," your words get interrupted by a mouldering sob, emanating inside your chest and returning much stronger, your lips parting when you wince at the intrusion inside of you.

yet you do not care about the immediate overstimulation wrecking havoc on your body, because naturally— you don't even bat an eye on your luscious winces and short winded cries— not when blade feels this good when he first sinks his cock in and manifests a burning stretch on your cunt.

"so perfect.. my love..." his words are laced with vulnerability, and the dark haired shoves his face into your neck before inhaling your candid scent, that one distinctive fragrance that set his loins on fire whenever they penetrated his nostrils. on top of that, his tongue slowly rolls out of his mouth to lap at your neck, flashing his white canines at the flesh before pressing his teeth into you ever so slightly.

blade thinks it's adorable that you haven't realized that he won't let you move on him and that in reality, luring your attention to his tongue lapping around your neck and feigning a precious sweetness was all part of the plan, his plan.

despite that, with his cock being fully slotted inside your walls, your thighs begin to shine of your arousal when you attempt to bounce yourself on top of him, strengthening the muscles in your quivering legs before he weights his palms on top of your hips— a panicked hitch falling in drops at the sheer impact of your weight dropping back onto his cock, it's utterly cruel, fizzling and buzzing over your battered walls.

your poor cunt has been consumed by his thickness and copious amounts of pre ooze out of his slit, blade wants to mark you up until you're his from inside and out, yet even then, he won't let you move a single inch on him. "h-heey.." you mewl in slight pain, curving your lips into a pout before playfully hitting his chest with your fists;

"wh-what's that supposed to mean?" you protest in vein and watch how blade lets go of a deep chuckle whilst keeping you pressed against his hot body— the curve of his length rolling over the squashy splotches on your pussy, tasting how your mushy sex thaws on his shaft.

"nothing," blade coos, his tip drizzling his pre into you, and ugh— you're so tight, washing and seeping your arousal on his erection that if he wasn't that trained in self control, would immediately fuck into your heat as if feral and starved of touch— yet instead, blade takes a deep breath into his chest before exhaling through his mouth, repeating himself once more.

"nothing's wrong at all, love, ‘just wanna feel you."

𖧡 — GEPARD

the entire room had been consumed by a stifling fervor and a shimmering energy of torridity makes contact with your enclosed bodies resting against the bed. only distinct outlines visualizing how gepard was holding you close against his chest— his pink tip pushed up against your gaping hole, softly shimming along your ribbed walls whilst swallowing your hazy noises.

pheromones waft into the humidity of the air as you circle your arms around his body, your face nuzzled deeply into his neck as you welcome him entirely. "i-i love you ‘so much.." gepard whispers, his cock thudding painfully as you greet him with the spongy spot in your cunt, a rush of lust flooding his flaming veins, drowning inside a liquor of passion.

you hide a bubbly smile on your precious lips, delicately kissing along his collarbone while running your nails over his defined back, "i love you too." those confessions, they almost act like some sort of aphrodisiac that expel from your frames when gepard throbs inside you the moment you say it back— he just had to hear it, he simply cannot get satiated by the love you gave him.

every additional thought that may wander through your psyche now, gets suffocated by an aching pulse inside your thighs, and sometimes you wonder if gepard even realizes how impossibly thick he was, how his length never failed to crowd you until you're practically jammed by his shaft battering your pussy, shattering all the sensitive nerves inside your ragged walls.

you're his princess— his chest heaving when you nudge your hips against his erection, only a little, but strong enough to coax a reaction out of him.

"fuck— l-lets stay like this for a while." he whines, placing one hand on top of your ass before greedily squeezing and groping the flesh, the harshness of his strong grip making the skin jiggle underneath his palm before you pant out— tickling his handsome face, eagerly running your tongue over his neck before muttering a chorus of gentle, i love love love you’s..

.. only for him to hear and indulge in.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[imbored1201]

Bebita’s First Red

Word Count: 1.9k

This is most a Mapi x Teen Reader

Mapi and you had a complicated relationship. You were pretty much a demon in her eyes while you acted innocent with everyone else. 

Mapi couldn't even rant about you to Ingrid because even Ingrid wouldn't believe her. Alexia saw you as a precious little toddler, even though you were 16 with a huge attitude.

At first, Mapi thought you were innocent; she was even careful with what she said around you. It wasn't until national team duties. Ingrid went with Norway, and Alexia went with Spain. Mapi volunteered to take care of you while Alexia was gone. She regretted it. 

A day before Alexia was supposed to come back, you thought it would be fun to run away for the day. When Mapi did her daily check-in on you and couldn't find you, she nearly had a heart attack. She was too scared to call Patri or Pina, knowing they would probably let it slip to Alexia. 

The next day, when she had to pick Alexia and Ingrid up from the airport, she was more furious than worried. Ingrid noticed how tense she was as Mapi drove back to the house, ignoring any questions Alexia asked about you. 

By the time they got home, you had snuck back in. Mapi tried telling Alexia about how you've been gone for a day. That sent Alexia into a world of panic. She rushed inside the place, thinking it was one of Mapi's dumb pranks. There she found you, sitting on the couch, watching SpongeBob. 

Alexia was furious with Mapi for lying about you running away. She glared at her as she dragged you out of the house, calling an Uber instead of asking Mapi to drive you guys back home. Alexia never played around when it came to you.

Ever since that day, Mapi has tried her hardest to get Alexia to open her eyes about you. Alexia saw you as a tiny angel who could do no wrong, but you were the complete opposite. Mapi didn't even understand how you were able to put up with that act for so long. 

————

Mapi watched as you sat anxiously on the field during training. "Come on, kid, get to running." "Jonatan said I could sit out since I just threw up." Mapi was sure you were lying, but she just let it go. 

As practice went on, Mapi kept a close eye on you. She thought you were up to something but refused to get involved since the blame would go on her and not you. 

While Mapi thought about this, you were fearing for your life. You were so close to faking a sickness so you didn't have to go to the next game. You thought about going to Alexia for your situation, but she wasn't playing, so there was really no way she would be able to protect you. 

You sighed as you looked at Mapi. You didn't know if she would defend you, but she was probably the most intimidating person that would be on the field. Mapi sometimes even intimidates you, and she knew it. 

"Mapi, I'm scared," you ran up to her out of breath. "Why?" She questioned, not bothering to look at you from where she was seated. "One of the girls on the team were playing; she wants to kill me, like break my legs and laugh while I cry in pain." She looked up at you, confused. 

"What?" 

"So the defender, I forgot her name, but she texted me last night, you know, doing the usual crap talk, and I started talking back, but when she said she was going to wreck me, I replied,  'I already wrecked your mama in bed, and I'm going to wreck you next on the field'. She didn't like that and got really mad." Mapi sighed, trying not to laugh at your scared expression. 

"That's called consequences, kid. You have to watch who you're talking to," you scoffed. "I know, Maria; I honestly don't know what possessed me to say that, but I didn't mean it. She's going to kill me; have you seen her?! She's built like Shaquille O'Neal."

Mapi rolled her eyes at how overdramatic you were being. "She's shorter than me." Mapi started to look the girl up to see if she was really as big as you were trying to put off. "She's buffer than you; you think Lucy can beat her up?" Mapi scoffed, "I can beat her." You giggled at that. 

"Sure, you can; one tiny push, you'll be running behind Ingrid" "I hope she punches you" "Hey!" 

————

You held tight onto Ingrid's jacket in the tunnel; you could feel the girl staring you down. Mapi was behind you, trying to hold in her laugh. She stopped when you genuinely looked at her with fear in your eyes. She rubbed your back to comfort you. You were just a dumb kid being threatened by a middle-aged woman who was way bigger than you. 'I'd be scared too,' Mapi thought to herself. 

She turned to the girl and gave her a glare, so she would stop paying attention to you and only focus on her. 

She also made sure to squeeze the players hand very hard to give her a little warning as everyone shook hands. The girl skipped you during the handshakes, not even looking at you; you were grateful for that, and you thought she would have broken your hand right there. 

————

That warning was not taken to heart. 

Mapi's fist clinched when she saw the girl push you as you tried moving forward with the ball, making you take a hard tumble. She was over it now; only she was allowed to push you around like that, and even then, Alexia would yell at her for it, but unfortunately, Alexia wasn't there. 

"Ay! Stop playing dirty," Mapi said, pushing the girl away from where she stood over your body. Mapi quickly helped you up and watched as the player walked away, not before getting a yellow. 

"Stand up for yourself," she told you. "Mapi, if I say something, she'll break my leg." She just gave you a look. "I'm serious, if you keep letting her punk you around like that, then I'm going to punk you around for a month, and I don't care what Alexia says," you huffed as you got the ball ready for a free kick. 

"Alexia says to answer by playing good," Mapi scoffed. "Don't listen to Alexia for once; I don't care if you get a red; I'll take the blame, but stop letting that girl walk all over you. You always let people walk all over you, then you hide behind Alexia for help. She won't always be on the field to help you." You nodded as you walked away to let Mapi take the free kick. 

————

That advice would be the reason you got your first ever red card. You were already on a yellow for pushing the girl the same way she pushed you. Near the 70th minute, you were elbowed right in the face when trying to go for a header. Of course, Shaquille O'Neal was the one who did it. 

You groaned, glaring at the girl, when she touched your back and tried to act like she elbowed you on accident. You smacked her hands away.

Before she could actually touch you again, you shoved her hard. To your surprise, you pushed her hard enough that it actually sent her to the ground. 

The referee quickly blew her whistle frantically, running to you. This iconic moment was your first red card. You were quite proud of it, honestly. 

"Mierda!" Mapi yelled as she quickly ran before the girl could get back up and body-slam you. She quickly pushed you behind her, and you were taken away by Lucy. 

That didn't end there, though. When the girl got up, she tried to shove the referee away to get to you, but Mapi stepped in front of her. That just got her a shove in the face. She sold it, being more dramatic, so the girl would get her second yellow as well. 

"You grew some balls, kid," Lucy commented. "She started it," you defended yourself, and you looked to where Alexia was sitting in the stands. The red card was shown to you. Lucy tried to hold in her laugh as she led you off the field. It wasn't a huge deal considering you guys were winning 5-0 with 20 minutes left, but now you felt guilty. 

Alexia was standing up, clearly trying to hold herself back from yelling at you from the stands. Jana was recording, and Fridolina was trying to get Alexia to sit back down by pulling on her sleeve. 

"Sorry, Jonatan," you mumbled to the man as you walked past him. He simply patted your shoulder. "We'll talk about this later."

————

You sat on the bench with your head in your hands, scolding yourself mentally for losing control like that. Yeah, you were sticking up for yourself, but it could have cost the team. 

"Don't you dare sulk; be proud that you stood up for yourself." Mapi tried hyping you up as she entered the locker room, excited. 

"I could have cost us the game." Mapi looked at you, confused. "We were winning 5-0 with 20 minutes left; I'm pretty sure we would have been fine."

"Alexia is going to kill me." Just when you said that, Alexia rushed in, you pulled Mapi in front of you. "She looks scary," you whispered. 

"What was that?!" Alexia yelled, everyone who was in the locker room froze, and the ones who were entering immediately stopped talking.

"Calmate Alexia, would you rather see her get bullied around?" Alexia stayed silent at that question.

Pina came in singing, "Bebita got her first red." She cried dramatically. "How does it feel?" Patri pretended to hold a mic.

"It feels like I lost my virginity." Alexia smacked the back of your head while Mapi gave you a secret high five. "That feeling is amazing," Patri elbowed you. "Stop it!" Alexia scolded. 

Salma came in holding a red card. "I convinced the referee to give it to me. Frame it, kid." You took it from her and admired the fact your number was on it.

"I'm proud of you, Bebita; you stood up for yourself." Mapi pulled you into a hug. "She's still grounded, Mapi." Mapi glared at Alexia. 

"Leave Bebita alone; she was just defending herself," you giggled to yourself. Technically,  you had started the whole thing with the mom comment, but it seemed like Mapi was ignoring that now. 

"Fine, but you're running extra laps, Mapi." "But she didn't do anything." You didn't like how Alexia was targeting Mapi now. "I know she was the one to tell you to do that."

"She told me to stand up for myself since I was being bullied by that Shaquille O'Neil girl," Alexia groaned in frustration. 

"Fine, you both are doing extra laps," you giggled to yourself. Knowing you would probably take her mind off of it when you got home by doing extra chores. 

————

That card sat proudly in a frame. Alexia let you have your moment and even took a bunch of pictures for you as you held it proudly. She posted the pictures to her Instagram like a proud mother posting their child after they got an award.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Is It Easier for You to Say You Never Loved Me Anyway?

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (Pre- France)

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Angst; Poorly Written Smut

Summary: “We were built to fall apart and fall back together.” - Taylor Swift

A/N: Requested by @unhingedbiatch I hope this is what you were envisioning! Also, Leah never happened. Nope.

*gif is not mine

It was two days before he was set to leave when he saw you walk through the gates of the Commonwealth. His heart roared, stomach flipping at the sight of you after so many years. He knew he couldn’t approach you until you had been processed into the community, encouraging him to find Mercer and put a word in to speed things up. He had to see you. 

Your relationship began as reluctant friends during the time at the quarry but blossomed into so much more by the time your eyes fell onto the prison. When your family found Alexandria, he was your everything. And you were his. The openness between you was never guarded, a secret garden where you each could travel when the world threatened to tear you down. 

But as they say, nothing lasts forever. 

The two of you separated after Rick’s death, Daryl unable to live with himself if he didn’t put everything into finding a body to lay to rest; you unable to remain in Alexandria under the knowledge that he was leaving you and had refused your offer to come along. He had broken your heart but you loved him no less for it.  

Now Daryl waited for you, a nervous energy culminating inside him. He still loved you. He had never stopped. He felt as if you had taken half his heart with you when you left for your own travels, never knowing where that precious piece of him had been taken or if you’d thrown it away once you realized that he was never good enough to trust with half of your own. 

When you walked out of the processing center a day later, he was there, having waited all night. When your eyes met his, they softened, your arms open before you could even reach him for the embrace both of you had yearned to return to during an absence you couldn’t take back. 

“I missed ya.” Daryl whispered into your hair, his voice a rasp. You held him tighter with a feeling of both your hearts becoming whole in the safety of one another’s arms. 

“I missed you too.”

It was as if you’d never left. 

Daryl showed you around, smiles abundant and given freely without a care of who saw him; a change you wished you’d been around to see manifest. Maybe you were seeing its birth, your unexpected return being the catalyst that gave him enough security for others to see him as you always had. 

You reunited with Carol and Judith, while meeting RJ for the first time. He filled you in on losses Aaron hadn’t already told you about. Promised you’d have plenty of time to catch up with everyone after the next day. You didn’t know then what that had meant. 

It wasn’t until later that night, you on his lap and curled into his chest while he stroked your hair, that the demons hovering unseen while the sun had lit the path outside clawed their way into the space between you. 

“Where’d ya go?” 

“West. Stayed a while in Missouri, then headed southeast. Tennessee was a train wreck but there were some good people there.” You drew your knees a little closer to your chest, making yourself appear smaller against him. “Did you find him?” Daryl dropped his gaze and shook his head. The knowledge that he had left you for something he had failed to achieve was almost too much to bear. 

“Did ya—did ya find someone out there?” He muttered, not yet finding the courage to look you in the eye. 

“No.” You leaned back your head to find him staring off the side. You knew that look. You knew him like the back of your hand. With a fingertip against the far side of his face, you encouraged him to turn toward you. “I wasn’t out there looking for a replacement for you, Daryl.” He dipped his chin in a quick nod. “Did you? Find someone, I mean?

“Nah.” You couldn’t lie: you felt like you had been holding your breath in wait for that single answer. “Weren’t lookin’ neither.” The smile you gave him was tender and reassuring, your fingertip still brushing his cheek. You had even missed the rough feel of the stubble he always seemed to keep. “M’leavin’ tomorrow.”

Your ministrations ceased. “What?”

“Maggie. She had some info; some leads for me ta follow.” The contrition you could hear in his tone was almost enough to stave off your anger. “S’somethin’ I hafta do.”

“Just like you had to leave me last time?” You swung your legs around to stand up. “Let me go with you this time.” 

He was already shaking his head. “Don’t know what’s out there. You’re safer here.”

“That’s the same bullshit you fed me last time, Daryl.” You were fuming now, pacing the area in front of him while he wouldn’t even meet your eyes. “I’ve been out there! I’m not staying behind again!”

“Y/N—”

“No! I had no say in this last time and it’s kept us apart for too long. I won’t do it again! Do you hear me? I won’t!”

“Didn’t know ya were gonna be here. Didn’t know ya even knew where to find me.”

“Aaron told me. I went to Alexandria first.” You knelt in front of him, ducking your head to urge him to look at you. “Please, Daryl. Please don’t do this to me again.”

“M’sorry.” He whispered. 

You remained there, staring at him in disbelief. You had just found one another only to be separated again. Using his knees to shove yourself to your feet, you grabbed your coat and the key to your temporary apartment. The door hit the wall from the force of you throwing it open. 

“Fuck you, Daryl.” You hissed. You didn’t bother closing the door, leaving him alone to listen to your retreating footfalls move further and further away. 

Late evening saw Daryl packing the last of the things he would be taking with him. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, so he allowed himself several breaks. He was leaning against the kitchen counter chastising himself for not following earlier when there came a soft knock on his door. He had no reluctance to answer and found you standing on the other side. 

“Hey.” You attempted a smile that didn’t quite manage to form. “Can I come in?”

“O’course.” Daryl opened the door a little wider and stood back to allow you to pass him, closing it behind you. He wasn’t sure how to approach you or why you had come back in the first place. “Y/N, I—”

You held up a hand to request his silence. “I know you’re not going to let me go. And I know why. I won’t claim to understand it, but I have no choice but to respect it.” You watched his head drop, not in relief but guilt, despair. He just knew he was losing you again. It didn’t take long for you to cross the minuscule space that separated you from him. “I’ll wait for you this time. Here, in this apartment. I’ll wait.”

Those perfect blue eyes were wide with hope when he lifted his head; they searched you for any indication of a lie. When he found none, he nodded curtly. “Be nice to have ya here, knowin’ you’re waitin’ an’ mad at myself for makin’ ya.”

“Good.” You mused, stroking a stubbled cheek with your knuckles. When you kissed him, he froze, body rigid. You knew him well enough to press onward, your knowledge rewarded when he settled and his arms wound around you. Fingers found their way into your hair while the other hand drew you closer from the small of your back. You were breathless when you pulled back, rubbing your cheek against his. “I’ve missed that.” Daryl hummed, allowing you a brief reprieve before his mouth was on yours again. 

He walked you back toward the couch until the bend of your knees hit and you unceremoniously fell onto the cushions. Daryl followed your descent, chasing your lips. Palms on his chest, you pushed him back to shed your coat, your shirt following as he pulled his own over his head. As he worked his belt buckle open, you grazed your fingertips over the scars you knew by heart. Each ridge, each pucker, all a part of him. 

When he began to push his jeans toward the floor, underwear in tow, you sat back and raised your hips to rid yourself of your own, leaving your lower half bare, only a plain black bra shielding the last bit of skin. His hands were on your ribs, pulling you onto his lap while he simultaneously seated himself. He couldn’t stifle the groan when he felt the heat of your core over his erection, a feeling he had missed and never sought from anyone else. 

When you reached behind you to work open the clasp of your bra, the feeling of his fingertips on your sternum gave you pause. A new scar began in the valley of your breasts and stretched to your collarbone. It was left unspoken where you received it; a story for another time. You guided his hand to your lips, kissing the tip of each finger before drawing the middle digit past your lips. You hummed and swirled your tongue around the skin while shrugging off your bra. 

Daryl’s mouth was on you in an instant, his hand falling away from your lips when they parted with a drawn out moan. He licked the curve of each breast with practiced expertise, suckling at each nipple while your hands fisted into his mane; gentle tugs urging him onward. 

You began to ache for him in a fresh rush of heat. His hips jerked upward, jostling a needy whine from you. “Please.” You whispered, guiding him away from your chest to slot your mouth over his, chaste but hard. You kept your lips close, brushing his while you rubbed your noses together to maintain that contact. “I've waited long enough.”

The archer made a sound in the back of his throat, a growl that vibrated all the way down to where your heat slid over his cock. He need not release his bruising hold on the soft skin of your hips. He simply lifted you, shifted until the tip of him caught on your entrance and lowered you onto him. You remembered the stretch instantly, how your body always willingly molded around him. You were made for him, just as he was made for you. 

He panted against your lips, no doubt in restraint. It had been so long, he was shocked he didn’t spill inside you before you were fully seated. You, though; you were just grateful to feel him. You were both back where you belonged, however brief it may be. 

You moved first, a gentle rocking that made him hiss between his teeth. You didn’t stop, even feeling him begin to twitch within you. You feared how soon it would be over yet how you yearned to watch him fall apart. Daryl, on the other hand, was not willing for things to end so quickly. He worked his hand to where the two of you were joined and squeezed the bottom of his shaft. 

“Cheater.” You pouted, shivering when he chuckled against your neck. You felt his hand slide away, slick and warm, fingers wet when he pressed them into your hip again. He helped you sit higher on your knees only to drag you down, his hips thrusting up to meet you. The push and pull of him inside you, had your head falling back in a series of ah ah ah. 

He suckled a bruise onto one breast sliding his tongue over to the pebbled nipple, grazing his teeth against the sensitive bud, pulling sound after sound from you while he helped you bounce on his lap. 

“I missed you.” Distantly, you knew there were tears and your cheeks were damp, a sudden melancholy blending and twisting its way into the pleasure he was eager to give you. You dropped your head forward, smiling wetly when you spotted the moisture shining in his blue eyes as well. The kiss was hard, sloppy, full of need; it was a trade-off of years of absence and love and longing. 

His movements had slowed, calloused hands guiding you in a slow rolling atop of him. “Missed ya too.” His voice cracked, try as he might to keep his composure. It seemed wrong to feel the heat in your belly. Such a moment should be savored. You wanted to stop, keep him there inside you past the morning, never letting him climb on that bike. 

Your body disagreed, slowly but surely barreling you toward that precipice. You whined, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He wouldn’t allow your hips to stop moving, urging you toward release. 

“Wait.” He whispered, so soft yet with an intensity like you’d never heard from him before.

“I—can’t. I’m so close, Daryl. I need—”

He gripped your flesh, bringing you to a halt, willing you to look at him. When you did, the naked plea in his gaze took your breath away, extinguishing the steady build of pleasure to an ache that would never again be sated until he returned you. 

“Wait for me. Please.”

You nodded, drawing him against you to openly sob against his hair. “I will. I promise.” You held him there, the quiet shake of his shoulders against you; the hot moisture dripping onto your skin while your own tears fell into his hair. 

Why did you choose to return now? Why couldn’t you have come back years ago? He had been back from his isolation for so long, fighting and protecting all the people you loved and he had done it all without you. Because you were selfish. You followed your wounded pride as far away from him as you could. And when you came back, expecting he had moved on, actually hoping he had, he was waiting for you. 

And now you would watch him leave you again. On a mission that was not his to undertake. You would never be able to talk him out of it. Daryl had this drive, this desire to protect. He felt like he owed everyone to ensure their happiness. This was for Judith and RJ. They deserved their family to be whole. Daryl had raised those kids in your absence, the role of surrogate father taken on willingly. Now he would try to return to them what they had been missing. 

And you knew you couldn’t sway him. 

So you cried. He cried. And when your tears ran dry, still on his lap with him softening inside of you, you pulled back and cupped his face, red-rimmed blue eyes seeking comfort and reassurance. You smiled, a genuine small upturn of your lips, and kissed him. 

“I’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes. You just come back to me, Daryl Dixon.”

With a sharp inhale, he nodded while whispering his knuckles across your jaw. He was committing you to memory. Every freckle, every scar, the twinkle in your eyes, every line, every curve. He’d take it all with him. 

You didn’t even react when he lifted you and gently placed you on your back, slipping out of you in the process. It took three strokes to bring him back to hardness. He guided himself to your entrance and thrust inside in one fluid motion, dragging a moan from you with you arching into his chest. 

There was only desperation now, each hard thrust begging you to fall apart. And you would oblige. The way he slammed into you, his tip angled to probe that spot inside of you, had you clawing for purchase on his back, his shoulders, his arms. 

“Daryl—oh my god, Daryl—I’m gonna—”

“Please.” He whispered against your ear. You were a goner. The pleasure was so intense that your eyes rolled back, vision alight with stars and shapes as your body vibrated to ride each wave. When you began to come down, you were thankful. His thrusts were prolonging your orgasm, a gentle thrum of pleasure that kept going and going as he chased his high. With teeth clenched, he pulled from within you just in time to paint your belly with warm ropes. He groaned above you, body trembling with the struggle of holding himself up as he spilled. He was left a panting mess of tremors that somehow found the strength to pull away from you. 

He reached for his discarded shirt to gently clean you, having absolutely no intention of allowing you away from him to take care of the mess yourself. The task complete, he tossed the article to who knows where and sat back, pulling you onto his lap. There was a mutual hum of contentment as you melted into him. 

“I promise I’ll wait.” 

Watching him ride away was probably the hardest thing you had ever done in your life. The last time had been filled with anger and a deep jab of betrayal. This time was different. You had conceded to watch this, made a promise to be there when he came back. 

He had held you, whispering in your ear while he smiled. It brought tears to your eyes. You nodded vigorously while he kissed you, laughing against his mouth. 

And then he was gone in a cloud of dust and the roar of an engine. 

But you would wait. 

You promised. 

[nyctophiliq]

CAN YOU PLS WRITE SOME REYNA SMUT 🥲🥲🥲

✮ ┆HELP MY HEAD CLEAR. zyanya ‘reyna’ mondragón

no plot, just smut.

CONTENT WARNING.          18+ only, minors dni. NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; female-bodied reader, scissoring, kissing, praising, mommy kink, top! reyna, pet names, dub-con elements, | ~0.9k words

A/N.                   i found this scrapped reyna fic on my hard drive finally, hopefully, you like it anon despite it being rather short, and thank you for reading everyone !!!

to say that reyna was tense lately was an understatement and you were more than glad that the rest of the agents thought when she finally calmed down it was thanks to the countless training bots beheaded. you were more than proud of how well you could assist your girlfriend to cool her head, but you were nowhere proud enough to brag about how you really did it. even that was a lie because in her least angelic moments, reyna was still very pervasive, and with the slightest effort she could charm you into her room to have a good time.

there was no time for you to register anything happening after the sliding door closed, reyna’s hands all over your body, stripping you of your clothes before forcing you under her on the bed. “my precious baby, won’t you help mami, hm?” she coos as she straddles you, her hand catching one of yours that was trying to cover up your bare body, placing them on the buckle of her pants while her free hand was groping your chest, digging her nails into the soft mound of your breast.

your body was sprawled across the bed like a work of art, your tits bouncing softly as reyna rolled her hips against yours. light gasps came from your lips as your clit met hers, grinding against one another slowly. zyanya’s mouth waters at the sight of you under her and her animalistic fantasies of absolutely devouring you right there and then were never harder to maintain than now.

“feels good baby, yeah? helping mami out,” she asks, reaching a hand down to caress your face. it was hot, almost fooling her that you were riding a high fever and your cheeks were red like the blood that flows through your body,  your skin burning where she touched you. you nodded furiously, the blush darkening and spreading down your neck as she pressed herself down on top of you, taking control of the position, her arms bracketing your head and holding it down so you couldn’t move away. 

you bit your lower lip to suppress a moan which did not please the woman above you at all. reyna would hate to admit otherwise, tell you out loud how much she is enjoying herself in this position and the delicious stimulation on her clit. she didn’t think this kind of position could be as satisfying as any of her toys or your tongue and she is already planning the next time the two of you will do this.

“f-faster…” you mumble, your thighs trembling already. your heart was racing and you swore it would jump out of your chest any second with the way she moved her hips against yours.

“you are so good mi corazón, such a pretty messy pussy you have for mami,” she exclaims with a high-pitched moan following her statement. she pulls your thigh closer to her and quickens her pace as more praises fall from her mouth.

your eyes close as you soak up her words, whimpering softly after each and every adoring word that spilled from her mouth. your body trembles and your walls clench around nothing but air as your high nears and you find it embarrassing. she mewls all about how she’s gonna devour you after this,  how she is gonna eat you up and make sure you get what’s coming to you.

“m’cumming- cumming!” you squeak, your thighs trying to close as your hips spasm against hers. all your shame quickly dissolves, your mind only able to concentrate on the spine-arching pleasure your body is being wrecked by. you saw stars, shining brightly and bliding you as your orgasm ate you whole.

“cum for me- cum with me cariño.” reyna gave you a few rushed nods, not being able to form any more words as she too was nearing the edge. she can feel the small, unfortunate space between the two of you get even more slippery than before, the wet sounds of your pussy lips getting louder.

just as you were coming, your pupils were blown like you were high on drugs, and your brain was gushing out of your ears. zyanya followed you soon, her head falling forward and one of her hands slipping between the two of you. the pressure in her stomach was unbearable and the release her fingers provided was heavenly.

the sound of her moans was music to your ear and if you weren’t so dizzy because of your lingering orgasm. it felt so damn good to be fucked like this, to know that you are making her feel good and she's letting all that steam off that's building up inside of her.

reyna wasn't shy about showing off, kissing, and biting your shoulder and collarbone- touching these marks. it stung, how her fingers ran along and pushed on her purple marks, but the way that touch made her feel, the warm feeling, and how it made your body shiver all made her delightful, strengthening her ownership over you.

zyanya was breathing heavily, her hair tousled. her entire body was sweaty and flushed and she looked absolutely gorgeous. she pulled back slowly, her breathing labored and her eyes remained closed for a couple of seconds before falling over, taking you in her weak arms, pulling your naked bodies close to one another.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, baby fever, fluff!, typos, etc.

A/N: i said i'd end this on p5 but i think i'll be ending at p7 HAHHAH lol. originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1

"My lady," followed by high pitched barking made me turn around from where I sat in the garden.

Maester Yannick was walking over to me, with three puppies on his trail. He lifts his robe when he feels one of the critters nip at it. He hisses at them and tells them not to bite. Rose barks and takes it as a challenge.

I chuckle and shush her, raising a finger as I bend down to reinforce the discipline.

Rose looks at me then scurries off.

I straighten up on the bench as Yannick sits beside me. We both then turn to the soldiers in the making, training across the grounds of Brown Wood.

The Hound barks at them when they get their positions wrong.

"He is lovely today," Yannick tells me.

I turn to him and chuckle, but nod nonetheless.

He continues observing my husband, "he's been training long, hasn't he?"

"Mmm. Perhaps a couple hours," I look back at Sandor, "why? Do you think it is bad for his wounds?"

"I think it is bad for you," he looks at me.

I pull my head back, "me?"

The maester stands, "you are wasting precious time. Both of you are in good conditions," he links his hands together, "for the good of your house, it would be wise for you to be more... vigilant about producing heirs."

I feel my face drop and burn.

"As you know, my lady, the herbs I make for you are not cheap. It would be a shame to put them to waste due to a lack of effort."

I clear my throat and turn away from him.

Maester Yannick nods, "which reminds me, I will go and fetch you some tea right now."

I watch him walk away.

Once he was gone, my attention is averted back to Sandor. In truth, now more than ever has his hound persona been more apparent to me. Besides his fierceness, his snarling, his grit, the way he bared his teeth and howled at everyone, I could see his loyalty, his need to do good by the people in his life, his protectiveness, especially when it came to fighting, and his warmth.

I begin to think about Daisy. I turn to my side and watch as the pups begin to wreck the garden with their paws.

I find myself thinking about that night... that night when he said he loved me.

I rub my belly, not liking the way my stomach churned at my string of thoughts.

I watch as Sandor straightens up a boy, who was about to fall flat on his face, with one hand. He shakes his head at the child and says he can't fight if he's fighting himself too.

I imagine him speaking the same way to our son.

It was a horrible mistake. As quickly as I thought of it, I then remember telling him to give me a child by another woman.

I've set him free. He does not belong to me; in truth, he never did.

I quickly stand and wipe my face.

This was no longer leisure, this was torture.

I quickly run inside, retreating to my bedroom. Once I am there, I takes my shoes off, plop on my bed, and stare up at my ceiling. I look at the cobwebs in the distant corners and I wonder why I felt like crying but had no tears to shed. I lie there in silence, wishing nothing but to waste away.

I lift my head up from the sheets and turn to the door when I hear it open. I immediately stand and brush my skirts, "Sandor."

The feel of the cold floor on my bare feet send a shiver down my spine.

Sandor cautiously looks at me, "is everything alright?"

"Mmm?" I raise my brows, "what- why do you ask?"

"You ran inside and left your babes in the garden"

My lips part at his words. My hand instinctively comes to my belly.

"Pups," he raises a hand, "I meant pups. I didn't mean--"

Sandor is cut off by the voice of maester Yannick calling my name as he knocked on my door. Sandor opens the door for him and the old man enters, smiling when he sees the two of us. He is about to hand me the tea but then decides otherwise and puts it on my vanity.

He turns to Sandor, "I am pleased you decided to attend to your wife. Her fertility herbs are slowly being depleted. I was beginning to fear it would be for naught."

I grow frigid.

With that, the maester nods and exits, "please do enjoy each other's company."

The sound of the door closing leaves me red in the face. I lock eyes with Sandor then look away, clearing my throat. I flinch when he calls out my name.

I turn back and rub my arms, "yes... husband?"

"I didn't come here for that," he mutters, raising a hand cautiously.

My chest tightens. Of course not. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I could make a sound.

"I came to check if you're alright," he slowly steps forward.

I tense and nod, "I am well."

I feel my heart race when he takes another step towards me.

"Y-you needn't worry about me."

"I always worry about you," he mutters as he walks closer.

My words catch in my throat, "what?"

"Let me help you," he speaks, now only a few steps away from me.

My heart is pounding. I step back slowly, "h-help?"

"In the way only a man can," he lets out a heavy breath.

My calves hit the bed. I stop in my tracks and stand frozen. The Hound is now looking down at me. I am too overwhelmed by his presence to do anything else but stare.

The next thing I know, my gaze is drawn downward as he sits on the bed and peers up at my form.

"If you want a child from me," he whispers, "I'll give you one by no other woman but you." 

I look at him, heart in my mouth, body burning. I scratch my fingers and nod at his words.

Sandor sighs, "I need to hear you say it."

"I-" I shakily speak, "I want a child," I face him, "a child by you... my lord."

His brows knit.

My breath hitches when he touches my waist.

I can hear his heavy breathing as he whispers, "Sandor. Please."

I gulp as his palm rubs slowly across my belly. The action makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. My hand comes atop his. I oblige, "Sandor."

He gently tugs me in between his legs and my breath nearly escapes me. He rests his hands on my hips then pulls me in, sinking his face into my side. My ribs rattle with how quick my pulse was.

Sandor inhales deeply, "gods, you smell good."

I feel my body burn, "i-it's lavender oil."

I squeak when he pulls me down onto his lap. He cages me against him, my back flush against his chest. He sinks his face into my neck and slowly draws in a breath. His arms snake around me as he hotly speaks, "it's you, my pretty squirrel."

I feel his hands slowly lift my skirts up. My hands latch onto his arm that was still around my belly.

"Be calm, my wife, I cleaned up before coming here, in case I had to wipe your tears."

I make a sound as he knocks his nose into my jaw and exposes one of my legs to him. 

"I don't like it when you're upset."

My breath hitches, "I-I'm not upset."

"Good."

Sandor feels the goosebumps on my skin when his hand makes contact with my bare thigh. He shushes me as he rubs and kneads my flesh. I whimper and begin to squirm when his hand hikes up my inner thigh.

His fingers touch my clothed center. He breathes hotly against the pulse of my neck, "I'm going to take this off, mmm?"

I gulp and nod slowly at his words.

I maneuver with him when his hands come under my skirts to rid me of my smallclothes. He doesn't like the space that is created between us and rips me back into him. He ruts his hips into mine to add to his point.

I whine when Sandor's right hand rubs into my heat.

"Fuck," he hisses, "you've worked yourself up over nothing."

I make a louder noise when he prods his fingers into my pulsing entrance. I can feel his fingers slide with ease against my warm folds. I instinctively grip his arm when he sinks into me.

Sandor's other arm, in turn, tightens around me, "you can take it. You've taken more than my fingers, beautiful."

I whimper when he sinks another finger into me and begins to pump in and out. My breathing grows heavier and I throw my head back on his shoulder as he moves into me.

I feel his beard scratch into my neck. I feel his teeth graze lightly into my skin. His fingers languidly move in and out of me, even as I clench my thighs together. He makes no move to part them, and in truth, it doesn't hinder his movements at all.

I feel his tongue dart out on my neck, "I want to taste you."

I slowly lift my head from his shoulder just as he pulls his hand away from my thighs and brings his fingers into his mouth. I feel sobered by his action, taken aback by how filthy it was yet how eagerly he did it.

The next thing I know, he pulls back and lets my body fall in a space between his thighs. He quickly undoes his trousers. After, he pushes me onto my feet, and grips my hips. He rather impatiently rips up my skirts and I feel my thighs shake when he grips my bare flesh.

He pulls me back down on him, and I mewl when I feel his hardened length slip clumsily between my thighs, not yet entering me. I settle on him; the sensation of his clothes on my skin makes my belly roll.

"Fuck," he growls, as my thighs instinctively clamp around him. Sandor is unable to withhold the bucking of his hips.

When he does this, pleasure, crackling like embers, tingle up my body.

"Open up," he hisses, one hand coming between my legs, "I have to be inside you. I have to come inside, have to come inside your weeping cunny."

"Sandor," I whine as I slowly part my legs.

"I know, pretty squirrel. You're so worked up, for me," he breathes against my ear then nips at my lobe, "so fucking eager."

A drawn out whine escapes my lips when he sheathes himself into me.

He wastes no time in moving. I end up squeaking as he braces me against him and firmly thrusts upward into me.

My cries grow louder as his arms tighten beneath my breasts. I feel his hand knead one breast, but it doesn't last very long.

I am throttled onto my chest and pressed down on the sheets. Sandor lifted me up like I was nothing and adjusted me on the edge of the bed.

I'm barely on my tiptoes, as most of my weight was shifted on my spine from of how my husband was hoisting me up to cater to himself.

His movements quickly pick up the pace, and our position becomes reminiscent of the time he had me like this once before, only this time, his one hand was rubbing my scarred hip and he was much more vocal.

"Look at you, all bent over and mine," he groans.

I nails dig into the sheets.

"I'm gonna fill you up. You're going to be so fucking full of me."

I squeal into the sheets. The idea drives me wild. I plead into the bed but I don't think he hears it.

Just as I felt something begin to build in me, he slows.

I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them as Sandor drops one of my hips. I squeak when I feel him grab my shoulder and slowly turn me on my back.

My jaw drops; I breathe heavily through my mouth. Sandor looks down on me as his hands grip my sides. He pushes me upward and presses my legs by my ribs

He slowly thrusts into me, hands working their way across my body. He rubs my thighs, my belly, my breasts. His brows furrow, "fuck. So fucking soft and warm."

He massages my breasts then works his way up to my shoulders. His one hand rubs my neck before clutching my jaw. His other hand slides back down my hips. I whine when his thumb rubs circles around my sensitive nub. It makes my toes curl.

He sighs, "so fucking beautiful."

I whimper when his other thumb swipes my lips. I find myself licking at it. It makes him groan and buck into me faster.

I push my head back and arch my spine, "fuck- Sandor."

Both his hands land on my hips. He digs his nails into my flesh and begins to move deeper. Eventually, he sinks one hand down by the side of my head for support. My hands latch onto his hips.

"Come for me, pretty girl," he groans, "I'm not gonna last much longer."

I tug at his clothes.

"Be a good girl and come all over my cock, mmm. I want to feel you tighten around me-- get all messy and wet and loud and," he gives deliberate thrusts, "so fucking beautiful."

I whine, "Sandor, I want- I want to-"

I begin to tighten and shake against him. My legs wrap around him and my hands cling onto him for dear life. I find it futile to conceal my sounds, as I cannot find the strength to shut my mouth as I ride the feeling of bliss.

With a loud cuss, Sandor rams into me as deeply as he can. His movements are rough and slow. Both of his hands secured on my waist as he spills his seed into me.

I can feel him throb and can feel myself dripping with warmth.

Sandor takes his time, really drawing out the feeling before slowly coming to a halt. He lets out a final moan when he does stop then takes a deep breath.

I look at him as he closes his eyes and straightens up. My body burns when he looks down at me through hooded eyes and rubs my body again. He enjoys rubbing my breasts the most.

My hands come to his arms, and that seems to stop him.

I am about to tell him not to stop, but he speaks before I can, "wrap your legs round me."

In truth, I didn't have to do anything as he wraps my legs around himself and picks me up in his arms. I hook my feet around each other and am careful not to touch his blistered back as my hands go to his shoulders.

Sandor crawls up the bed with me clinging onto him; I feel the strength in his muscles as he moves. He sets me down on the pillows. He arranges one under my head and brings one beside me.

He looks at me for a moment then whispers, "I'm going to pull away now."

He waits for me to respond before doing anything.

In truth, the thought of him pulling away from me makes my body ache with sadness, but I slowly nod anyway.

I close my eyes as Sandor gently draws away from me. My emotions immediately overcome me in my vulnerable state. I rub my eyes when I feel tears build behind my lids. Sandor fixes my skirt and gathers my legs together. I feel him take the pillow beside me and stuff if bellow my bum.

"This will help keep my spend from dripping out."

His explanation makes my body burn.

I feel Sandor shuffle beside the bed and I hear him fixing his clothing.

I clench my jaw, dreading what I knew exactly was to come next.

I open my eyes when he calls my name. I look at him pathetically, noticing how his skin glowed with sweat, the last evidence that he was ever in me beyond his untucked shirt.

He reaches out to me and I really don't want to take his hand knowing he'll leave me after, so I don't.

I have no idea why he still grabs my hand. The action feels like a betrayal. He rubs my knuckles before kissing them. I chew my lip, feeling wronged over the fact he has never kissed my lips and probably never will.

"I will be leaving now," he mutters.

His words gut me, as always. 

I rip my hand out of his and turn away from him, "very well."

Sandor knits his brows at the sharp withdrawal. He was gentle was he not? Still, he's being turned away.

His mouth goes dry. He slowly steps back, "I..."

I turn my body away from him. I draw in a deep breath and try to make my voice as even as possible, "thank you, Sandor."

Sandor flinches. He steps back some more, "I-I'll bring your dogs here for company."

I chuckle dryly. Company. My voice breaks, "I'm tired."

Sandor's mouth twitches. He backs all the way up to the door, "I'll let you rest then."

I cover my face with my arm and hum in agreement, not trusting myself to speak anymore.

The moment I hear the click of the door, I begin to sob. I whine as his words replay in my head. How could he tell me such things, call me beautiful and say he wants me, then leave me right after? How could he touch me like that then want nothing to do with me?

I pull the pillow from underneath my head and wail into it.

Sandor, who couldn't find it in himself to step away from the door, decides not to walk back in when he hears the crying. His belly curdles with self-loathing. He feels like he's going to choke because of how hurt the noise sounded, nevermind how lovely it was seconds ago; it meant for nothing.

He walks away trying to figure out where he went wrong. He relives every touch, every sound in his memory. His eyes water when he comes to the dreadful realization it must have been horrible being with him. He forced his wretched looks onto an unwilling witness.

He gulps as he sniffles and wipes his face in frustration. He feels like walking into the forest, never to be seen again, but then he steps out to the garden and hears small barking sounds. He looks at the three pups, playing with the boys, who should have been training, and feels his heart twist.

He finds himself imagining what the scene would've been like if Daisy was here... if his pretty squirrel-- he shuts the thought away.

I knock on Sandor's office door and enter when he tells me to come in.

He looks up, does a double take, then immediately stops doing whatever it was he was doing. He clears his throat, "Lady Clegane."

His words pierce through me. He's never called me that before. I close the door and walk towards him, "Lord husband. Good morrow to you. Where is Andrew?"

His shoulders tense, "he... should be here any minute."

I nod as I halt in front of his desk, "he has gotten good enough at reading and balancing coin, I hope?"

Sandor sighs, "yes."

I notice the crumbs on his beard, then I notice a plate on his desk. He must have broken fast here. I fidget with my fingers and wipe my chin, hoping he would get the message. He doesn't. I decide not to note on it and simply get to the point, "maester Yannick said your wounds have dried up, and that if you liked, you could go on your rounds again."

Sandor nods and straightens in his chair, "I think I'll start once I'm confident in the bloke balancing our coin."

I nod slowly and link my hands together, "alright," I shift in my spot and turn to the door.

I look back at him and feel my body burn under his scrutiny. I offer a smile, "that is all I wanted to say," I rub my hands together, "-wanted to check on you."

I gasp when he jumps out of his chair.

I clutch my chest and stare at him. He had an arm raised and reached out to me. It dawns on me he said something but it was too quick for me to catch.

I release a breath, "pardon?"

Sandor lowers his hand, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat, "I... I asked how you're doing."

It takes me a few moments to realize the meaning of his words. I shift and my spot and rub my chest. I feel my neck burn when he further clarifies his question.

"Yesterday, when we... bedded, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I draw out a deep breath and smile softly, "you were... gentle with your touches."

Sandor is unsatisfied.

I aimlessly look around, "and, anyway, I am not as fragile as you think."

He purses his lips and tilts his head. He takes a moment before speaking, and when he does, he does so hesitantly, "I was afraid I made my pretty wife weep again."

I instinctively let out a laugh, but it was clearly unamused and pained. I feel like I was being scorched alive when I look at him looking at me. I shake my hands, suddenly in denial, "no, I was quite satisfied!"

Sandor's eyes widen a fraction.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What am I saying?

He blinks twice and wipes his mouth. Finally his crumbs fall off. He mutters, "that's... good."

I release my final chuckle. He turns to his desk, fixes some things, then looks back to me. He looks like he means to smile but he doesn't, "I'm glad."

He slowly sits down afterwards.

I feel like I'm being weighed down by anchor.

That was it. That was the conversation.

Sandor is no longer looking at me. He shuffles the paper into a file and I slowly begin to feel the air around us thicken.

He sets the parchment down and darts his eyes to me. He purses his lips again and I catch the way his face twitches. He opens his mouth and slowly points to the door, "if that's all... I would not keep you."

I don't know why I laugh again, but I do. It's not even funny. I feel like being stabbed would have been better, more amusing at this point. I curtsy at him and shuffle backwards, "of course. I do not mean to keep you either."

Sandor feels sick. He clenches his fists and turns to his desk. He breathes in deeply, trying not to rile himself up any more than he already was. Gods knew he would use all his strength to keep this room locked.

I walk towards the door and turn the knob. I feel a wave of tears threatening to spill, and I slap my mouth when a squeak leaves me.

Sandor is immediately alerted. He looks up and pushes himself on the edge of the seat, "what?"

I turn to the ground and wipe my face. I take two seconds for myself then turn to him. I cover up with a chuckle, "I said... y-your beard."

Sandor immediately rubs his beard.

I chuckle louder, trying to convince myself that I actually found it funny, "you have crumbs on your beard."

Sandor looks at me like I grew another head.

I laugh enough that I actually start laughing at myself.

When I stop, the silence is loud.

Sandor clears his throat and cautiously asks, "you find that funny?"

My stomach drops when I see the red tinge of his ears. I walk up to his side and shake my head, "wait, no- I- I didn't mean it like that."

Sandor shakes his head and offers me a quick and small smile, "it's fine. I just wasn't expecting that from you," he looks back to his desk, "anyway, I'm used to it."

I feel like my entrails were being grinded.

A line forms in his brows, "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

"I wasn't laughing at you!" I whimper under my breath. The air in my lungs begin to catch in my throat as I exhale, "I was just- I ju-"

Sandor turns to me, face slipping when he catches my teary eyes.

He stands and takes my shoulders.

I blink my tears away and smile in an attempt to calm myself. I am glad I do not shed a tear. I speak through a loud breath, "I'm just nervous when I'm around you!"

Sandor immediately releases me. He sighs through his nostrils, "scared, you mean."

I shake my head and take his shoulders, "nervous."

The Hound seizes up like there was a knife to his neck. I take a moment to look at him and pull back.

I cannot deny it hurt when he immediately steps away from me.

I really should have left at this point, but my mouth had a mind of its own. I furrow my brows and give him an earnest look, "I can trim your beard for you."

He steps back one last time, then looks at me as if I now had three heads.

I realize my mistake, "if-if you want me to. I'm not saying you should, I'm just offering to-"

"You want to do that for me?"

I turn to stone. I look around nervously, "mmm... o-only if you'd have it... ... my lord."

Sandor's face twitches. He sighs and slumps forward. He furrows his brows, "you'd be staring at my face the whole time."

I watch him as he rummages through his things.

My stomach rolls again and I step back, "ah... I see."

Sandor stops to look at me.

"If you do not feel comfortable, I will not..."

My words run dry when he pulls out shears. I watch him as he straightens up. He grips the tool in his hand, "it's you I'm worried about."

I look up at him, not knowing what to say.

"I don't mean to scare yo-"

"I'm not scared of you," I mutter.

Sandor stares at me. After a moment, he slowly takes my hand and hands me the shears, "maybe you should be."

My chest pounds at fleeting touch.

I cut his beard in the garden, as I didn't want to make a mess in his office.

He sits on the bench there.

The breeze blows at both our hair.

"You needn't touch me so gently, girl," he says, "it will take a lot of you to hurt me."

I do not change the manner in which I touch his cheek. I can feel Sandor looking at me, but I do not avert my attention away from his beard, "just because you do not hurt easily doesn't mean I cannot be gentle with you, Hound."

The Hound reaches out to my thighs when my foot rolls on a rock. I barely even fidget, but, still, he holds me in place to keep me from a potential fall. He does not release me. I gulp when I feel his thumb rub my skirt.

"You can hurt me if you like," he says.

I pull back and furrow my brows, "would you like that?"

He grinds his lower lip in his teeth. He debates for a moment and I decide to snip his mustache. I shush him when he tries to speak. He purses his lips tightly.

A moment passes with just the sound of cutting.

"I wouldn't want to cut your lips off," I shift in front of him, still ever so aware of his touch of my thighs, "you still need them to kiss."

I pull away to check if his mustache was straight. I notice his expression, dumbfounded, and continue snipping. I sigh, "that was a jest."

I pull away and again and move to the other side. Sandor still keeps his hands on me. He looks at me as I gently move his head.

I add, "I'm quite funny actually."

He chuckles lowly.

It makes my heart flutter.

He smiles, "oh, I don't doubt it, little girl."

I flatten my lips into a line, unsure if he was serious or not. I trim the hair by his jaw.

"You must like kissing then."

I freeze in my spot. I stop what I was doing, then continue, "what do you mean?"

He pulls his hands away. I watch him link them together and rest them on his lap. He shrugs, "you thought of kissing."

"Do you like kissing?"

I place a hand on my hip. He turns to me and shrugs again, "s'fine."

I furrow my brows and mimic his shrug, "well, you've never kissed me, so I wouldn't really know, would I?"

"You've never kissed a man before?"

"No," I impatiently respond, "I've kissed you, but you did not kiss me back," I take a few last cuts off his beard, "on our wedding day, remember?"

I see Sandor's look of disbelief when I finish and brush him off. Specks of hair fly off with the wind.

"You never kissed a little lord in secret as a little girl?"

"Only a big lord," I make a face, "as according to you I still am a little girl."

He stands from where he sat and peers down at me.

I purse my lips and cross my arms. I shrug, "point taken."

His brown eyes glimmer with confusion. I find myself raising my brows. Just as he is about to speak-

"MILORD, MILADY!"

We turn to the three young men walking over to us. I recognize them as Sandor's training apprentices. They push each other as I turn and smile at them.

"Good morn', lady!" Harry says, bowing exaggeratedly at me, "your dress is very rambunctious."

I furrow my brows at his words and find myself chuckling, "uhhh, thank you?"

Sandor raises his brows and curls his lips.

Daniel slaps Harry behind the head, "YOU MUG, D'YA KNOW WHAT YOU SAID, EVEN?"

Harry hisses and shoves Daniel, "DON'T HIT ME!"

Daniel gets shoved again when he incidentally elbows Richard, "OI, WATCH IT!"

The boys begin to quarrel. 

I step back before they can accidentally hit me, in turn, knocking my back into Sandor's.

"Enough!" the Hound barks, making the three brothers, or at least they acted like that, stop and turn to him.

My eyes widen at the sound of the Hound telling the boys off. I watch each of them tense as their Lord Clegane goes on a whole speech about biting off more than they can chew, and that, "if you lot want to act all tough around me, know I'll knock all three of your egg-heads with my hands tied."

I turn to the Hound, "Sandor."

He lets out a deep breath then eyes the three before him, "fuck off."

The boys immediately scram.

I bend over and grip my hips as I catch my breath. Lucy laughs at me as she beckons the puppies over with a stick. They come running over then she throws the stick for them to chase.

I huff, "these pups will be the death of me."

Lucy snorts, "and here I thought you wanted children."

I glare at her as the three small dark furred creatures begin to chase her around the garden as she runs. I call out in offence, "I do!"

Lucy runs over to me, "well, don't you know babes are far worse that this!" 

She giggles when she grabs my shoulders and uses me as a shield for the dogs. Though I was still winded, I laugh with her as the puppies prance around me. I grab Lucy's arm and begin to wrangle with her, "at least my babes will learn to speak. These pups know no sense!"

Lucy pushes me forward, encouraging me, "no, no, go on, s'your time to run, milady!"

I whine, "I really can't, Lucy."

"Oh, come on, lovie, you used to be full of energy! You're actin' as old as maester Yannick."

I hold back a laugh and shoot Lucy a look.

She shoots one back, "what? Did I lie?"

"Girls."

Lucy and I stop and turn to whom spoke. Sandor looks at us the way he always did, scrutinizing and serious.

I straighten up and nod in regard, "my lord."

Sandor sighs and looks away with annoyance. Wind blows his hair, adding effect to his expression. He looks down when the puppies begin to run towards him. They stand on their hind legs, pant, and bark. I swear I saw his exterior break into fondness.

But then he looks at me and it's all gone, "this came for you." He holds out a letter to me between his fingers, "I don't recognize the house sigil."

I walk up to him, smoothening my skirt out, then take the letter. I look at the wax seal for only a second then open the letter.

Sandor watches me raise my brows. He chuckles.

Lucy watches Sandor smile softly before purposefully frowning.

I look up at my husband, "it's from house Alistair."

Sandor's face scrunches up, "never heard of it."

I huff and delay my response to stop the puppies from chewing at the Hound's trousers. Sandor watches as I do this and gently shakes the puppies away. He takes my arm, preventing me from bending down, "I don't mind. They're just pups."

I give him a look, "if I don't stop them now when they're tiny, nothing will stop them when they're big."

Sandor watches as I sternly tell off the puppies and shoo them away. He chuckles at it, but then freezes when Lucy chuckles as well. The two make eye contact. Sandor doesn't have time to react.

"Cedric."

He turns to me, face contorting, "what?"

The puppies run off and Lucy runs along with them. I continue to explain, "Cedric is from House Alistair. You know, the lord that gave us a place to stay. You called him pretty bo-"

"I remember the fucker," he snaps.

I tense.

The Hound's nostrils flare, "what does he want?"

Suddenly, the letter in my hand feels heavy. I shrug, "he's invited us to his nameday celebration."

Sandor scoffs, "you mean he's invited you."

I release a frustrated huff when he begins to walk away. I follow after him and open the letter. I clear my throat and read aloud, "Fair greetings to Brown Wood, the home of House Clegane. May this letter find you in good spirits and health."

Sandor rolls his eyes as he walks back inside. He makes no haste, but I do, in order to keep up with him. I continue, "Seven days from now, I, Cedric Alistair, will be celebrating my--"

"I don't fucking care, little girl," he stops in his tracks and turns to me.

I nearly collide with him, but I gladly don't. I purse my lips and continue anyway, skipping to the part that holds my point, "if the Lord and Lady Clegane be so courteous in taking time out of their day to attend my feast, I would gladly-"

"Do you want to go, squirrel?"

I look up at him, blinking at the sight of his stern expression. I have to say, the omission of the word pretty for his petname made it feel... wrong. I clutch the letter by my belly, "he hosted us, me, Lucy... Daisy, even you, when we had nowhere to go. I think it only proper to attend his nameday to show appreciation and respect."

Sandor's eye twitches. He looks away and sighs.

I chew my lower lip, "he was kind to us, Sandor. I only mean to-"

"Fine," he cuts me off, "but if he touches you," he walks off, "I'm going to kill him."

His statement make my stomach churn. I cannot for the life of me understand what the intent of his words are. I chase after him again, "what if he asks me to dance with him?"

Sandor chuckles dryly, "a fine reason to chop him up."

He stops when I grab his arm. He looks at my hand on his bicep then gives me a look as I say, "you cannot kill him."

Sandor places his hand atop mine, "then don't fucking dance with him."

He squeezes my hand but it is not rough at all. It's gentle and extremely warm. He doesn't even try to pry my grip off, in fact, it's like he was tightening it on hm. My lips part and my body begins to burn.

I then realize when he was close enough for me to feel his breathing that he had been leaning in. I catch the way his eyes dart down to my mouth. I find myself slowly pressing my lips together.

I close my eyes when Sandor comes close to my cheek. I swear I felt my heart leap into my mouth when he pressed his face against mine.

He draws in a deep breath then sighs, "have you ever seen a hound share?"

The silence between us is deafening.

"Hmm?" he hums.

I open my mouth but nothing but mindless sounds leave me.

"I don't even think your pups do that."

My breath catches in my throat when he I feel his beard and his lips press gently against the crook of my neck.

Then the next moment, he releases me and pulls away like nothing happened.

We stare at each other for the longest second of my life. I feel like I'm on fire. What's worse is that I don't think he realizes just how affected I am, or actually... maybe it was good he couldn't tell I was dying inside.

"Still," he nods, "a dog is a dog and I will do as my master commands."

I feel light headed when he walks away.

I clutch my belly and walk to the nearest surface for support. I rub my neck, wondering if that really just happened.

[philiponmycracker]

Jason Dixon from the deleted scenes, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri (Dir. Martin Mcdonagh)

[ominouslywritinginmyhead]

A little present for @anonimusunnoaniswriting based on a conversation we had a long time ago.

Sending you lots of love Noni ��️

Notes and warnings: f!reader, profanity, suggestive moments but nothing really nsfw, no beta we die like Daichi

Life sucks.

Your boss is a power-hungry, profit-horny dick who refuses to give you a decent raise or more time off, your coworkers are so incompetent that you’ve been cleaning up their messes since your TRAINING PERIOD, your utility bills have gone up again, and your air conditioner is starting to smell funny.

It doesn’t help that your washing machine broke down literally two hours before you accidentally spilled soup all over yourself.

Yeah, life sucks.

So here you are, stuck in the local laundromat at midnight, having shoved a soggy and soupy blouse and jeans into the washer with the rest of your clothes almost half an hour ago, spending precious 100-yen coins on salvaging what’s left of your sanity. There’s nobody around, and while your neighbourhood is relatively safe, you don’t like being out so late - even if you’re just two buildings away from home.

I should’ve waited until morning, you scold yourself. But you have work tomorrow and you’re almost out of office-appropriate shirts. You desperately need something for the morning, and heaven knows when the repair guy will be able to fix your washing machine.

The automatic door slides open, and a tall, muscular man with dark spiky hair walks in with his own pile of laundry. It’s the guy from the building opposite yours, Iwaizumi something-or-the-other, and just seeing him makes you want to crawl into the earth and never come out again.

Of all the times you see the resident hottie, it just HAD to be now, when you’re in an old, crumpled tee and sweatpants, wearing Cinnamoroll slippers. Your hair is a wreck too, uncombed and held back by clips you’ve been using for at least five years. At least there’s no soup on your clothes.

Why is he wearing a fucking tank top???? And has he gotten more muscular since the last time you saw him two weeks ago????

Ugh. Life sucks.

Even so, you can’t help staring when he walks through the laundry room and starts chucking his own clothes into the machine. His broad shoulders, his veiny arms, his legs, his hard face…fuck, you’re down bad. You don’t even care that he’s frowning all the time. You just care about that jaw you could cut your finger on.

Life may suck, but at least there’s a Greek God living in your neighbourhood.

You watch as he inserts some coins into the machine and adjusts the settings on the washer before pressing START with his thumb, and your mind immediately conjures up a fantasy of him stroking your lower lip with the exact same thumb - which is enough to make your brain short-circuit and set your face on fire.

The worst part is that Iwaizumi chooses that exact moment to look around and see you on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. Shit.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and you almost choke on your own saliva. The Iwaizumi, saying hello to you?

It takes everything you’ve got to not turn around and check if there’s anyone behind, just in case he was saying hey to the wall and not you. “Uh…hi, Iwaizumi-san,” you manage, mouth dry.

Great start.

Iwaizumi rarely says more than this. He turns back to his laundry and you expect that’s the end of that, when he glances over his shoulders, laundry room light flickering in his eyes. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

HE’S TALKING TO YOU????

“I…yeah, I’ve been busy with work.” Technically, that’s true, but you’ve also spent the last few weeks despairing in your room about the state of the world and your personal life. That doesn’t leave much time for neighbourhood events or going anywhere except the convenience store behind your apartment building. Plus, you’ve really been cutting it close with your work commutes these days, leaving later and later from your apartment. Which means you don’t get to see Iwaizumi jogging in the mornings, his normally serious expression softened in the morning light.

“What did you say you do again?” He asks. You have a vague memory of telling him about your job at some neighbourhood cleanup your friend talked you into joining earlier this year, but you tell him again anyway.

“What about you?” You ask, checking the timer on the washer. Three minutes. You’re not sure if you want those three minutes to go faster or slow down. At least you’re talking somewhat normally and not in those weird squeaks that left your mouth the first time you had a conversation with him last year.

“Physical training,” he answers briefly. “I work with athletes and coaches and stuff. Used to be an athlete myself.”

That explains why he’s so buff. The part of your brain that’s stuck in fantasyland now thinks it’s a great idea to imagine Iwaizumi wearing a fitted t-shirt that displays his firm arms and washboard abs and—

Stop that, you scold yourself. This is not the time!

Two minutes. Just two more minutes. You can dry your clothes at home.

You lick your lips. Why must they be so dry? “Do you, uh, come here often?”

“Often enough,” he says. “The machines here are bigger than what I have at home. You?”

“Not really,” you admit, “but my washing machine just broke down today, and there was a bit of an emergency, so…” You trail off, hoping he won’t push further.

“Ah, gotcha.” He looks at you sympathetically. “Hope whatever stains you have come off easily.”

“I hope so too.” You threw your clothes in the sink as fast as you could to scrub the stains off, but stopping yourself from getting soup burns was a little more important at the time, so you’re not sure what’s going to happen.

Only one way to find out.

The buzzer goes off, and your clothes are ready. Hauling the washer door open, you start yanking things out and shoving them into your laundry basket. Everything’s still damp, but the faster you can put things away the faster you can go home and stop fantasising about the man standing a few feet away and his voice and his jaw and his hands and his—

Hold it RIGHT there, buddy; you don’t wanna think of what’s in his pants NOW.

That part can be saved for later, preferably when alone in bed.

You’re so preoccupied with putting your clothes away that you barely register the sound of footsteps approaching you from behind. It’s no big deal.

And then you hear Iwaizumi say your last name.

Still holding the basket, you turn so quickly that you don’t see just how close he is to you…which has you crashing into him, laundry and all, sending half your clothes jumping out of the basket.

You almost fall back as you collide with his rock-hard abs, but he catches you just in time. Unfortunately, that’s worse, because now you have his muscular arms around you, those large hands with callused fingers pressed against your back, holding you a little too close to him, your bodies so close you can see every little mark and bump on his face and neck and shoulders.

And you can see one more thing, having flown out of your laundry basket in the chaos and landed on his neck:

Your lacy black bra with the little ribbon in the middle.

The bra you bought on sale last March. The bra you once said was “the perfect mix of sexy and sophisticated.” The bra that was specifically launched for Valentine’s Day.

As the saying goes, life sucks.

Kill me, you plead to whatever higher power is up there. You don’t believe in the existence of said higher power, but you need one to exist right now. Just kill me, please, I am BEGGING you.

Of all the clothes that could have landed on your longtime crush, it just had to be the Valentine Dreams Limited Edition one.

Why? And why did it have to happen to you?

Life REALLY sucks right now.

“Uh…” Iwaizumi goes tomato-red as he gingerly peels the bra off his tank top. “Here you go.”

“Th-thanks,” you stammer, grabbing the bra and shoving it deep into the basket, your face on fire once again. One of Iwaizumi’s hands is still on your back, and fuck, the warmth of his fingers is sending a tingle down your spine. HELP, you scream internally. SOMEONE KILL ME. PLEASE.

Thankfully, the next best thing happens: Iwaizumi lets you go. Immediately, you pick up all the fallen clothes and put them back where they belong, slamming the basket lid shut for good measure.

Iwaizumi hasn’t moved. When you finally get your bearings, you look at him and bite your lip. “I’m sorry about that,” you say.

“No, I’m sorry,” he replies. “I shouldn’t have startled you. I…I wanted to ask you something, but I guess I should’ve waited a bit.”

“Ask me what?” You say, gaping at him. The two of you have hardly spoken beyond the occasional neighbourhood gathering and the handful of times you’ve encountered each other while he’s on his morning jog and you’re heading to work. What could he possibly want to ask you?

He takes a deep breath, the redness of his cheeks fading to a light pink. “I…I wanted to ask…if you’d like to go on a date with me one of these days.”

The laundromat goes silent, the humming of the machine with Iwaizumi’s clothes disappearing into nothingness as his words echo around you,

A date. With Iwaizumi.

A DATE.

A DATE.

You blink at him once, twice, three times. “I…what?” Your mouth and brain aren’t coordinating with each other, and you could scream in frustration.

If Iwaizumi notices anything odd, he doesn’t say. “I know, it’s, uh, kinda weird, because we haven’t really talked much.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But, uh, I’d really like to get to know you better, and take you out on a date. If you’re interested, that is.”

He…he wants to WHAT????

Get to know you? You? Are you hearing this right or is it just a figment of your imagination?

The way he looks at you now…this is the first time you’ve seen him without a scowl or frown or neutral-bordering-on-frowning expression. You see his eyes soften as he watches you, a tiny bit of hope on his face as he waits for your answer.

The Iwaizumi. Neighbourhood hottie and guy you’ve had a crush on since the day you first saw him jogging in the neighbourhood. And now, the man who has just asked you out - even though your bra almost landed on his face just minutes ago.

And you are interested. Even if the sputtering sounds you’re making right now convince him you’re breaking down. The question is, how do you turn these sounds into something coherent?

“If-if you’re not interested, then you don’t have to force yourself,” Iwaizumi adds hastily. “I won’t feel bad if you say no, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Wha—” Shit, you have to fix this right now, before he assumes you’ve turned him down. “Y-y-yes,” you finally manage. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you,” you add in one breath.

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to blink. “Really?”

You nod, not trusting your tongue anymore.

“That’s, uh, that’s great,” he says. “Can I…can I get your number? We can plan something for the weekend.”

In response, you practically shove your phone at him. He doesn’t even flinch as it presses against his stomach. Fuck, he’s strong.

He enters his number in your phone, and you add yours to his. When you look at his contact details, you finally learn his full name.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

You wonder what it would be like to call him Hajime. Every time you’ve spoken, you’ve just used each other’s last names. He’s always been Iwaizumi-san to you.

“So, uh…see you around?” He says, looking down at your full name.

“Yeah…see you, Iwaizumi-san.” You give him the tiniest of smiles, your heart racing.

As you take yourself and the laundry basket out of the laundromat, you hear him call your name again. “Yes?” You say, turning around.

He gives you a small smile back. “Call me Hajime.”

Maybe life doesn’t suck after all.

****

“Soooo…what did she say?”

Iwaizumi struggles to hide his irritation at Oikawa’s shit-eating grin. Is it possible to punch someone over video call? “She said yes,” is all he tells the annoyance he’s known all his life. “We’re going out this weekend.”

“That’s nice. I’m really happy for you, Iwa-chan.”

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi can’t help the smile on his face as he thinks about you. Sure, the bra incident was embarrassing as fuck, but maybe the two of you will be able to laugh at that someday. That is, if you’re both able to make it through the first date.

Even in those casual clothes, you looked so adorable. Your fluffy Cinnamoroll slippers, locks of your hair spilling out of the hairclip, your eyes shining as you smiled at him…he can’t wait to see you again. And again. And again.

“Awww, Iwa-chan’s in looooooove~”

“Shut up, Shittykawa!”

[prettyboypistol]

Literally in every fanfic I read the reader is already a pretty sleeper, waking up all pretty and shit. Do you know what I need? A Reader who wakes up like they've been pushed down the stairs. A Reader who spews gibberish for a second and then immediately goes back to sleep. A Reader who wakes up wrapped in their blankets sweating like crazy and completely disorientated and on the floor. Sorry if this ask is bad, but do you think you could write something like this for the mercs?

Mood as fuck, I'm in.

TF2 Mercs With a Messy Morning S/O xGN!Reader

Scout

Honestly thinks it's a bit cute, seeing you wake up in a pool of your own spit and hair in your mouth??? Yeah, that's what he's dying every day to protect.

Likes talking nonsense to early morning you just to see you struggle fr.

His favorite thing is waking up before you. He's all dressed and ready and you're 2 inches away from falling off the bed.

Jeremy writes down all the weird shit you say and reads it back to you when you're sad because what the fuck does "are Venus flytraps predators" mean

Pyro

Probably ends up tangled in your Limbs too. This bitch is a SLEEP CUDDLER.

Gets worried when you wake up in a panic, shout about something that sounds important, then fall back asleep like EXCUSE ME?? WHAT??

Doesn't like that you kick them in your sleep, but they can live with it.

Very worried about the night sweats and ramblings. You say some fucked up dhit when you're asleep!

Soldier

This mf is used to waking up at 6AM sharp and being battle ready by 6:05AM. This caused one of the initial rifts in your relationship with him until you convinced him that not waking you as well is early stealth training.

You remind him of a baby bird when you're curled up in all the blanket that you stole from him in the night.

Doesn't really notice that you are a messy sleeper until you two have breakfast together one morning, with you half awake, those bleary eyes and sleepy sighs made his heart skip a beat.

Heavy

He calls you his little spoiled cat when you glare at him all bleary-eyed for waking you up.

Loves cuddling you like a big bear, always the big spoon.

lowkey a messy sleeper too, but is more agitated when half awake than you

you two having delirious talks when you two aren't awake fully omg couple goals

Demoman

You look like a pretty sleeper next to this motherfucker

drunk mumbling, sleeptalker, sleepfighter WWE in your bed.

Wakes up after you so ususally doesn't see the absolute wreck you wake up as. If you two wake up at the same time he makes fun of you.

You two have probably ripped the blanket in y'alls sleepwars. Mrs. Pauling has checked in on you two at 2AM after hearing shouting, only to see both of you, fast asleep, on the floor, and total messes.

Engineer

Thinks it's cute bc he rises with the sun if not a tad earlier to watch the sunrise. Absolutely tells you to "rise n' shine".

records your half-awake mumbles and talks to you, listens back to them podcast style in his downtime.

Is absolutely terrified that you will rip off his prosthetic hand so dating you absolutely instilled the safe habit of taking his hand off before bed.

Sniper

Is usually out of bed before the "fun" begins, but had overheard your morning routine

Isn't a fan of the blanket stealing, but overall doesn't really care. If he's in a bad mood he'll sleep on the couch so you don't steal it.

"Am i pretty, Mick?" "About as pretty as an aye aye when you first wake up" "Da-DAMN!!"

Has a poloroid of you fast asleep in his hat

Spy

This bitch c o m p l a i n s.

He's the most prissy little bastard when it comes to sleeping. He sleeps EXCLUSIVELY on his left side, legs in a specific way, and hogs the blankets. When you come into his bed and sleep-kick him out, he is flabbergasted. absolutely bamboozled.

Doesn't cuddle you, but now there is a pillow barrier that protects his precious sleep routine.

Secretly thinks you are downright adorable with how god-awful you look, crusty eyes and all

Medic

Doesn't really mind, but gives you light teasing about it. If he's having a bad day then he gets annoyed by the blanket stealing.

Wakes up and gets ready for the day, only to see the doves nesting with you and that melts his hearttttt

Kisses your gross ass awake every single day despite that

Has stayed up multiple nights to study your sleep cycles.

[skylarsblue]

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day One - Bob Floyd

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x gn!pilot!reader

Prompt: Survivors Guilt/"It's not your fault."

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of injury, readers WSO is in intensive care, a few swears, hurt/comfort, naval inaccuracies

Summary: An accident during a training hop leaves your WSO badly injured, and you can't help but blame yourself. Bob makes it his mission to convince you otherwise.

{I used a random callsign for the WSO}

Your eyes slowly traced the dirty, grey-black grout that lined the tile floor. How many times now had you tried to count each square of green and not quite white before losing count, lost in your own head?

The waiting room was silent, other than the scuff of your shoe against the floor as your leg bounced incessantly. You were still in your flight suit, the upper half tied haphazardly around your waist.

The sputtering of the engines and the screaming of alarms still echoed in your ears.

As soon as you had been cleared, you'd left the medical center on base and rushed straight to the hospital your WSO had been wheeled off to as soon as the rescue team made it to your wrecked jet.

The voices shouting at you over the coms were just unintelligible noise.

By the time you'd been hauled to your feet, yards away from the crash sight where your ejection seat had thrown you, he'd already been extracted from his, and loaded up onto a stretcher.

'I can fix it! I can fix it!'

The scene played over and over again in your mind. The bird strike. The few precious moments before everything went wrong. The struggle to correct. Fighting with the controls. The other pilots voices screaming in your ears. Your WSO shouting each system failure as it arose. Your futile attempts to fix it.

Everything you could've done differently.

Everything you could've done better.

You were so preoccupied with your thoughts that you didn't hear anyone enter the waiting room until a hand landed on your shoulder.

Startled, you looked up to find Bob, looking down at you with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine-" You sniffed, rubbing a hand over your face, "But Trooper- he's not doing too hot..."

"I asked about you, Sweetheart." Bob sighed, sitting down beside you, and grabbing your hands to stop you from picking at your nail beds.

"Bob-"

"It's not your fault, (y/n)."

You looked down at your lap, biting the inside of your lip. "I- If I had just-"

Bob reached forward to cup your face, turning your head back to face him, "Do you hear me? It's not your fault."

How could he sit there and look at you like that? With all the gentleness and kindness in the world, when you had landed you WSO in emergency surgery? Didn't he realize what you'd done?

You opened your mouth to speak again, but found all your words caught in your throat. You looked at him helplessly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"I know, I know," He whispered, winding his arms around you to pull you in to his chest, "But it's not your fault. It's not your fault."

[tteokdoroki]

(🦭) ah yes grippy graspy handsy deku.. . . .. much to think abt.. . .. . also hELO i hope ur doing okay this week )):

☆༉ — IZUKU MIDORIYA. handsy.

about. he likes when you show him how to touch you. hi baby!! im doing okay, thank you for asking! i hope you are too <3

warnings. [n]sfw & smut. minors & ageless blogs do not interact. exhibitionism, dry humping, fingering, praise, use of good girl / baby, light choking & fem!reader.

the idea of deku’s hands always being on you. him always secretly observing how you touch yourself with your own hands too, making mental notes on how to replicate the feelings that you give yourself.

day to day, he notes the way your fingertips brush up and down your sides before you get dressed. how you sometimes cup your own neck for comfort and rest your palms on the swell of your thighs to keep yourself together in the image of a perfectly tied bow. and izuku watches, from his place in your bed — leaning back against the headboard with his mop of forest green curls curtaining his trained eyes. he stares from across the room at galas and summits as you toy with the pendant that cages your throat (his initials dangling at the nape, the emeralds glittering under the glow of the lights up above). his calculating gaze settles on your twitching thighs and quivering legs whenever he’s seated beside you, anticipating the moment you both can leave for home and the world consists of just the two of you once more.

izuku watches how you touch yourself in the most mundane ways so he can do it better. he wants to be the only one who knows how what makes you tick, what has your body twitching and writhing and those sweet sounds tumbling from between precious lips.

“sit back for me, sweetheart,” lust pools between your thighs as he speaks to you in a low whisper. izuku can be performative, play the nice guy and the hero with a smile but when it’s the two of you behind closed doors he changes — let’s the darker parts of him overshadow all of the rest, consuming you whole. “spread your legs nice and wide. i want to see you touch yourself.”

“izuku—“

he doesn’t take no for an answer and nips at your ear in warning. “oh i’m sorry, should i have asked?” his scared hands smooth over the swell of your thighs, his voice like high dose of ecstasy to relax you. “please, show me how you touch yourself.”

he squeezes and tugs at the rest of your body — the spots he knows are sensitive become victim to deku’s surprisingly sharp teeth and rough padded hands. your own nervously dance their way up to the crotch of your panties, your face hot at the wetness pooling in their seam. izuku could have easily taken over from here, he’s stroked your cunt to orgasm more times than he’s had to sign his name away for fans. but he knows that this is the one thing you can’t do without him.

the one thing about your body that he knows better than you do.

deku grunts softly when your hips buck into your own hand, chasing the light pressure you put on your clit — and he lets the sound bleed out into a syrupy moan as your fingers disappear beneath the flimsy material to play with the sticky mess between your folds.

“there she is, my good girl. i like when you play with yourself for me.” he praises you, sickly sweet like saliva mixed with honey. pleased with the sticky sounds coming from your pussy. green eyes drink in the way you start off slow and pick up the pace each time he moans or huffs or clicks his tongue in approval. you stuff your little fingers deep inside the hot veil of your quivering cunt, rut into the seat of your palm and grind your swollen clit into it because you like it when deku watches. when he touches you.

your hips stutter and deku’s chest heaves — you can hear him swallow thickly from behind you, the thought of him being so wrecked by the sight of you fingering yourself makes you gush. “is this how you do it…when i’m not here?”

“yeah… but it’s never enough.” you keen into his forest fire-like heat, let his arms wrap around you to keep you steady against his chest, let him tongue a wet stripe from your neck to your ear hungrily. “baby please—”

“i know baby, you’ve done so well. you know i like it when you put on a show for me.” pride swells up from his lower stomach, spreads into all four of his limbs then straight to his cock nestled against the curve of your ass. “let me take over from here.” taking your wrist into his much larger hand, you jolt as the raised and scarred skin that criss crosses over his palms and knuckles bumps your thighs.

and even though you’ve been working yourself open, each of your muscles seize and tighten as izuku pushes two thick fingers into your heat. he stretches you out like you’re about to take his cock, skilfully drags his thumb over your sticky messy clit just indulge himself.

izuku’s resolve is as strong and as firm as he stands — but even he isn’t immune to the high pitched cries and little mewls you let out as he fucks you open and mimics the way you make yourself shake with ecstasy. he’s awfully good at it, curling his fingers until he’s able to brush over that salacious spongy spot deep within your walls.

an airy chuckle vibrates in your ear at the sight of you gushing into his scarred palm. “that’s it, huh? the spot. fuck baby.” mossy curls send the ghost of goosebumps over your body as izuku nuzzles himself against you, like a cage or a blanket of dark lust that keeps you trapped in his reach. he manipulates your body with slow methodological shapes etched over the heartbeat in your pussy, spreading your arousal all over you until you’re both glossy and shiny.

lewd, unmissable squelches echo through your room — sounds you couldn’t achieve on your own. a wetness you couldn’t get without izuku’s help. you can’t even pin point the source of your own pleasure, not when his free hand maps out the curves and dips to your body even though deku knows them off by heart. he pinches and pulls you apart, forces you to fall apart underneath his touch as he tweaks your hardened nipples and taps his fingers against your pretty throat.

leaning forward into his hand, you let him give your airway a gentle squeeze.

“ah, you’re so fucking good, sweetheart,” you can tell that izuku is pleased with the way his tone jumps. his husky voice bounces around in the empty walls of your skull and you stretch accommodatingly around the third finger he gives you as a reward. “i think…i think i want to see you cum. doesn’t that sound nice?”

“i-izuku!” you reach behind you blindly and anchor your fingers into the roots of deku’s hair — pulling and tugging, anything to cope with the unimaginable ripples of lust that pulse through your shaky frame. he lets you writhe against him, grins to himself as you wildly buck into his hand as he pumps his digits in and out you equally as wild.

he moans heartily, frantically fucking you through the white hot pleasure. “again, say my name again.”

“izuku,” you cry again, but louder this time. you claw at his hand around your neck and the sheets and his skin because it all feels so good when he touches you. “izuku! izuku please!”

with your head thrown back against his shoulder, he marvels at the crease forming between your brows and the delicate way your mouth falls open around the shape of his name. “that’s my girl, that’s it. cum for me, sweetheart.” he goads as your orgasm washes over you hotly. it’s like the ground has been yanked out from beneath you and you’re free falling faster than your mind can catch up.

you clench hard around izuku’s sloppy fingers, letting him catch you and guide you through it all. “so pretty when you cum, keep that orgasm going for me, okay?” he’s sweet, pressing soft kisses to your temple and you feel a loving warmth blossom at each spot while deku grounds you. he’s there while the aftershocks make their way through you and your cunt seeps happily with your arousal. he holds you close, lazily tongues at your neck while he pulls out of you — as though not to cause you any pain.

deku lets his arousal soaked hand rest lovingly on your navel as a reminder of what’s to come and how far he could reach if he decided to fuck you later on. for now he whispers cotton-wrapped and honey dipped praises into your ear, massaging the parts of you that might be sore from spreading yourself for him. “did that feel good? are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah. ‘m more than okay,” you hum, all sleepy like, and croon your head upwards in search of a kiss and a handsome face full of freckles. “did you—?”

deku’s hands tighten on your waist. “did you expect me not to cum in my pants from feeling you up?” he laughs brightly. “i like touching you, you feel good. it feels good to me.”

that’s hot. he’s hot.

and you’re suddenly aware of the warm stickiness against your backside.

“n-next time, izuku,” you lower your voice to a purr, rolling over in his arms so that you’re both chest to chest. your hand dips between your bodies to stroke at his semi-hardness, boldly. “you’ll let me touch you? let me have you…it feels good for me too.”

and who is deku to deny your hungry request.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.