#i feel like a feral animal. genuinely

[not-another-robin]

If you're wondering where I've been (<- guy who still posts) I've been applying for internships so. That has taken over my every waking moment

[dailygihun]

day 12 || underrated trio in my humble opinion (just lineart under the cut cuz im stuck on which to post)

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

Saw Sunday shoe humping and my brain went out the window you are SO right

im going to write it so bad and im going to write him getting his dick sucked and reader begging on their hands and knees about it because i need to swallow that man to the base anon its BAD. i need to behave in ways that would have me condemned for eternal hell i NEEEEEEEEDDDDD that guy SO bad

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | EAT!!!

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐) : aggressively serving your f1 partner food and waiting for their reaction

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : tws : fake aggression ୨ৎ : word count : 573

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : writing this before the race.. i am shaking in my mf boots, monaco is a pretty boring watch but as a leclerc girly i AM TUNED IN. ALSO posting this at 4pm because i have another post coming at 8pm... i am so locked in.

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

flinches slightly when the fork bounces off the table

raises an eyebrow like “you good?”

eats it anyway like nothing happened

“as long as it’s warm, you can throw it at me for all I care”

yuki tsunoda

doesn’t even blink

“thanks, babe” starts eating like you didn’t just body slam the rice bowl

compliments the seasoning while you’re still fuming

chaotic recognizes chaotic

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

looks at the plate like it personally offended him

“...did I do something?”

cautiously picks up the fork like it might bite

still says “thank you” because manners

kimi antonelli

visibly startled but tries to act chill

whispers “grazie” like you’re a wild animal he doesn’t want to spook

eats quietly and doesn’t ask questions

slips you a cookie later like a peace offering

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

gasps in typical charles manner

“why are you mad?? what did I do???”

absolutely thinks you poisoned it for half a second

still finishes the entire plate and kisses your forehead with a pout

lewis hamilton

dodges the fork mid-air

“what are we feeling, babe? angry vegan or passionate plant-based chef?”

lowkey impressed by your strength

still lights a candle for the meal like nothing happened

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

plate hits the table, he jumps and spills his drink

“DID I FORGET YOUR COFFEE OR SOMETHING???”

eats dramatically with wounded puppy eyes

texts max “she’s unwell” while still chewing

oscar piastri

doesn’t react at all

just blinks, adjusts the plate slightly, and starts eating

“this is good, thank you.” like you didn’t just hurl the fork

will bring it up two weeks later in the driest tone possible

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

smirks like you just challenged him to a duel

“you want to fight or feed me, mi amor?”

eats slowly, keeps eye contact the entire time

100% turned on

lance stroll

pauses mid-phone scroll like “huh?”

quietly places the fork where it’s supposed to go

“...thank you?” in the softest voice

eats like a confused golden retriever

ʚ・williams

alex albon

dodges the flying spoon and giggles

“you missed my head by like this much”

eats happily while pretending it’s normal

lily absolutely starts filming

carlos sainz

dramatic sigh

“i just got home, cariño”

eats anyway but side-eyes the whole time

50% confused, 50% scared, 100% in love

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

flinches so hard the chair screeches

“WHY ARE YOU MAD I TOOK OUT THE TRASH”

shoves food in his mouth like he’s being timed

terrified but grateful

esteban ocon

very calmly resets the cutlery like nothing happened

“you missed your calling as a shot put champion”

eats like a normal person, but makes note to check astrology later

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

laughs immediately

“oh we’re doing that today?”

chucks a napkin back at you like it’s a food fight

enjoys it more because of the aggression

isack hadjar

stunned silence. just sits there blinking

“do you… want to talk?”

eats slowly while trying to read your expression

texts ollie “she’s feral again”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

flirty smirk. “you always this rough, bébé?”

picks up the spoon like it’s a love letter

compliments your cooking and your aim

mentally logs this as foreplay

franco colapinto

reacts like how i think mortimer goth would react (yup.. sims reference.)

“you almost dented the table!!”

10/10 still eats it with a smile

kisses your hand dramatically like “thank you for your service”

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

unfazed. genuinely doesn’t notice

“did you make this with garlic or paprika?”

eats like a soldier in wartime

compliments the plate slam like it’s a strong technique

gabriel bortoleto

confused puppy stare

“is this one of those love language things… or are you mad?”

eats politely while panicking internally

clears his plate so fast you forgive him before dessert

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[beloveds-embrace]

(A bit more of feral reader x poly 141 bc i genuinely have no idea how I’ll be putting it all together lmfao)

The nightmare begins as it always does- dark, suffocating, thick with the stench of sweat, rot, and filth. The walls are damp and the air is heavy, pressing down on you like a weight you can never escape. Distant voices murmur beyond the metal door, the sharp cadence of a language you barely understand, but their meaning is clear. You know what comes next. You know what they want.

But they don’t get it.

They don’t get anything. Not this time. Never again.

The first body drops before the alarm is even raised. His throat opens up beneath the knife you’d stolen like a torn seam, spilling warmth down your fingers, and yet it doesn’t feel like victory. It doesn’t feel like the justice you’d prayed for.

It feels like- breathing for the first time. The next one claws at your face, his nails raking across your skin as you drive the knife up, under his ribs, twisting until he stops moving. The blood is hot, splattering against your clothes, against your arms, against the inside of your mouth as you bite down on the hand that tries to silence you.

You don’t stop. You can’t. Freedom is too close to let go of, and you don’t care for the red that begins to paint everything in your vision.

You carve through them like an animal, like something that was never meant to be human in the first place. The walls are slick with red, the floor a graveyard of the ones who thought they could own you. The screams fade into silence, and in the end, there is nothing left of them but ruin.

Yet, when you step into the cold night, into the world beyond their grasp, you don’t feel free.

You feel empty.

You feel wrong.

And you never stop feeling that way.

You wake in silence.

Your breathing is slow, measured, trained into something calm and controlled despite the chaos still and constantly thrumming through your body. The muzzle is tight around your face, pressing into your jaw, a familiar weight you should be used to by now. The collar is snug against your throat, a cold band of control that denies you even the simplest of instincts. There is no comfort in scent, no safety in familiarity- just the stale, lifeless sterility of a world that refuses to let you be.

It’s either this, or being put down like an animal.

The room is dim, the soft hum of the temporary base’s lights above barely cutting through the darkness. You don’t move. You don’t shake or shudder or gasp for air like someone who just clawed their way out of a nightmare. You simply exist, the way you always do.

But they see.

Price is already awake, seated across from you with sharp eyes that take in everything- the way your fingers press into the thin blanket, the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your breaths come just a fraction too quickly before you rein them in. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches, the quiet weight of his presence grounding in a way that words never could be.

Soap notices next, his own sleep-lightened expression sharpening when he sees you sitting so stiffly on the cot. He’s up before he even thinks about it, his movements quick but not rushed, careful as if not to startle you. He doesn’t touch, doesn’t get too close, but his scent- warm, soothing, meant for pack- lingers just within reach like always.

And it always means nothing.

Because you can’t smell it.

Not through the collar’s inhibitors, not through the steel and leather of the muzzle that keeps you locked away from the most fundamental part of what it means to be.

Soap’s jaw tenses, and for a moment, his hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you, like he wants to offer something, anything, to ground you the way a normal Omega should be able to. He knows that if he could just scent you, if he could press his cheek to yours and let you feel something real, the weight of the nightmare might ease.

But he can’t.

He lets out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax even though everything in him hates this- hates what they’ve done to you, hates that they treat you like a machine instead of a person, hates that he can’t even offer the smallest comfort because of those damned restraints.

Ghost lingers near the door, silent but watchful. He sees it too. The tension in your frame, the way you haven’t moved since waking, like you’re still trapped somewhere else. His hands flex at his sides, his instincts clawing at him, demanding he do something, but what is there to do? Even if he sat next to you, even if he pressed his forehead against yours and let you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, you wouldn’t get the reassurance it was meant to give. The muzzle makes sure of that.

Gaz is the last to stir, but he reads the room quickly, taking in the way everyone else is coiled tight with unspoken frustration. His expression shifts, softens, but there’s anger there too- not at you, never at you, but at the situation. At the rules that keep them from offering what should be natural, what should be easy.

“You okay?” Soap asks finally, his voice gentle but firm, trying to draw you out without pushing too hard.

You don’t respond.

Not because you don’t want to, but because the words feel useless and pointless. The muzzle makes speaking difficult- deliberately so- and lately, you’ve stopped trying. It’s not worth the effort when no one really wants to hear you outside of battlefields anyway.

Soap sighs quietly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Bad night?”

Still, you say nothing, but your fingers tighten slightly around the blanket, and that’s answer enough.

Price leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, expression unreadable. “Do you dream often?”

It’s an innocent question, but it settles in the air like something heavier.

Dreaming isn’t something that belongs to you anymore. Dreams are for people who have something left to hope for, something left to chase beyond survival. You aren’t sure what yours mean anymore- if they’re just memories trapped in your skull, or if they’re something worse, something rotting in the places you can’t reach.

Still, Price doesn’t look away. None of them do. They wait, giving you space, giving you time, even if they can’t give you what they truly want to.

It’s frustrating how much you can feel them, how badly they want to comfort you the way pack should. Their scents are muted, diluted by the inhibitors, but they’re there and lingering beneath the surface and desperate to reach you. You don’t know that if you were free, if you weren’t locked behind the military’s restrictions, they’d already be curled around you, offering the warmth and safety that’s been denied to you for so long.

But instead, they sit there, helpless.

And you sit there, silent, unsure what to say in answer.

The tension lingers, thick and unspoken, before Gaz shifts slightly, breaking the heavy quiet. “Here,” he murmurs, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out something small, something smooth and solid, and presses it into your palm- a small stone, worn from being turned over in his hands countless times before. A grounding point. A tether.

You stare at it, unmoving, before your fingers finally curl around it.

And for now, that’s enough.

It has to be.

[ladyymiisa]

PINCH ‘EM!

summary: katsuki just loves your cheeks!

tags: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader, fluff, katsuki is a tease

author’s note: starting the new year off strong with katsuki fluff!! i luv him sm

if there’s one thing about you that drives katsuki absolutely insane on a daily basis, it’s your cheeks.

those soft, round, ridiculously cute, rosy cheeks that make his brain glitch like an old vending machine. they give him such violent cuteness aggression that he’s genuinely considered throwing himself off a rooftop just to reset. it’s humiliating, really, how much power your dumb face has over him.

but watching you eat? that’s a whole other level of torture. the way your cheeks puff out with every bite, like you’re stockpiling food for winter, makes his eye twitch in equal parts annoyance and affection. he calls you chipmunk, because honestly, you might as well be one. it’s absurd, it’s irrational, and it’s ruining his life. but here he is, still watching, still obsessed, like the fool he is.

“kats—ow!” you whine mid food gulp, flinching as his fingers suddenly latch onto your cheeks like a crab on a mission. with zero warning, he starts squishing and pulling them, treating your face like it’s his own personal stress toy. “what the hell are you doing?”

you manage to gripe, trying to pry his hands off your poor, defenseless cheeks. your words are muffled as he stretches them in every direction, but he doesn’t bother answering. he’s far too focused on whatever weird satisfaction he’s getting from turning your face into putty in his hands.

“try that again,” he growls, giving your cheeks another firm pinch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “and i’ll squeeze ‘em even harder.”

you glare at him, your face still trapped in his grip. it’s hard to take him seriously when his smug smirk is stretched across his face like he just won the lottery. however, it’s clear that your discomfort is his entertainment, and it makes you want to bite back, but you can’t seem to muster the energy to do so.

meanwhile, katsuki is having the time of his life. it’s not his fault your skin is so damn malleable, like some kind of stress ball he can just squish and pull at his leisure. with every pinch, your face contorts in the most ridiculous ways, and it only makes his shit-eating smirk grow wider, as if he’s proud of the mess he’s making.

“y’look so stupid,” he mutters under his breath, loud enough for you to hear, though it sounds more like he’s speaking to himself. “stupid chipmunk,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost fond.

before you can even process what’s happening, his face is in front of yours, and with no warning, he plants a big, exaggerated smooch right on your lips. it’s awkward, considering how he’s still squishing your cheeks together, making your lips pucker out like a weird fish, but somehow, you can’t help but find it endearing.

then he does it again, this time a bit harder. and again. and again. each kiss lands wherever he can reach—your lips, your nose, your forehead, even your eyelids—like he’s trying to cover every inch of your face. you feel warmth spread across your chest from the tenderness of his gestures, even if they’re a little ridiculous. despite the absurdity of the situation, there’s something unexpectedly sweet about the way he’s so gentle with you, even when he’s teasing you relentlessly.

you’re about to tease him right back for being such a softie, ready to throw out a playful jab when, of course, he just has to ruin the moment.

“ew, katsuki!” you yelp, your voice high-pitched with surprise as he suddenly sinks his teeth into your right cheek. it’s not hard enough to hurt, more like a playful nip, but it’s wet and the way his tongue shamelessly flickers against the bite mark sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. you try to push him off, but he’s latched onto you like some feral animal.

“seriously?!” you gasp, squirming in his grip, but he remains completely unbothered. “this is disgusting! my cheek’s all wet now!” you cry, twisting and turning in his arms, trying to wipe the saliva off with your shoulder.

“serves you right for biting my shoulder earlier. y’thought i’d forget? hah.” he says with a wicked smirk, leaning back just enough to admire the mess he’s made of your face—flustered, pouty, and still glistening with the aftermath of his attack.

you groan, smacking his chest in frustration, but the bastard doesn’t even flinch. in fact, he looks proud of himself.

“you’re the absolute worst, katsuki bakugo.” you glare at him, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“yeah, i’m fuckin’ terrible,” he grins, clearly enjoying the annoyance in your voice. to emphasize his words—and to annoy you even further probably—he pinches the same cheek he just bit like an overbearing grandma checking to see if you had enough to eat.

yup, katsuki loves your cheeks, especially when they’re all flushed because of him.

[corkinavoid]

For @astermagnolia, to 'Navigating' by Twenty One Pilots,

DPxDC Everybody Leaves

Damian always knew he was there.

From the very moment his eyes dimmed and his body went limp under Damian's hands, he knew that, in reality, he never went anywhere. He stayed, always in the corner of his eye, on the tip of his fingertips, on the brink of his dreams, looking back at him through the reflection in the mirror.

Always just out of reach.

And yet, when Damian missteps, when a bright blast of a laser is only inches away from his chest, when his eyes widen and he knows he won't make it out this time, he is still genuinely surprised to suddenly find another person in between him and his death.

The blast hits Danyal square in the chest, but the boy doesn't sway in the slightest. Damian would have been impressed; he would, really, if he didn't know his brother was dead. If the sight of him, standing in front of Damian, didn't cause his mind to come to a whirring stop.

"You can't take him," Danyal speaks, or maybe growls, the words coming from somewhere deep in his chest, "He can't leave."

And there's something off in his voice - not in the low, menacing way he speaks but in the frenzied panic that's seeping through every word. Damian, against his better judgment, reaches forward, trying to touch his brother's shoulder, but even before he does, the boy snaps his head to him.

And, oh, Damian sees what's wrong.

His brother's eyes are wide, toxic green and glowing, and full of fear, the one you see in a cornered animal. When one wrong move can turn all that scared, anxious tension into a sharp, angry lunge full of fury.

"You can't leave," Danyal repeats quieter this time, but his whisper is almost pleading, "Everyone leaves, I know they do, but not you, you can't-" and then, the frantic mess of words is cut off like someone flipped a switch, and Danyal's face smoothes out in less than a moment.

The cold, calculated ice fills his eyes, and the boy straightens up. His hair, dark like Damian's own, somehow glitches like a bad video recording, going between black and white but settling on white after a moment.

"I won't let you," he says, and there's no more fear or pleading in his voice. Instead, it's calm and eerie, offhanded even, like the boy is merely stating a fact.

Damian blinks, the words stuck in his throat.

He has a whole family of vigilantes around him, he grew up in the League, he is a part of a superhero team. He knows there are people who would throw themselves in danger for the sake of his life without a second thought, and he knows he would do the same, even if he is never going to admit to it out loud.

But not a single one of them ever made it feel like a promise, an unbreakable vow.

Danyal turns away from him, facing the battlefield.

He takes a deep breath.

And screams.

~•~•~•~

Okay, so the idea was that Danny (reincarnated or just dropped off in the DC universe somehow to become Damian's twin) had died at the hands of Damian long ago, but never left his side even in death. I was coming from the Ultimate Enemy bad ending, which means Danny is literally slipping into insanity over losing his loved ones.

Hence, Danny going into a feral protective rage over Damian because he is a traumatized, two times dead boy who just wants his family to stay with him.

And now I'm tryin' to hold onto you 'cause everybody leaves — ['Navigating' lyrics]

P.S. I really wanted to include the line 'pardon my delay' into this, but it didn't quite work with the way I was heading

[darlingdaisyfarm]

So I've seen your hcs about Stan being a boob man (incredible, absolutely incredible btw) and I'm curious to know if you have any on Ford? He's so precious I feel like any part of his darling is enough to get him going but personally I think, if he had to choose, he'd have a deep, unfiltered love for thighs and tummy's but maybe that's just me!

Ford Pines is obsessed with you and your thighs and tummy ♡ headcanons

hey sweetheart!! thank you so much for this ask and for ur words<3 im glad u loved Stanley headcanons and im more than glad to write smth as that with Ford. i agree with u, im sure hes a thigh & tummy guy<3 oh god, scientists fear me for what i have discovered about this man

tags: nsfw, worshipping, thigh fucking, needy Ford, facesitting, oral sex, breeding kink, thigh riding, size kink if u squint, established relationship

also guys look at him, hes so silly awwww i wanna smash him against the wall

꩜⸝⸝ the first time Ford realizes he has a thing for thighs, he doesn’t even register it as a sexual thing. it starts with him resting his hand on your thigh while you sit together, and then he just. . . doesnt move it. well, he loves the warmth, the softness, so he presses his fingers into them and feels your muscles flex when you shift

꩜⸝⸝ he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. half the time, you have to be like, "Ford. honey. why are you gripping me like a stress ball?" and he just blinks, looks down at his hands, then turns bright red, coughing ”oh. um. force of habit?”

꩜⸝⸝ he gets so fucking distracted just absentmindedly rubbing your thighs. you’ll be talking about your day and he’s just kneading your flesh in his big ass hand, blushing madly when you say “Ford, are you even listening?”

“mm? yes, of course, sweetheart, i just, i was just appreciating how— hah—how incredibly soft you are?”

꩜⸝⸝ he will be in the middle of an experiment and just stop because he caught sight of you sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, thighs pressing together. and damn, what a beautiful sight. now this man is staring, zero thoughts, mind blank until you tell him “Ford, honey, you're burning the beaker.”

“what? oh, oh— damn!” he is so mad at himself for getting distracted, but he's so in love with you!!

꩜⸝⸝ but when he realizes he has a thing for your thighs in a sexual way this man is obsessed. he will never be normal again

꩜⸝⸝ the first time you wrap your thighs around his head while he’s eating you out, he genuinely whimpers because he’s never known a pleasure like this. he moans into your pussy, grabbing handfuls of your thighs, because they're so soft and divine and for him this is pure paradise

꩜⸝⸝ his fav thing is feeling them tremble when he makes you cum. he’ll groan, squeezing your flesh, trying to keep you there forever. im sure that if you'll try to pull away, he'll growl and grip you tighter, burying himself between them like a desperate needy man. “mm-mm, no, darling, i’m not finished with you yet.”

꩜⸝⸝ Ford goes feral for thigh fucking. he didn’t even know it was a thing. you had to suggest it and he lost his fucking mind. the first time he tries it, he’s panting like an animal, gripping your thighs so tight. afterward he’s apologizing, stammering. so flustered. “i didn’t, i didn’t mean to grip that hard.” you laugh and pull him down for a kiss because he’s so damn cute when he’s embarrassed

꩜⸝⸝ hell yeah, im sure he would love your tummy in every single way possible. he loves running his big hands over it, feeling the way it tenses when you laugh, when you gasp, when you shudder under his touch. he loves pressing kisses to it, nuzzling into it, murmuring against your skin about how beautiful you are. he loves holding you from behind and resting his hands on your stomach, tracing slow circles while he kisses your neck

꩜⸝⸝ if you’re insecure about it, he will kiss every inch of you, worship you, whisper how perfect you are until you start to believe him. “never hide from me, my love”

꩜⸝⸝ Ford def loves when you wear crop tops, but will never admit it. obsessed with the little sliver of skin that peeks out

꩜⸝⸝ if you let him cum on your tummy, oh my god, he’ll watch with blown pupils, whispering how gorgeous you look covered in him and suddenly, he is so aware of the fact that he wants to see you full in other ways too. cum-dripping, stuffed-full, round with his seed

꩜⸝⸝ whenever these thoughts visit him he immediately buries his face in his hands because oh no, he's realising he got a breeding kink? but how, Ford how?? you're a man of science! a man of rational thought! (i want to mock him, affectionate)

꩜⸝⸝ Ford loves putting his hand on your lower belly when he's inside you. it’s his fav thing in the world. because that way he can feel himself moving inside you and that drives him absolutely insane, so of course he'll get all desperate and moan smth as “hah—ohh, sweetheart, i—i can feel it—can you? can you feel me inside you?” blabbering mess

꩜⸝⸝ he wants you to know just how deep he’s reaching. Ford wants to hear you whimper, see your eyes roll back, feel your thighs tighten around him. but if you grab his hand and make him press harder??? fuck. he groans so loud. he loses his rhythm. his thrusts get messy

꩜⸝⸝ his breeding kink activates. immediately. he moans about how perfectly you take him, how he wants to fill you up, how he wants to ruin you. “ohh, darling, if i—hah—if i came inside, you’d feel so full, you’d—hah—ohhh, i need to, please let me“ and if you do let him cum inside??? he can’t stop whimpering, can’t stop pressing his hand against your belly, like he wants to see his cum inside you. he will stay inside for as long as he can. he wants to keep it there. he wants to make sure it takes. and if it starts dripping out? he fucks it right back into you because “mm-mm, no, sweetheart, we can’t waste it—hah—just one more, i promise—“

꩜⸝⸝ he loves holding it when he fucks you from behind, loves digging his fingers into your softness. prefers to pull you against his chest while thrusting into you, holding your hips and stomach

꩜⸝⸝ Ford loves having you in his lap, loves the weight of you, the way your thighs press against him, the way you squirm and shift and make him lose all coherent thought

꩜⸝⸝ he’ll pretend he’s focused, but his hands will wander, gripping your body tighter, whispering, “love, can’t think when you’re this close.”

꩜⸝⸝ oh no, oh no please, dont grind against him. you hear me? DON'T GRIND AGAINST HIM BECAUSE THAT'LL TURN HIM INTO A MESS. he gets so stupid. he’ll grip your hips, hold you down, moaning desperately into your ear, getting so needy his dick is about to explode. he’ll beg for you to let him fuck you like that, right there, right then, too desperate to care about anything else. “please, please, sweetheart, just let me, just need to feel you, need to be inside you, please“

꩜⸝⸝ god, at this point im sure he loves you riding his thigh, especially when he's working or writing smth. Ford adores watching you grind against his leg with your soft thighs wrapped around his. “god, look at you, so stunning, riding me so well.” as his hands slip under your shirt, palms gliding over your soft stomach

꩜⸝⸝ “patience, my love, i’m going to enjoy every inch of you.”

꩜⸝⸝ sometimes, Ford gets so worked up, so overwhelmed that he just can’t wait to be inside you, that's why thigh fucking is his stress relief. he’ll slick himself up and slide between your thighs, groaning as the soft, plush heat of your skin envelops him. he’ll kiss you senseless while he does it, gripping your hips, pushing your thighs together tighter around his cock

꩜⸝⸝ he ruts against you like an animal, barely holding himself back, panting into your ear, so needy he can barely function

꩜⸝⸝ if he's cumming on your thighs, he definitely spreads it with his fingers. and obviously he gets horny again as he starts rubbing himself against you, because he needs more

꩜⸝⸝ im getting too deep but. . . if you let him lick it off???

꩜⸝⸝ and if you ride him??? he watches you with wide desperate needy eyes, pupils blown, mouth open, completely dumbfounded by how fucking good you feel and look. “mm—ohh—yes, my love, just like that! use me, take what you need“

꩜⸝⸝ if during thigh fucking, you playfully tease him with “wish this was inside me, don’t you?” ohhh, he’ll cum so fast it’s embarrassing. watching his seed spill over your thighs, dripping down, mixing with your slick, he’ll lose his brilliant mind

꩜⸝⸝ thigh highs are his weakness, if you wear them, he will drop whatever he’s holding. walk straight into a wall. stammer through an entire sentence

꩜⸝⸝ as for other body parts, i think Ford has a weakness for calves. loves running his hands up and down ur calves, squeezing, massaging, kissing his way down from your knees to your ankles

꩜⸝⸝ he’ll hold your legs up on his shoulders while hes making love to you, feeling the way your calves flex and tense with every thrust

꩜⸝⸝ and if you wear heels?? if you wear anything that accentuates your legs??

꩜⸝⸝ try locking your legs around his waist, refusing to let him go. he'll cum immediately “hah—ohh, you—hah—keeping me here, are you? mm, clever little thing“

꩜⸝⸝ back to thighs: when he’s feeling needy, he’ll lie back, pull you on top of him and beg you to sit on his face because he wants to be suffocated between them until he can’t think anymore. he’ll grip them like they’re his lifeline, leaving six fingered marks on your skin, dragging you down against his mouth, moaning into your pussy like a man starved

꩜⸝⸝ i mean, he loves the way you grind down, chasing your own pleasure. literally loves being used

꩜⸝⸝ and yeah, i fully believe Ford may unintentionally (or intentionally) overstimulate his partner, so even when you'll finish, he won't let you go, gripping your thighs tighter, licking, lapping and sucking until you’re shaking and crying, pulling away because it’s too much and he’s still begging for more. “please, please, darling, don’t stop, i need to taste you, i need to make you cum again, please“

꩜⸝⸝ Ford prefers making love to you in positions that let him grab, squeeze and worship every inch of you

[drdemonprince]

How do you get communities to want/accept you?

I was very active in my local queer community, just volunteering my time to help people do stuff, making sweets and tidying up after events. I helped out wherever I could, but I also wasn't very well, so I didn't take on as many responsibilities as might have been fair.

Soon it became too painful to see how much they accepted and embraced others but I was always left on the fringes in the cold. I was having really distressing breakdowns hiding in their bathroom. Just being around them hurt. Seeing the love and receiving none of it made me feel like a feral animal.

What did I do wrong/miss/needed to do better??? Please /genuine

I'm so sorry to say this, but when your goal is "making people like you"/accept you, it's very difficult for people to get to know the actual you and for you to form relationships based on mutual respect and compatibility.

You need to reframe your goal entirely. The real question is "how do I find people I respect, who treat me well, and who I want to spend more time around?" Or, within the spaces that you are already visiting and participating in, "Who do I like here? What do I like about them?" and then making a specific effort to get to know them better and invite them to do things with you. Introduce a little friction. Ask them their opinions! Ask them to help you with something! Put some of your real personality, feelings, and preferences out into the world, and something with more depth can begin to form.

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Husbands Boss x Married! Reader

"Just Another Day at The Office."

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, misogyny, name calling, nude photos, coercion, dubcon touching, fem genitalia for reader, mentions of divorce, general perversion, praise, clit play, cheating, readers husband is a scumbag.

(AN: Requested by an Anon early today, and it made me feral.)

Tick... tick... tick... the sound of an office clock rings in your ears, the only sound louder is your heart, pounding in your ribcage. The clock was awfully loud, though you had never noticed it before, when you were coming to bring your husband a warm, home-cooked meal. Maybe then you didn't notice it because you weren't fearing for your future.

Morgan & Cole, the investment firm your husband had been working for for years had been doing better than ever, and in turn, so had your husband. Promotions, expensive raises, and more had been sent his way. The house was even being repainted. All that begs the question, how had you found yourself in this situation.

It was a few nights ago when your husband informed you of the deal he had made with his boss. Morgan, the co-owner of the company, had his sights set on you, apparently. At a holiday party, he approached your husband with an offer, an offer to get a night with you in exchange for another fat raise. You had always known your husband hadn't been the most loving, but you had never imagined his greed could get to this. The worst part was how casual the deal he described was. Approaching a man at an office party and asking to sleep with his life like you were discussing sports frightened you. You had only met Morgan once or twice, and while he seemed charming, him doing something like this made you very much doubt he was in actuality.

You are snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of a door opening. Morgan steps out of his office, fidgeting with his smart-watch when he looks up and sees your meek form in the office lobby. His brow furrows.

"Oh, Mrs. Peters, I hadn't expected you to met me here. I had intended to come pick you up. How long have you been here?" He asks. You gulp. "Not long, just ten or so minutes." You say, trying to hold eye contact. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, I wish you would have knocked on my office door, I feel awful having left you out here alone. Come, we can head back into my office and chat." His voice is so soothing, and in any other situation it would have been nice. You enter his office, and he closes the door behind him, before sitting at his desk. You take the chair in front of it.

"So, I assume your husband-" His teeth grind as he says this. "Is assume he has gone over what this is about." You nod. "He did... and... and I don't know if I can do this. I don't know you at all, and I'm a married woman." You whimper. Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, and Morgan sighs heavily. He comes around to lean back against the front of the desk, one hand supporting him while the other touches your cheek.

"I know this must be scary, I understand that. But I'm gonna solve both of those problems right now." He kneels down so your eyes meet his. "First, you worry you don't know me. Let me fix that. My name is Morgan Brant, I am thirty-two, and I live in a loft down on 37th. I like charcuterie and making my own organic lattes. I work out everyday, and enjoy walking through the city. I have both of my parents, Ruth and John, and they live in the city as well. Anything else you'd like to know?" You're too stunned and still panicked to respond, so you just shake your head. "Okay, okay. Good." He murmurs. A hand strokes your hair softly, as if trying to soothe a wild animal. To your shock, for a man who basically paid for a co-workers wife to prostitute herself, he does seem genuinely upset at your fear. His eyes are filled with a sorrow, and he chews his bottom lip nervously. He looks down for a moment.

"Mrs. Peters, your second concern, about being a married woman, is very respectable. I appreciate that you respect the sanctity of marriage so much. I think your loyalty and love for your husband is beautiful." He pauses, and gently grips your chin so you look him in the eyes. "But... I worry that love and loyalty may not be returned. Mrs. Peters, I need you to promise me you will listen to what I am about to tell you." You gulp, his suddenly serious, yet still soft, tone worries you.

He stands, walking to the back of his desk and opening a drawer, grabbing a manila envelope before sitting down at his chair again. He pushes the envelope towards you, folding his hand together and sitting up. He looks as those this odd exchange is yet another business deal, as he sits like a man prepared to do whatever it takes to seal a deal. A real businessman. Your hand trembles as it opens the envelope. Your heart stops.

Inside, your husband can be seen in several photos, from many different angles. Some looked ripped from security footage, others appear to be taken at a distance. However, they all contain the same subject. Your husband, locking lips with various women, every photo a different one. Your hand covers your mouth as you let out a choked sob. "N-no... I mean, he was never warm to me, b-but..." Everything comes crashing down at once. All those nights you waited up for him when he was 'working late', all those warm meals you brought him at work, only to be brushed off so he could talk to his secretary. It all made sense.

"I can't believe this..." You squeak. Morgan shakes his head. "You can believe it, I know you can. He's never loved you, I've seen how he treats you. Rejecting your meals, ignoring you at office parties and work functions. My dear, he is actively sitting at home and preparing to count the bonus he received for pimping you out to me." Morgan exclaims, his shoulders tightening. You put your head in your hands. "I'm... what am I going to do?! I'll divorce him, but I'll have nothing. I, oh god." You cry. Morgan once again moves to try and comfort you. His broad arms wrap around your shoulders.

"I know, I know this is scary. You've been through a lot tonight, your entire marriage even. But it's going to be okay." He cups your face. "I've been watching the two of you, you mostly." He hands you something. An empty tupperware container. "This is from his lunch yesterday. Every meal he rejected from you, I gladly took. I hadn't had the chance to eat something made so lovingly in a long time. They don't serve home-cooked meals like this at business conferences." He chuckles. "I saw how you would cling to him at those same parties he was ignoring you at, and wishing, praying you would cling to me like that." You look up, his confession is shocking. "Your husband... he is a greedy man, but he has pride. I knew I wouldn't even get a moment along with you unless there was something in it for him." He shakes his head. "Darling, I was just as disgusted as you were that he'd agree to that. As excited as I was, as I am for this moment with you, I was thanking whoever is out there that no other person at this office had tried something similar. I'm not some deviant, or criminal. I've had my fair share of sexual encounters, with prostitutes and escorts, but... I never felt anything. I need to feel something. I do with you." He says.

You shake your head. "You don't know me." You say. He shrugs. "You don't need to someone to love them, not at first. I hate to say this, but you didn't really know your husband, did you?" You sob again, and his sticks his hands out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry darling, that was out of line. I just needed to prove a point. What I'm saying is, I don't just want one night of pleasure with you. I want you to be mine. If you left him, you wouldn't be lost or desolate, you would have me. I could give your everything he has and more. Money, a penthouse, and my love. Real love. You deserve someone who wants to care for you the way you cared for that man-child. I can do that." You sniffle. "It's all so soon, and I don't... I'm scared." You say again. "I know. I hadn't wanted to do this here. I had wanted to show you the pictures and confess early on, I had plans to pick you up and take you somewhere nice to eat. I know the last thing you want right now is a fresh new relationship, I understand. But just maybe, the idea of revenge tempts you?" He suggests. You look up, and bite your lip. "What are you suggesting?" You ask.

"He thinks he's better than you, and that you could never leave him, because you have no one else, nothing else. Why else do you think he assumes their will be no repercussions for a night like this? He's so confident that you would never leave him, never even think about another man, that he truly believes you will return to him after he's pimped you out." Morgan moves closer. "I won't lie, I'll enjoy this, but don't just do it for me. Do it for yourself. Give in, leave him for a man who will worship you, who can give you more. Get back at him, and be with me." You shake your head. "You... you paid him to pimp me out to you like this though?" You exclaim. He nods "I had to show you how little he cared for you, same with the investigators I hired to get those photos." He nods in the direction of the envelope, now dabbled with your tears. "Besides, I've already signed his termination papers, I don't hire men like that here. He isn't getting shit for doing this to you." He assures.

In a moment of weakness, you break. The betrayal of the evening, the hurt and the fear, the anger, it's all too much. You sink to your knees, and nod. "Alright, let's do it. Just... be gentle, go slow." He nods. "Oh, my sweet. I'll do whatever you ask." He captures your lips, pressing your back against the front of his desk as he kneels beside you. His lips are soft, and taste of bourbon and mint. He smells like cologne, but a good kind, something smokey. Not like the tacky expensive stink of your husband, now ex-husbands favorite cologne. His tongue prods at your lips, and shyly you part them, allowing his tongue to slip in and suck against yours. He groans, and you both pull away breathlessly. While you take a breath, he immediately latches onto your neck, placing quick, feverish kisses along your collarbone. You gasp at the feeling, shrinking in on yourself. He grins.

"Does it really feel that good, that's quite a reaction." He chuckles. You blush and look to the side. "It's- It's been a while." He frowns and tilts his head. "How long is awhile, darling?" He whispers. "A few months, maybe eight or so." He shakes his head. "My poor girl, doing all that for him and he still wouldn't please you." He grips your waist, his lips on the shell of your ear. "To be fair though, even if he did, he couldn't make you finish. He would please himself, not you. But I won't, baby. Tonight, is all about you." You can feel a thick hardon pressing against your knee.

"Tell you what, darling. Let me make you feel good, real quick. Something nice and easy for my sensitive girl. Then, I'l take you out. I'm not just going to have sex with you without wineing and dineing you. Then, I'll take you back to my place, I-I'll send for your stuff tomorrow, and if you want, we can go for round two." He coos, looking up at you with admiration and hope. "Won't my husband try to resist my stuff being taken?" You ask. He shakes his head. "He's not your husband. If he calls, I'll hang up. He sold you out, and if he gets pissy, I've go the best lawyers in the country at my disposal. I'm not letting you spend one more night under a roof with that man. You aren't Mrs. Peters anymore, you're Mrs. Brant. Now... let Mr. Brant make you feel good." Hands cradle your thighs, slipping the skirt of your sensible slip dress up over your knees. A hand paws at your panties, cupping your cunt as he sighs. "So warm, poor little thing hasn't been touched in months. I've only kissed your neck a little, and your soaked. Is it because I said I love you? Does your little cunt respond well to just being admired and appreciated? Oh, my darling." He slips your panties aside just a little, not wanting to ruin your outfit for dinner later. Fingers part your lips as a long digit strokes up, from your entrance to your clit. A finger prods the entrance, and you gulp at the throbbing heat you feel.

"Gentle, slow please." You murmur. He nods, placing a gentle kiss on your neck before slipping in his digit. His long, calloused fingers rub your neglected walls in all the right ways. "A-ah, Morgan..." You pant. "Good?" He asks. You nod, breathless already. He thrusts it in and out gently, before asking to add another digit. When you nod, he adds another, while his free hand circles your clit with his middle finger. Perhaps its from typing everyday, day in and day out, but he is skilled. Even when your husband has slept with you, you had never felt like this. A coil forms in your stomach as you pant and whimper.

"M-morgan." You moan. "Please, I need to-" You're cut off by him sharply curling his fingers, as they hit a spongy spot deep inside you. "Oh, god. Yes." You moan again. "Cum for me, darling, please. I want to hear you." Morgan's tone is suddenly more desperate ethan you had heard it all night. He's needy, begging to know that he is pleasing you in the way he so desires. "Say my name, would you? I just want to please you, I need to know it feels good." He begs. "Morgan, I'm gonna cum, shit-" Your walls begin to pulse, juices coating his fingers. As you moan, finishing your high, he kisses you feverishly, desperate for closeness.

When you pull away, panting as you come down from your orgasm, he licks your juices off his hands with a squelching noise, putting your panties back into place. He helps you to your feet, and hands your your purse. "Ready for dinner?" He asks. Tired and very hungry, you nod. "Just one more thing, and you don't have to do anything, I've dealt with this myself plenty but-" He looks down, the tent in his pants is still very prominent.

"May I handle that before we go out?"

[residentwordsofaffirmationdealer]

hi guys. i keep seeing posts about damian talking about how he's kill-happy, or is he the most likely to break bruce's no-kill rule and here's my comprehensive reply, as a damian scholar:

damian has already made the conclusion that killing is bad (and has adhered to that for over ten years). he does not kill anyone anymore. he is not a "feral demon/gremlin". his (current) morals are very similar to his allies + family but in total, i'd say most like cass & bruce.

he is a very complex character who is NOT a remorseless, violent killer but rather a child who was trained to be a warrior (and arguably a weapon as well). he DOES feel very intense remorse and guilt for his actions, and is also very genuinely compassionate and cares very deeply for other people and animals!!

main themes that are often emphasized in works centered around damian are redemption, acceptance (from his family & allies), atonement, and forgiveness. damian will work to redeem himself not because "bruce told him to do it" but because he knows it is the right thing to do!! anyway, not to understate bruce's role in making damian who he is, as of course damian does look up to bruce a lot, but ultimately, damian made his own choices about who he is and what he stands for.

i know he makes a lot of statements about killing and violence but it is a facade he puts up -- often times he will mock or ridicule dick (whom he has mockingly called the angel on his shoulder) because damian will say something like "i'm going to kill x person" and then dick will reprimand him but they both know damian would not have done it anyway -- in the 2016 nightwing, there's a scene where damian says he will kill dinesh, a robin impersonator, but when dinesh is killed, damian gets mad at his attacker, lunging at him while yelling "he was just a kid!"

also, i stated earlier how he is a lot like cassandra in terms of morals. this is because she, like batman, truly believes in redemption and seconds chances. i'd argue that one of "the batman's" defining value is his belief in redemption, not his obsession with vengeance. a fundamental part of his character is the belief in second chances. he will always be there to help the people of his city -- whether it be saving kids or defusing bombs or providing support for the rehabilitation of villains -- think of the BTAS scenes of two face saying "good old bruce, he was always there for me" or how many times bruce has supported harley quinn in her journey to redemption or in general how many times he's rescued the joker instead of let him die out or how many times bruce has forgiven jason. cass is also very obviously similar to bruce. in the batgirl (2000) series, there's an issue where she tries to "rescue" a man who was sentenced to death. she rescues him because she truly believed he was capable changing -- even if he was a murderer. she, too, was one but has learned and grown, but he'll never get that opportunity. similarly in shadow war (2022), damian has a similar crisis where brion markov (geoforce), pretending to be deathstroke, assassinates ra's al ghul. in the major confrontation scene, damian lunges at him, yelling "you killed my grandfather!" as they fight, brion compares himself to damian and tries to manipulate him into disliking the al ghul side of his family. brion says "i was also trained to be a weapon. but i did it out of love for my country. but you? what your mother and grandfather did to you. how they tried to kill you. and here you are defending them. seeking revenge? protecting killers?". damian's response to that is "it doesn't matter who they were. you killed people. your actions led to the death of others. people who never had a change to change." this is especially interesting because it shows his growth -- he understands that people will always have the chance to grow, and he wants to encourage that, not take lives -- it's also almost exactly the same conflict cass had like 20 years ago!!

also, its super interesting from the point where one of his major inecurities is people not thinking he's good enough -- and good as in pure/moral etc. he (for a long time) has hesitated to call himself a hero, and has had nightmares about dick thinking when damian died, he went to hell, and so on. all damian wants is to redeem himself and be accepted, and he's scared that the people he loves the most do not think he is capable of that, and he's especially scared that they think he belongs in hell. more than anything, he wants to prove himself to them, and he tries and he tries and he tries. he'll never stop trying, even when bruce tells him that he's selfish, uncompassionate, and untrustworthy. even when he's hurt that tim puts him on his hit list. even when he thinks dick is replacing him by having his a new kid.

in all, he, like cass and bruce, very strongly believes that everybody is capable of redemption and he worries that him killing maya's father (a supervillain) means that he took away any possibility for her dad to turn his life around. most importantly, as much as he believes in forgiveness for everybody else, he does not believe he deserves forgiveness -- he is not a heartless killer/feral demon child etc etc.

[caldella]

I think one of my favorite things about Blitzø is how feral cat-coded he is.

He was dumped on his own at too young an age without resources. He's an outcast with a rough past, used to relying on his own wit and tenacity to survive. He's energetic and determined. He bends/breaks rules as he deems necessary. His circus past gives him good balance/coordination (except for his goofy faceplants).

His tail swishes. He bites. He purrs.

Like a feral cat, he perceives most of the world as ready to hurt him and lashes out, often afraid of introspection. And he refuses to acknowledge when he's dangerously out of his level in a conflict.

It also takes a lot for him to realize when someone is, in fact, genuine. The world wants to hurt people, and he's constantly waiting for it to try again.

But when he does understand someone, or when he sees enough of himself in them, he doesn't need the claws anymore. He is all about nuzzles and cuddles and purrs and an absurd level of undying faith and protectiveness. Like a cat, his loyalty and affection are things he has to decide on himself. But once they're there, they're as upfront and outright as his self-defenses.

IDK I don't have anywhere special to go with this. As someone who's had a lot of experience with feral/found stray cats, I really came to appreciate his character so much the further I got into the show. Perhaps this is just a response to those people who feel his supportive nature with Stolas at the end of S2 'came out of nowhere.' Maybe they haven't had the same experience I have? Blitzø is that beaten up street cat who hisses and claws when you try to help or be kind to him, even though he badly needs help and kindness. But underneath all that is the Blitzø that wants to follow you home, swat at the other cats to protect you, and be your biggest cheerleader. Just, very stray cat coded. And I love it.

EDIT: OH you know what barn animals tend to befriend horses (Blitzø's animal obsession), to the extent of sleeping on their backs sometimes?

Yeah, cats.

[thesiltverses]

The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

[gffa]

I genuinely love that Tumblr didn't release any explanation with the booping, just released it into our enclosure and made us figure it out ourselves. I've been opening every individual blog to super/evil boop and waiting for the little paw icon to rotate and my computer has been crying at how many blogs I've had to load. Then I saw someone else say, oh, you just hover over the text for like 5-6 seconds on your dash and it'll start spinning and HOLY SHIT THAT WORKED, I am super and evil booping right from the dash! I feel like a dog who has one of those puzzle food dishes put in front of them and I've just been gnawing uselessly on the one corner and now I can FLIP THE WHOLE THING OVER AND GET ALL THE TREATS AT ONCE. Perfect enrichment for an enclosure of a bunch of feral animals on this webbed site.

[ronearoundblindly]

Shameless Enjoyment

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Image found on Pinterest by @ellethespaceunicorn who thought of Bucky bonding with his new kitty 😻 so OBVIOUSLY I had to run with it...

No warnings, just floofy fluff! Enjoy 😘 WC 625

It's because he has nightmares that he suddenly pops up to burn off unprovoked, fight-or-flight energy. Shirtless, metal arm whirring in strain, covered in sickly sweat, Bucky just goes and goes.

Hundreds of sit ups. Hundreds of pull ups. Hundreds of push ups until his muscles finally fail, and he can (maybe) go back to sleep.

You've watched with your own breed of fear and sadness a few times before, but not tonight. You need him to not feel alone, to notice there's someone (or something) here to help. You need to ease his pain in some small, tiny, probably insignificant way, but you have to try.

So you prop yourself up on his knees during the sit ups, you jump for his rising, crossed ankles during the pull ups, and you shimmy across the floor by the sleek hairs of you back, positioning yourself beneath his head during the push ups.

His eyes are glassy, unseeing of you, his face bobbing closer then farther on and on.

His dog tags clink on the floorboards only an inch away, but Bucky still notices absolutely nothing.

Well, you know how it goes, right? Hear a tink, tink, tink enough times (dozens and dozens so far), and we're all like to be driven a bit bonkers.

You attack them, pinching the flat steel between your paws and bunny-kicking the swinging string, deeply annoyed that you have no thumbs to grab them properly and rip them right off his neck.

Ok. Maybe you're tired and he did wake you from a proper sleep this time.

You bite at the tags, intent on making your own mark on the stamped metal.

Bucky stops, but you only notice when his body remains lowered to yours for longer than the regular beat.

You, in turn, stop mid-thrash.

"Pretty girl..." he growls playfully, though you are anything but 'pretty' with your fangs hammering an unyielding surface, your wide eyes angry and lopsided, and your body twisted to gain the leverage of one-twentieth Bucky's own size.

You pause then growl in kind.

"Are you mad at me? Did I disturb you?"

A back leg whacks at the chain again in defiance.

He chuckles, the harsh lines above his serious brow relaxing as he pushes up, dragging the necklace almost out of your reach.

The smooth plates slip from your paws, and it makes you furious, batting wildly to regain your hold of them.

Bucky seems very pleased with that reaction.

"There ya go, doll. Almost got it--" he lowers again "--yay! What about--" he pushes as far as his elbows will straighten "--now?"

A wet huff escapes your throat when the string goes entirely beyond the extension of your own fury limbs.

"Uh oh! Little higher, Alpine. You can do it," he coos.

Your screech is from genuine irritation, but it amuses Bucky to the point you wriggle some more...just for show.

"Okay, okay, here ya go." Bucky lowers the tags carefully to your chest, delighted by the feral display of savagery he sometimes wishes to impart on the symbols, too. You're sure he doesn't realize he says these things out loud, but you take his confessions as seriously as a priest.

You'll take on his burdens like a golem if that's what helps him sleep through the night.

A few hundred secrets. Let him push them out. And then let him dream of better things. Fluffier, pure white, happy things. If he lets you, you'll fight all the demons and fly from room to room scaring all the ghosts of his past away.

He can do this routine without shame. He's simply playing with his cat. Bucky's just enjoying his time with you...at any and all hours of the day.

[Next Part: 'Babygirl']

[Main Masterlist; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

A/N: yes, Lexi's got zero chill. What of it? You all knew that!

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @yenzys-lucky-charm @bitchy-bi-trash @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[prettymonegasque]

Hii !! Can you write smut about Lando at the beach or on a yacht ? <3

Lando Norris x Reader

A/N: icymi I have the hots for innocent little lando norris

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Blow job, m! receiving, sub! Lando, jealousy, not proof read.

You've heard that jealousy is bad. It's the big green monster that ruins relationships. Luckily, you never had the chance to experience it. Until now. Something about the way that bitch laughed at Lando's lame jokes and kept touching his arm, triggered the wrong nerve. A primal urge to mark your territory rose in you. You were on a mission.

"Hey guys. How you doin'?" You walked over to Lando and the tramp. "Hey Y/N. Lando was just telling me how to beat Wario on Super Mario. I'm always stuck there." Her voice was annoyingly pitchy and her fucking hand was not moving away from your man. And that muppet was oblivious.

"Really? I beat him on the first try. Guess some of us know when to stop." You stared the girl down. Lando finally got to his senses and felt the tension simmering. "Anyways, I'm gonna borrow Lando for a bit." You didn't for a reply before dragging him to the little storage room in the yacht.

"Um. Can I ask what's happening or..?" Lando dragged looking at you with those innocent hazel green eyes. "You didn't know what she was doing?" You were wondering if he was mocking you or if he was genuinely confused. "She was asking about Super Mario." He shrugged. "God you're so adorable" You couldn't help how annoyingly innocent he was. You pushed him against the door and hungrily caught his lips.

You felt like an animal and you wanted the whole jungle to know who your mate is. You made sure to leave marks on his neck and he whined and gasped at your feral mission. "Baby, that's gonna leave a mark." He mumbled. The absence of a shirt worked out perfectly. You were on your knees and swiftly removed his swimsuit. Lando threw his headback but instead hit his head on the door. "Fuck" He half moaned as you started pumping him. You could see the precum leaking. As much as you wanted to feel his weight on your tongue, you also wanted to tease just a wee bit for unknowingly being a little slut. Lando's whines were getting louder by the stroke.

"Love, please I can't hold much longer." He gasped. "Patience baby boy. If you wanted me to get you off, all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to let some bimbo feel you up." You looked up at him with a pout, taunting him. "Baby, I swear, I didn't know she was flirting with me. I got all excited about Wario. Please ba- Fuck" You took all of him in. You bobbed your head. You could sense he was getting close. You pulled him out and kitten licked his slit, almost sending him to oblivion.

His moans were turning into borderline screams. Lando was no stranger to being loud in bed but being loud in public was a new thing. You smirked as he gripped your hair. "Shit Y/N I'm gonna cum. Please let me cum in your mouth baby. Fuckin' hell." He didn't have to tell you twice. You continued sucking him till he came in you. Your mouth filled with his seed and you swallowed every single drop. He looked like a fucking Greek God from your point of view, all flushed and innocent.

He pulled out of you and helped you up. You kissed him softly. He smiled against your lips. "It's cute when you get jealous baby." He mumbled. "I wasn't jealous. I was being territorial, there's a difference." You rolled your eyes. "Admit it you have the hots for me" He giggled. "Well unfortunately I have a lifetime of hots for you." You smiled lifting your left hand as the sun shone on your ring finger making the diamond glisten.