#i need a fucking tag of these sorts of asks i think

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest and @steddiesongfics.

and the war he saw lives inside him still

CCF Prompt #15 - Breaking Bad || Steddie Song Fics: Songs Written and Sung By Women | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Came Back Wrong, Lingering Injuries, Blood, Mild Horror Vibes | POV: Steve | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, The Upside Down: It Lingers

he showed up all wet, on the rainy front step, wearing shrapnel in his skin - I Don't Want to Wait by Paula Cole

Steve hasn't showered in four days. His skin still feels raw from scrubbing away the Upside Down. It'll never wash away. Not totally. Not this time. 

Water hurts. Clothes hurt. Everything hurts.

He sits on the couch in his underwear, hunched forward so his scraped back doesn't touch anything. He's exhausted. He can't get comfortable enough to sleep.

Curling his hands against his thighs, fingernails grazing his skin, as he tries to breathe through it. That hurts, too. The deep bruises feel constrictive around his throat, an invisible snake squeezing the life out of him. His windpipe, still battered and sore.

The rain hasn't stopped in days, and it feels fitting. 

Lightning flashes, and Steve jumps when he hears the banging on the front door. He can't. He can't deal with whatever it is. He can't get dressed, can't stand the thought of clothes rubbing against his skin right now.

They'll go away. 

They don't go away.

Fine. Fuck it. 

Steve shuffles towards the door in his briefs. At this point he doesn't fucking care who sees him. He tries to hit the porch light, but it's out. The electric has been wonky since Vecna's bullshit. If he had more energy to spare, he'd be worried the house is gonna burn down.

Yanking open the door, the wind and rain hits him in the face, the chest, and he shivers.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the front porch step, and it's not possible.

It can't be. They left him. Down there. Blood-stained and broken. Dead. Definitely dead.

But it is. 

Eddie holds up his hands, and they're shaking, "I didn't know where to go. Trailer's gone. Wayne's gone."

Steve reaches out, grabs him by the forearm. Eddie winces. It's only then Steve sees the big chunk missing on his arm that he just touched far too roughly.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. He's so sorry. He knows that must hurt, knows how bad the infection must be if he's been like this for nearly a week.

Steve doesn't know why Eddie decided to come here, to him, but it doesn't really matter. Eddie's one of them now. You fight monsters and no questions need to be asked. There's no secret password to stay in the club. You're in for life, unfortunately.

"Get in here," Steve says, and wet, muddy, bloody boots stain his mother's precious carpeted stairs. 

Steve gets him undressed and into the tub. The state he's in, Steve wonders if they should go to the hospital.

His mouth is stained red, smeared with days old blood.

The wounds are gaping, littered with debris, but aren't bleeding. Not a bit. No oozing, no nothing. Steve's back is still bleeding whenever he dares to move. 

Grabbing a pair of tweezers, Steve starts pulling out gravel. Bits of shredded leather. What has to be a tooth from one of the fucking bats. 

It's like Eddie's been hit with shrapnel. All the worst things from the Upside Down, burrowing themselves deep within his ragged wounds. 

His cheek is torn, his neck. There's a hunk out of his chest, his whole nipple's just fucking gone. It's a lot, too much. He shouldn't be alive, and watching him sit in the warm water, Steve kind of thinks he might not be. 

If this is Eddie at all. 

Steve doesn't know him well enough to give him any sort of test, he can't catch him in a lie, so he doesn't bother. He just washes his dirty back, the washcloth moving in steady circles. 

Eddie leans forward, his forehead resting on his bent knees, and cries. 

If he's not human, he's sure doing a good job of acting traumatized. That much Steve believes.

"I don't think I'm me," Eddie says, and Steve brushes his dirty hair off his neck. They need to change the bathwater. It's already black.

"You're you," Steve says, because what else is he gonna say? Oh, yeah. Something's definitely wrong, buddy.

Steve doesn't. Just makes him stand, drains the sludge, starting over. 

A mechanical chittering sound rumbles in Eddie's chest, and it makes the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand up. He knows what that is, has known it, has feared it, ever since the ceiling of the Byers living room tore open, bringing hell into his world.

"I'm so hungry," Eddie says, and when he turns to look at Steve, Steve sees it. The way Eddie's mouth is shifting into something too red, too big. Not a full demogorgon bloom, no, something more like the bats had. One extended petal, coming to a point like a bastardized bottom lip. Lined with far too many teeth.

Eddie's eyes are wide.

He's scared. 

Steve leans closer, and presses his hand against Eddie's cheek, the one that isn't torn wide. 

"It's okay, you're okay," Steve tells him, looking in his eyes. Those? Those are still Eddie's. He's just changed.

That's okay. They all are.

It's not his fault this happened. Fuck, it might still happen to Steve. He doesn't know. He was bitten too, just not as bad. He didn't die.

It may have hurt less if he had.

Steve offers up his forearm, and puts his other hand behind Eddie's head. Guiding him. Rows of sharp teeth scraping his already sensitive skin, and Steve digs his toes into the bath mat to keep from showing any pain. 

Eddie's watching him, drinking. Lapping at the dozens of small wounds he's made. Nothing too deep, but enough to feed himself. 

He pulls back on his own, blood running down his face as Steve watches his mouth transform back, hiding his secret away.

Then, he's just a guy again. 

Just Eddie. 

Blood runs down Steve's arm from the punctures, dripping into the bathwater. It hurts, but no worse than anything else he's got going on.

"I feel better now," Eddie says. 

"Tilt back," Steve says, pouring a cup of water over his dirty hair. 

Underneath him, the water goes murky again in an instant. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and @steddiesongfics to follow along with the fun! 🦇🎵

Notes: Paula Cole actually produced her own album This Fire that this song came off, so she did even more than write and sing it! (I never thought I'd used the theme song for Dawson's Creek for this kind of fic, but here we are, haha.)

And Wayne's not dead. Just to be clear. Eddie didn't, like, eat him. Eddie just didn't know where he was at, lol.

The single petal lip design was inspired by this concept art for the demobats.

I didn't even realize I'd filled two prompts in a row with came back wrong fics. That's what happens when you write for prompts out of order. 🤣

[storiesbyshadow]

Until It Takes

Fandom: Jurassic World: Rebirth

Pairing: Dr. Henry Loomis x Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Tags: Smut, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected P in V Sex, Choking, Porn with very little plot.

Word Count: Around 1000

Written For: @julybreakbingo

Squares/Prompts Filled: N5 - Kink: Breeding for July Break Bingo

Dividers By: @saradika-graphics

Requested by: These amazing anons from this ask and this ask

A/N: I meant to post this earlier today but it has been a crazy day. I'm my own worst critic, I swear...I re-read this and went over it and I just hope it isn't terrible. Thank you all for the requests. It makes me so happy. I promise to fill them all as soon as possible. ❤️

The lab was quiet. Fluorescent lights lit the room, computers hummed, and the faint scent of antiseptic still lingered from the clean-up crew.

Henry watched you from across the lab, his chair turned just slightly toward you as you moved around the counter, sorting vials and making notes.

You had your lab coat buttoned halfway, loose strands of hair tucked behind your ears, and you were humming, some soft, absentminded tune he didn’t recognize.

He couldn’t stop watching the sway of your hips, the way your shirt clung to your chest beneath your coat. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way you'd look all swollen and round, carrying his baby. His cock was already hard, tenting his slacks.

You leaned over a microscope, adjusting the slide, and the thin fabric of your pants stretched across your ass just right.

And something inside him snapped.

He stood quietly, stalking across the lab like a predator until he was behind you. You didn’t notice, your gaze focused as you studied the data on the slide.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he said suddenly, voice low and heavy with heat, “Can't stop thinkin' about how pretty you'd be all round and full.”

You froze.

Your hands stilled on the scope, heart hammering, unsure if you heard him right.

“Wh-what?” you asked, breath catching as he stepped in behind you, chest brushing your back.

He didn’t touch you yet. Just leaned in close, letting you feel the heat of his body.

“You've been mine for a year, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't imagined it,” he murmured against your ear. “What you’d look like round, swollen, heavy...”

Your mouth went dry.

“You’d be so soft,” he whispered, his hands finally brushing down your sides, fingertips grazing the hem of your lab coat. “So full of my cum...dripping down your thighs while you work. Waddling around the lab with your belly in the way-”

“Henry,” you gasped, legs shaking slightly as his hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive.

“I’ve been patient,” he growled. “I’ve waited, but I can’t anymore. I need to fuck a baby into you. Need to watch you take my cock over and over until it takes.”

Before you could speak, he spun you around and lifted you onto the lab table, knocking aside a tray of test tubes that clattered to the floor. You barely noticed, too focused on the heat in his eyes and the strength in his hands.

“Tell me no,” he said, panting, staring down at you like he was unraveling. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You didn’t say a word. You just nodded, slowly, heart pounding in your throat.

He growled low, feral, as he pushed your coat open, popping the buttons down your blouse one by one. He didn’t even bother with finesse. His hands were everywhere, warm and rough, palms dragging over your bra, tugging it down to expose your tits.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered, mouth closing around your nipple, sucking until you whimpered. “These’ll look even better when they’re leaking for me.”

Your thighs pressed together, already aching, already soaked.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?” he said, voice low and dirty. “Like you want this? Want me to bend you over the lab table and fill you so full you can’t walk straight?”

He yanked your pants and panties down together, baring you to the cold air and his greedy gaze. “Look at you,” he rasped. “So fucking wet I don't even need to prep you. Your body wants it. It’s begging for me.”

He shoved his slacks down, freeing his cock, thick, flushed, already hard and leaking.

You whimpered as he lined it up against your soaked entrance, teasing, rubbing the head through your slick folds until your hips bucked toward him. He grabbed your thighs and yanked you to the edge of the table.

“Gonna fuck this pretty cunt until you're all messy and full, baby.”

He slammed into you with one deep, claiming thrust, forcing a cry from your throat. You clenched around him instantly, gasping at the stretch, the fullness.

“Oh my God-”

“That’s it,” he growled, already thrusting, deep and possessive. “You feel that? Feel how perfectly my cock fills you?”

He leaned over you, one hand on your throat, the other splayed over your belly as he pounded into you. Every thrust rocked the table, as he slid his tongue into your mouth.

“You’re gonna take all of it,” he snarled. “Every drop. I’ll fuck you every day if I have to.”

You moaned under him, thighs shaking, nails clawing at the steel edge of the table.

“Gonna give you a baby,” he whispered. “You want me to, don't you?”

You nodded, breathless, wrecked. “Yes, Henry...please-”

“Then cum,” he growled, burying himself to the hilt. “Cum for me so I can fill you up.”

You shattered beneath him, back arching, your moan strangled against his mouth as he kissed you hard. He followed with a broken grunt, thrusting deep, holding your hips tight as he filled you.

He stayed inside you, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto your skin as he looked down at your belly.

“You’re not leaving this lab,” he murmured darkly, “until I've thoroughly made a mess of you.”

You’d barely caught your breath.

Still trembling from your first orgasm, your legs spread wide and slick with Henry’s cum dripping slowly out of you. The metal lab table was cool against your spine, but the heat of what just happened, what he just did to you, left you flushed and shivering.

And yet… he hadn’t pulled out for long.

His cock was still hard, still buried deep inside you. Henry’s breathing was rough against your throat as he kissed the side of your neck, his big hand still splayed possessively across your stomach.

“Fuck,” he whispered, like a prayer. “You feel that? All of me, stuffed so deep inside you… You better hope it sticks, baby. Because I’m not stopping until it does.”

He slowly pulled out, and you felt the warmth of him leak out between your thighs.

He didn’t like that.

Henry stood back and stared down at your pussy, eyes fixed on his cum slowly pooling beneath you. He watched it like it offended him.

“Look at that,” he growled. “You’re wasting it.”

Then his eyes flicked to the glass wall of the lab, the one facing the observation hallway, now empty and dim. He grabbed your wrist, tugged you to your feet, and walked you backward until you were pressed to the glass. Cold. Exposed. Tits pressed against the pane.

He nudged your legs apart with his knee from behind and nipped at your earlobe.

“Gotta have you again, pretty girl,” he rasped in your ear. “Look at our reflection, sweetheart. Look how wrecked you are.”

You opened your eyes, breath catching at what you saw. Your body flushed, face dazed, and already marked up with little love bites on your neck.

He guided himself back to your pussy and pushed in slowly this time, watching in the glass as your mouth parted in a silent moan.

“That's it, baby...fuck, you’re tight,” he whispered, more to himself. “Like you’re trying to keep me in. You know what you need, huh? You want it again.”

You couldn’t answer. You were too far gone, too lost in the stretch and fullness as he began to drive into you.

This time he didn’t go fast.

“Look at us,” he whispered, gripping your hips tight as he fucked into you. “Look how you take me.”

His fingers pressed against your stomach again, his fingers flexing slightly. “This is where our baby’s gonna grow. Right here. Gonna stretch you out, fill you so full with life. My life.”

You whimpered, eyes glassy, body trembling as he started to go faster, his thrusts turning sharp, deep, hips snapping into your ass as the glass fogged from your breath and the heat of your skin.

“You’re not going back to your apartment tonight,” he snarled. “You’re staying with me. I’m gonna fuck you on every surface of my house until I'm satisfied.”

You came hard, the pressure unbearable, your hands flat on the glass as your legs nearly buckled. But Henry didn’t stop.

He held you up with one arm, the other sliding between your thighs to rub you through the waves.

“Gotta come again, baby,” he breathed into your neck. “Need that pretty pussy to milk me if you want a baby. You want it, don’t you? You want it to take?”

“Y-Yes, Henry, fuck, I want it...I want you to-”

“Then fucking take it,” he growled.

He slammed deep and came hard, burying himself to the hilt with a loud groan as he spilled into you again.

Neither of you moved.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, lips brushing against your temple, breath still ragged.

“You think that’s enough?” he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You let out a soft whimper, your brain too fuzzy to speak.

Henry pulled on his pants and fixed your clothes before picking you up over his shoulder.

“Gotta be sure, baby. Gonna take you home and fill you all over again.”

[hyperfixingfr]

Hello! I'm very sorry to bother you. I didn't wanna bring this issue back, but things escalated and I fear I must step in while I can.

I am a good friend of the user mpregkingjulien. While I do not necessarily agree with encouraging others to harm themselves, he has apologized and owned up to his actions. I know he already apologized before, and why he went after you again I am unsure of.

But we have a more important issue at hand. He feels awful for what he has done, started hurting himself again, and even considered offing himself. He feels as if he can never show his presence in his fandoms again. While what he did wasn't great, no one deserves to feel so bad about something that they hurt and/or kill themselves over it.

If it's not too much trouble, I would like to ask that if you respond to this, please tag the fandoms that he is in and let them know what's going on. I'm not trying to guilt trip, or anything of the sort. As his friend, I am worried about him, and I don't want him to throw it all away over something like this.

You don't deserve harassment, and neither does he. Again, I'm truly sorry for butting in. I just want things to end peacefully... preferably without anyone dying.

Thank you, and have a good day.

Dude, holy fuck, you're being manipulated. This is insane to me.

I literally never interacted with this user, they come into my girlfriend's DMs wailing about how "fucked up" I am for things that are not even remotely true (despite the fact that I haven't even SEEN this person before), they proceed to toss shit at me, then whine when I react, then wait a week to have yet ANOTHER GO at me, then whine AGAIN for a SECOND TIME when not only do I react, but I call them out on the fact that they lied and pretended it wasn't them, and now they're trying to shift the whole fucking thing onto me and how MY ACTIONS (a regular human retaliation to unprompted bullshit) are somehow the reason that they are injuring themselves. They TOLD ME to cut myself, and then when I said "that's fucked up", now they're cutting themselves and wailing about it? Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit, all of you. You guys need to get out of there please. You are being strung along on a leash. He found a random internet user, fed you all lies about how I'm some disgusting creep to attempt to justify his own attempts at trying to make me hurt myself, and then flipped the switch when people weren't happy and is now trying to make you feel bad for him for something he did on purpose and with bad intentions. He has been doing this for as long as people can remember, this isn't new behavior, this is just the first time he's been called out. And you guys think I'M insane? Please, save yourselves. I worry for your group. He's guilt tripping all of you extensively for feeling uncomfortable with his behavior and it's NOT OKAY! This is something that happens in cases all the time. Have you ever heard of those people who take their lives after doing something awful to another person to make their families attack the victim? It's a really nasty stunt, and it does happen. People who are fucked up aren't against going to the extremes to guilt and manipulate the people they know. I was already concerned for you guys before, but this is getting out of hand. I don't know this kid, he randomly spawned into my life a week ago talking about all this junk he 100% pulled out of his ass, and suddenly now I'm supposed to be responsible for the sadness that he feels because he did something OBJECTIVELY FUCKED UP?

You all think I'm some lame ass, evil person who deserves just as much shit as him because he's MAKING YOU think that. I've done jack fucking shit to prompt him to go after me, both the first time and the second time. There's proof of this. I had nothing to do with his mental problems from the start, and now you guys are on about how I'm just as bad as him (not you in particular anon) because he has absolutely GUILTED you guys into believing I had done anything to him that was wrong. Please, please don't let him get away with his guilt tripping. This isn't fair to any of you. Maybe once you guys open your eyes a bit, you'll realize I'm just trying to warn you. I have studied psychology, especially abnormal psychology (disability, mental illness, etc) EXTENSIVELY. I know what I'm talking about, and me being a teenager already enrolled for higher education with a 4.0 GPA who has accurately assessed and prediagnosed multiple people with mental disorders should be enough to tell you guys that I'm not taking the piss, and I'm not being a dumbass. I am distinctly educated on this topic and I'm seeing patterns here that should NEVER be taken lightly. One last time, please save yourselves. Please save him, if he's still capable of it. I refuse to get involved in something that I shouldn't be involved with any further, considering I was roped into this whole situation to begin with. Stay safe.

[st0rmyskies]

you absolutely dont have to answer this, but how would the hsh boys deal with a manhunt for an escaped killer trapping them inside? like, who would be wearing noise cancelling headphones 24/7 for the police sirens, and who would get fed up and go to hunt the guy down themselves? hope things get a little easier for you soon!

Actually I need this ask like you have no idea.

Twilight - The most lowkey nervous of the house. He's incredibly grateful to be living in Time's fortress, but he's also pretty freaked out living so close to or within the search area. He tends to double- and triple-check locks whenever he passes by doors and he'll snap at the others to stop opening windows, although he'll try to laugh it off and not let on how scared he is. Debates for a hot 30 minutes whether he should go visit home indefinitely. He loses the most sleep in the house listening to the helicopters at night.

Wild - He comes up with the most imaginative methods for how the killer might get into the house and terrorize the group, and he loves to share them out loud while working in the kitchen or when passing by the others lounging in the living room. It's pretty common to hear a bunch of them yelling "WILD!!" to get him to shut up now and then. But he's also weirdly not scared. Definitely has a "there's no way that would happen to me" attitude.

Champion - Completely nonplussed. He continues to keep his routine of working out, hanging in his room, going out when he needs to - although he does carry a concealed weapon on him when he leaves. Definitely has a hair-raising "fuck around and find out" aura to him.

Warriors - Gets weirdly serious about the situation at first. He's the first to check doors and windows to make sure they're secure. He keeps the television on the news channel - turned low, of course - for round-the-clock updates. He's constantly checking social media for updates and posting selfies of his arduous ordeal of being stuck inside. By day 5 or 6, though, he's starting to get bored. He's needling his roommates and starting petty fights for no reason, yelling at them when they try to change the channel, and spending way too much time in the bathroom trying new things with his hair.

Sky - Takes things seriously for the first 2-3 days. He keeps his eye on the news with Wars, he talks Twilight down when he can tell that he's a bit panicky, he's the first to gently change the subject when Wild starts to get a new fantasy in his head. By the 4th day, Sky is sick of being inside so much. ALWAYS down to accompany one of the others outside for an errand or whatever, so long as it isn't before 9am.

Legend - Is reasonably unaffected. He’s kind of a shut-in, really. Working with Ravio means that he doesn’t need to leave the house for much. He does like his occasional trip to the cafe but the coffee maker works just as well. When the others begin to get stir-crazy is when he starts to get bitchy and hides in his room most of the time. 

Hyrule - Still living his life. Escaped killer or not, Hyrule has a job that he still needs to get to. He's so dead inside at 5:30am each day that he could open the front door to the killer standing on their porch and just say "excuse me" and pass right on by with his work bag on his shoulder. Public transport isn't running, so Time is up with him each morning to take him to and from the hospital personally, which he supposes is a perk. At least Time doesn't expect too much in the way of conversation so early in the morning.

Four - He's quieter than usual and is spending a lot more time in his bedroom with the door locked and the curtains drawn. He'll come down for meals, but he excuses himself anytime Wild starts up with another fantasy about how the killer is going to come in and get them all in their sleep. He categorically AVOIDS the living room with the constant news feed about the situation. Alone in his room, though, he checks on the situation online at least twice a day, and he's watched the surveillance tape loops of the guy more than any of the others.

Shadow - Shortly after the whole circus starts, he's texting Four, offering to have him come stay at Shadow's place, which is much farther from the action. But Shadow has a basement apartment, which would make Four a bit paranoid. So 36 hours in, Shadow shows up outside of Four's window unannounced, nearly giving him a heart attack, and quietly moves in with him until the whole ordeal is closed. Somebody's gotta keep Four from falling apart all alone.

Wind - He literally could not care less, all up until his Amazon orders start coming up as "unable to be delivered due to emergency or weather situation." THEN he's stomping around the house, ranting and raving about the uselessness of the police force and that "It's just one guy!!" and "How hard can this be!!?" Most likely to get into it with Warriors and sent Legend in a disgruntled huff stomping off up the stairs.

Dark - Leaves some food and bottled water out on the fire escape each night like you'd put out milk and cookies for Santa.

Time - For the first few days, he’s the sensible dad. The townhouse is built to protect; he has enough locks and munitions to hold off an army. He keeps the blinds shut and the lights on and informs the boys that it’s smarter to travel in groups, only leave if you really need to, etc. By day 4 when the others are beginning to grumble and get restless, he reminds them to leave it to the proper authorities, but even he is getting a bit stir-crazy, barking at the boys when they’re peeking out the blinds or squabbling too loudly downstairs. On the evening of day 10, Time leaves the house with a duffel bag and only informs Twilight that he has some work to do and to keep the doors locked. He returns 18 hours later, showers, and passes out for the entire night and most of the next morning. He’s immediately more relaxed in the house and doesn’t harp on the others about keeping doors locked and so on. Later that day, the news reports that they’ve found what’s left of the escapee. 

[solanumflare]

I am 5 seconds from writing an essay on why till was never actually in love with mizi and he in fact just idolizes her but wasn't able to really tell the difference between those things because every show of love he grew up seeing (mizi and sua, and how ivan acted towards till) was somewhere between romantic feelings and worship so obviously he'd take one look at his own feelings of "I like mizi for all these reasons and think she's great and I want to be near her" and think yes this is romantic attraction. of course. naturally

yeah this is me projecting onto till but also it makes SENSE. like this fucker grew up around mizi literally calling sua her god. why do we think he's going to understand the difference between idolization and worship and actually being in love with someone. he grew up with ivan chasing him and only having eyes for him. why do we think he's going to understand the difference between wanting to be noticed and actually being in love with someone. mizi experiences her love for sua as sua being her god, the center of her life, absolutely everything, someone who owns her heart and is her whole world. and till probably hears her say this. and he decides that because his life centers on mizi (and wanting validation from her), he must be in love too

the way he is about mizi reminds me soooo much of myself when i was younger. I'd pick a person to latch onto and ignore everyone else and want them to look at me and talk to me and treat them saying my name as the best moment of my life and think that was love (it was actually hyperfixating on people and also I don't have romantic attraction)

its also the. the fuckin. the error no better options line in unknown. till needs someone to latch onto, someone to chase, someone to worship. everything sucks. everything absolutely sucks in his life. he needs someone to cling to and mizi is the person his eyes land on

this is getting into a realm where its going further and further from anything that canon has even ever implied but I don't care. full headcanon mode: aromantic till

grabs you by the shoulders please listen to what I am saying. I promise you it makes sense. I promise I'm not insane. till is some flavor of aromantic and he just has decided to call whatever he feels about mizi love because of a series of misinterpretations when really he just thinks she is pretty and cool and wants to be noticed by her. oblivious little fucker. this guy is the butterfly meme but the guy is till and the butterfly is labeled "thinking mizi is really cool and wanting her to notice me" and the caption says "is this romantic attraction?"

like no it's not. lmao

you have to imagine me standing in front of the tedtalk sign as I'm saying all of this by the way

[golyadkin]

Long road to Colorado

[lycankeyy]

This is a random dark thing but I was looping Too Young again which is like The "fc!bf's negative emotions" song so idk why I'm surprised BFJQHDJ ANYWAY. A thing w fc!Pico is that he makes a lot of offhand jokes abt how like he Should be dead or making rly dark jokes about his near-death experiences just bc of the amount of shit he's been through and he doesn't really see a problem with it but I feel like after The Hanzou Incident BF starts saying similar shit and Pico's like woah hey wait a minute that's illegal you can't do that

[nyxi-pixie]

Took a nat 20 in psychological damage and need to share my pain through the absolutely moronic takes I have just seen:

"For bsd to have a happy ending, Dazai needs to die! It's also what makes the most sense for his character, it'd be his happy ending too since he wants to die anyway!"

AWFUL THING TO FORCE IN FRONT OF MY EYEBALLS.

this is believed because dazai has such an overwhelming talent at pissing off the audience that theyre beginning to think the only reality that can comfort them is one in which he fucks off forever by dying and theyre then confusing the story ending in a way which preserves their sanity as a viewer (deadzai) with a story ending that works well. unforch dazai would be a bother even from beyond the grave so even this would not save them!

[indooroutdoorboyfriend]

it's Harassing You o'clock so i am gonna discuss my oc some more in the tags

[fate-defiant]

These four wormed their way into my head last night and would not leave me until I spat something out so here's some assorted headcanons, a comic that I'm not sure I understand the punchline of myself and the youngest inn-bling(ba dum tss) in ten to fifteen years.

[ashmacg]

This is the way.

Haters gonna hate

[thegempage]

me in the first couple of months after moving, reassuring myself that things always get worse before they get better: hurting is the first step to healing!

me, a year and a month after the move, undeniably happier than i've been in over a decade and yet watching as each one of my maladaptive coping mechanisms falls apart in my hands, leaving me not only without any beneficial, long-term-appropriate coping mechanisms ready on-hand to replace them but also with the ever-growing sense that there is more wrong with me than i ever knew hiding underneath layers of masks and trauma responses: oh so i didn't know fuck or shit

[stars-and-guts]

me when i woke up two days ago and my kamioshis have beef and the allegations are getting srs

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”

[houseofaegon]

Ruined ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Dom!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts Teammate!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n. secret hookups, armory sex, unprotected p in v, praise kink, power play, slight sub!bob energy but make it neeeedddyyyyy and feral, desperate!bob, dominant!reader, interrupted sex, yelena being yelena, begging, orgasm denial (sort of), overstimulation, dirty talk.

Summary: The Thunderbolt's press tour is a fucking disaster—Valentina's controlling, the team’s a mess, and Bob Reynolds looks at you like he’s one second away from losing his mind. When you catch him pacing the armory alone, you take what you want. But when you tell him to stay quiet and be good... Bob doesn’t stay quiet. And he definitely doesn’t stay good.

Word count: ~4k

Author's note: need bob reynolds to absolutely destroy me. can't even think or breathe cause he's taking up space in my mind. living in my head rent free and i am not complaining. I'm loooovvvinnnggg these two so much, might make more shots with them cause what the hell???? the dynamic thooooo!!! love me some dom and sub bob <3333333 he's so babygirl i can't take it anymore. if you want to be added to my tag list just comment! <3

masterlist.

"Quiet, Bob."

The words came out as a whisper, but the threat in them made Bob Reynolds shiver under your touch. His back hit the cold armory wall with a clang, head tilting back, mouth already parted on a moan. His shirt was god knows where—somewhere between the racks of rifles and dusty, outdated StarkTech. Your mouth was on his, tongue sliding deep, fingers fisting his curls like you needed an anchor. And Bob? He was already halfway gone.

It had been a long, brutal week.

Valentina had decided that the Thunderbolts—the shiny New Avengers—needed a rebranding for a more "palatable" public. And what better way than a grueling, nonstop, goddamn press tour?

You were paraded like collectibles. Forced smiles. Posed photos. Tactical suits are tailored to make you look sleek. Heroes for the modern age, like she'd said.

Like a fucking boy band.

You were all lined up and put on display like action figure dolls.

"Smile for the cameras," she'd coo, pacing in front of you like a general inspecting her soldiers. "We're selling salvation, not trauma. Wipe that frown off your face, Bucky."

Bucky didn’t even flinch. Just stared through her, arms crossed, his metal hand twitching like it wanted to be anywhere else. Or wrapped around her throat.

Valentina didn’t stop there.

“You,” she snapped at you during the third press op, finger jabbing the air like it might actually hit you. “Need to look grateful, sweetheart. Do you know what I’m paying to make you likable? Not that you aren’t—you’re a doll, really—but come on now, you have to stop glaring at the children like you want to throw them into traffic.”

It was all bullshit. She’d even made Bob do interviews. Bob, whose voice cracked anytime someone looked at him too long.

Yelena had muttered something in Russian that was definitely a curse and didn't even try to smile.

Alexei had laughed too loudly during a morning show segment that made the host flinch, and a lighting rig tripped over.

Ava vanished in the middle of a red carpet appearance—literally phased through the floor and didn’t return for hours.

Walker kept trying to one-up Bucky in interviews. "Sure, Barnes is a legend," he'd say, clapping his shoulder, "but some of us chose to be heroes."

Of course, you snorted a little bit too loud. Loud enough for the mic to catch it. Loud enough for Walker to glare at you and Bucky to smirk.

And Mel? Poor Mel had to endure Valentina's bickering, forcing all of you to pose for pictures while muttering apologies like there was no tomorrow.

You were the first one to be asked for solo shots in the new tactical gear.

"Just a few poses," Valentina said, flashing a big, bright PR smile. "You wear it so well. We want something sleek. Powerful. Sexy, but not, like, thirst trap sexy, you know?"

You didn't miss the way Bob watched. He didn't say a word; he barely moved. But his eyes? They devoured you. Dark, wide, hungry. Like he was seconds from losing it in front of everyone.

Later that day, you'd found him in the dark armory, pacing like a caged animal. Shoulder tense. Breathing shallow.

So you pushed him up against the wall. Fist in his hair. Mouth on his.

And now—

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against your lips, teeth grazing. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, grinding against you, still half-covered by his pants but already leaking, already thick and throbbing for you. “The way you looked in that suit—I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You rolled your hips against his, slow and punishing. “You could’ve said something.”

“I could’ve snapped.” He laughed, breathless, voice fraying. “I nearly did.”

He didn't even make it to the bench.

By the time you shoved him down, Bob was already panting, pupils blown, knees buckling. He hit the floor with a groan, legs spread, cock heavy and flushed. You were on him in seconds—knees framing his hips, hands pressing down on his chest, owning him.

You thanked God for wearing a dress.

He didn't even see your panties come off. Just blinked and they were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor. His pants already shoved down far enough, his cock already free.

He looked up at you like you were something holy. Divine. Dangerous. Like he'd beg to be burned if it meant you kept touching him like this.

Then you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down in one thrust. He filled you up completely.

Bob swore, loud and wrecked—“Fuckfuckfuck—” his head hit the floor, back arching, eyes wide and pleading.

“God, you feel so fucking good—tight—perfect—I can’t—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, Bob.”

He whimpered behind your palm. His hands were everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs—like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

You started to move—fast and rough, giving neither of you time to adjust. You didn’t want slow. Didn’t want sweet. You wanted to feel it. The way he stretched you open, filled every inch, the way his cock hit deep, perfect with every thrust.

Bob moaned into your palm, loud and choked and shameless. His hips bucked up hard, matching your rhythm, chasing every thrust like he couldn’t help himself. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider for him, pulling you down harder.

Your name spilled from his lips again and again, muffled and wrecked.

“You’re so—fuck,—you’re so perfect—need this for so fucking long. I can't even fucking think when you're on me like this—God, yesssss"

You leaned down, dragging your lips along his jaw.

“You like being under me like this?”

He nodded, feverish, muffled praise tumbling behind your hand.

“Mhm—yes—fuck, please—you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed against your palm, words falling out between gasps. “Been thinking about this—every night—every time you walked past in that suit, I wanted to fall to my knees—wanted to ruin you or be ruined, didn’t even fucking care—just needed you.”

You grinned, filthy and pleased. “And now you’re ruined under me.”

He whined, hips snapping up with such force that it knocked a loud moan right out of you.

“You feel that?” you gasped, rolling your hips in a slow, dragging circle. “That’s how deep you are. You’re so deep, Bob. I can feel you so deep inside me. God—you feel so fucking good."

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moaned, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your thighs like a man drowning. “Such a good girl. God, you take me so fucking well—look at you—riding me like I belong to you—”

“You do,” you growled, dragging your nails down his chest. “You’re mine right now. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, fuck—yours—always—please god don’t fucking stop—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth again, smirking down at him.

“Quiet, Bob. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you to."

He whimpered behind your palm, body trembling, trying so hard to behave, to stay still, to not fall apart completely under your touch. But you kept moving—fast, hard, relentless. Your thighs burned. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every stroke.

And just when he was seconds away from breaking—

Hiss. The door slid open.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Yelena’s voice hit like a bullet.

You froze. Bob’s eyes flew open, pure panic, still fully inside you.

Yelena stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, hand flying to her face but only half-covering her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “The armory? Are you both deranged? This is where we keep weapons, not—whatever the hell this is.”

Bob let out a muffled moan under your hand, utterly betrayed by his body.

Yelena pointed without looking. “Oh my god, this can't be happening. You’re—on top of him. And he’s—Jesus Christ, Bob!”

“Yelena!” you snapped, glaring over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” She held up both hands, backing away. “I’ll leave you to your... deep reconnaissance.” She snorted. “Real in-depth work going on here.”

“Yelena! GET OUT!”

“Leaving! Leaving!” she laughed, ducking out as the door hissed shut again. “Just make sure no one ends up disarmed.”

Your heart was still pounding when the door slid shut again, sealing Yelena—and her mouth—on the other side. You didn’t move, still straddling Bob, still full of him, flushed and breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, teasing, one brow raised. “She didn’t scar you for life, did she?”

Bob’s chest was heaving beneath you. He blinked up at you. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he said—low, steady. Then, with startling force, he sat up.

“Bob—?”

His hands gripped your waist, hard. The next second, you were on your back, sprawled across the cool floor, his body covering yours. He was still inside you. Still rock hard. Still throbbing.

“You tease me like that,” he growled, voice rough and frayed, “and expect me to behave?”

Your breath hitched.

“You told me to be quiet. Told me not to come.”

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing, biting, breathing heat against your skin.

“You think I’m gonna ask again?”

You clawed at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin.

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, thrusting hard. You gasped, your back arching off the floor. “You don’t get to be in charge now.”

He fucked into you like a man possessed—deep, fast, relentless. All the praise from before was gone, replaced by low, hungry grunts and the sound of skin on skin.

“You wanted this,” he hissed against your ear. “Wanted me like this. Loud. Messy. Mine.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper, and he gave it to you—over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growled, pounding into you. “That’s not deep. This—this is deep.”

You couldn’t even form words. Just gasps. Moans. Scratches across his back.

And he loved it.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, whimpering beneath him, your control shattered.

He leaned in, panting against your cheek, his voice a rough whisper.

“Now tell me who’s fucking ruined.”

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