#rattle snakes do this with their babies!

[scoriarose]

Laminated.

Where's my sister?! Also it's food day. Feed me.

Sakura has mastered the art of subtlety.

I've also mastered the art of eating things without chewing while I do my impression of a conveyor belt. So please grant my wishes and give me da fishes!

[lymtw]

Thinking of Toji being pulled out of sleep because he hears you whimpering beside him in your sleep. Once he wakes up, he can't get back to resting until he figures out what's going on with you. Maybe you're having a bad dream. After all, you are clutching your pillow pretty tight...

He puts a hand on your shoulder, ready to shake you. That is until you let out a moan. There's a visible 'huh' on his face as he keeps watching you to make sure he didn't mishear. His heart drops to his stomach when you sigh, your hips languidly rolling against the blanket that is bundled between your legs. Now he knows for sure that he didn't mishear you.

He chuckles quietly, his hand going up to caress your face. "Doll," he whispers, gently brushing wisps of hair away from your face. You don't respond. You stopped moving, and presumably went back to sleep. The problem is, Toji's awake now. Yes, he loves you and would guard you for years while you slumber, but right now you got him all bricked up. He can't sleep like this, but also, what's more embarrassing than getting himself off when the prettiest princess is right next to him.

"Baby," he coos, scooting closer to you. He pushes the blanket out of the way so that he can put one of your legs over his hip.

"You okay, Toji?" You mumble, slowly opening your eyes.

"Course, doll, but you're dreaming pretty loudly." He grins, throwing an arm over your waist. "Wanna talk about it?"

"What are you talking about?" You groan, still sleepy.

"Did you cum?"

Your heart stops at the question, and though your body is still in its sleepy daze, Toji could feel the tension surface.

"Could hear you moaning and whimpering like someone was giving it to you good. Was it me?"

"Toji...," you whine. "Who else would it be? Can we go back to sleep, now?"

"Hold on. Just wanna know if you finished. You know I wouldn't leave you hanging." His hands snake under your shirt.

"I did...n't. But i'm more tired than horny, Toji. Don't worry about it."

"You won't have to do a thing. All you have to do... is lay there... and look pretty for me." His lips ghost yours as his fingers snap the strap of your bra against your skin. "How's that sound, hm? Want me to ease you back into sleep?"

You can see the trace of a grin on his face. His eyes look so dark, and this rattles something deep in your core.

"Fine. Just... not too rough, please."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, trying to hold back the full wolfy grin on his face. He makes haste of taking his clothes off and when he sees you trying to do the same, he takes over and pulls your shorts and underwear off. He's above you in an instant, wedging his hips between your legs, allowing his tip to nudge through your slick folds. "Dream me really did a number on you, huh? You're so wet."

"He was a freak." You giggle, watching Toji adjust himself.

"Not freakier than me, right?" He asks, kissing up your stomach until he reaches your chest.

"He's definitely competition for you, but you're number one, baby."

Toji gives you a deadpan expression, luring a laugh from you. "So damn lucky you asked me to go easy on you." He looks at that tired smile on your face, instantly remembering his mission. "Gonna put it in, 'kay ma?"

"Okay," you murmur, reaching your hands up to caress his face.

You both go quiet for a second as he brings his cock towards your entrance. Even the gentlest of Toji's movements are hard to take sometimes, but you've always been praised by him for handling those movements so well every time. You try to mute the gasp that comes with Toji stretching you, but your discomfort is not something you can easily hide from him.

"S'all good, princess," he mumbles into your neck. He can feel you trembling as he pushes in further. "Always so good for me. You can take it, huh?"

You squeak out a little 'fuck' and are instantly soothed by Toji. "I know, I know, my pretty girl. Don't cry." He looks into your twinkling eyes and kisses away the crystals gliding down your face. You're somewhat distracted by the affectionate butterfly kisses Toji scatters on your face. He uses this as a chance to sheathe the rest of himself inside you. Another inch stuffed into you, another kiss to your lips. He can see the light way your nose scrunches, instantly catching you with a coo of "that's it, mama. That's all of it."

You shudder, sighing as you push your head back into the pillow. "Fuck. Your dick is cursed, baby."

"You love it, anyway, little masochist." He smirks.

"What's a good fuck without some pain?" You can see the way his face lights up, almost like he considered that a green light to fuck you like an animal. "Ah, no," you intervene so quickly. "You're easing me back to sleep."

"Right." He stifles a laugh. "Let's get on that then."

It doesn't usually go this way with Toji. He likes to show off his strength against you, be it breaking your back when you arch over the crushing orgasms he gives you or holding you down when you try to squirm away from his overstimulating touch.

Somehow you got him to slow down for you this time, and the prize is you getting to mumble sweet nothings to him. His reward is that he gets to stay in gentle control. You tell him you love him and he responds with a little "mhm". You tell him you wouldn't go anywhere without telling him first but he doesn't read into the code in your message, so he smiles and says "you'd get lost, and I'd have to find you." You tell him you're glad you get to sleep next to him and he chuckles in your ear, responding with a non-threating "dick's got you all emotional, baby?"

You laugh it off, not taking it to heart. "Just love being close like this with you is all."

It goes quiet for a minute, only your little breaths and Toji's pants filling the silence. Toji can hear your heartbeat as he rocks both of you. Your heels dig into his lower back, your nails dragging across his shoulder blades. "Fuck, princess. I'll bust if you keep scratchin' me up like that." His lips ghost the column of your neck before latching on and working a mark into your skin. Your thighs squeeze against his waist as he grazes your sweet spot repeatedly.

Toji knows you well enough to know that that's a tell-tale sign that you're about to cum, so he makes his touch overwhelming. His hands run up your body until he reaches your chest, where he teases your nipples until your stomach starts quivering and you start breathing shakily. He massages your hips with his thumbs, while pressing kisses to your jaw with little murmurs of, "show me how good you feel" and "come on, baby."

"Fuck, princess..." he groans, almost reaching his own peak. "I wanna hear you. None of that covering your mouth or biting your tongue shit."

You folded so quickly after that, gasping like the air was sucked out of your lungs. "G-Go- Oh god! Fuck, Toji... I-"

"Mhm... fuck yeah, baby. T-That's good, so fuckin' good," he groans, rutting into you as he spews out his load. You put your hands up to his chest, pushing weakly as the overstimulation starts kicking in. He pants, trying to catch his breath as he slows to a halt. "So good for me, mama," he mumbles into your neck, his cock still buried in your soaked cunt. "No one deserves you." He presses a few more kisses onto your shoulder before getting off of you. Your eyes shut for seconds at a time every time you blink, meaning you could knock out any moment now. Any other day, the sight of cum drooling out of your pussy would incite another round, but Toji said he would fuck you to sleep, and he kept his word. The session concluded and now he gets to clean you up while you rest.

[shotmrmiller]

Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

[kissitbttr]

a very tired miguel who gets home from work and gets babied by his woman

-

It's close to 9pm as you're lying on your bed. keeping your focus on the book you're reading, one that you failed to keep as a part of your routine due to your busy schedule with work. being a fashion designer has it's perks but it also has its dark sides too. especially when it comes to dealing with snobby ass clients

as you are about to flip to another page, you hear the front door opened. keys rattling against the ceramic bowl with a loud sigh follows after. a soft smile appears on your face soon as you realize who it is

“miguel? Is that you?” you softly call out your husband’s name while putting the book down.

"si, mi amor" he appears shortly by the doorway. your tall and handsome fiancee adorned in an unbuttoned white shirt that showcase a bit of his chest and paired with black trousers. a simple work attire but never fail to make your knees wobble. the sight could put any Greek Gods known to a man to shame.

your heart breaks a little seeing how tired he looks. his eye-bags are coming off too strong. a constant reminder on how he has been working himself far too hard despite you telling him to take it easy. but that's just how he is, stubborn.

"how's work my love?" you ask, watching him undress himself, revealing his exposed toned chest before putting the clothes away with the rest of his dirty ones in the bathroom. "I take it, it wasn't a good day?"

"you could say that" he replies tiredly, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the chair and slipping it on. "trying to get ahold with the new recruits is a fucking job, Peter's been getting on my nerves and I'm working on advancing the technology we have right now in order for it to be easier to identify every single anomaly's DNA we've come across to. But the amount of hypotheses and research I've done are nowhere near close to how I want them to be."

"i would ask Tony Stark for help but que cabron esta muerto" he breathes out a sigh, pinching the thick skin between his brows. "I'm drained, mi amor... i can't fucking do this shit everytime--"

"no hey.. stop" you shake your head, hate having to see your man fronting a distressed look in his face. “come here, Miggy” you pout at him patting your chest for him to lay his head,

he sighs heavily. plopping into the bed and carefully lays himself on top of you. pounding head finding comfort in the warmth of your chest, snaking his big arms around your waist.

you put your arms around him, locking him tightly as your soft lips kiss his forehead making him purr.

“my pretty baby. exhausted aren't you? hm?” you ask in a cooing tone. he hums -- which sounded like a growl to you-- with a nod before nuzzling himself closer. “oh my poor poor baby... my handsome man. always working himself to the bone” another kiss on the forehead

“come up a little closer, hm?” you ask as he barely shifts his body. too lazy and far too comfortable in your arms like this for him to move.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, moving a piece that’s covering his forehead. looking down to see him close his eyes, yet not sleeping.

it’s so funny to see how this freakishly large- broad man who always seems to bring a cold presence that scares everyone off at work—which is technically true— then turns into a huge softie and a love puddle for you in a split seconds.

it’s truly a privilege that you’re the only one who gets to see and feel this

“look how cute you are, baby… do you know how cute you are, hm?” you coo at him, lips kissing his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbone. trying your best to console him in hopes of washing his stress away.

he lightly shakes his head. “no” a curt reply rolls of his mouth, drawing your body closer to him if that's even possible.

you pretend to gasp dramatically at his answer. fingers still stroking his hair lightly. “you don’t?! oh no! we have to fix that! you’re the cutest *kiss* most handsome *kiss* hardworking *kiss* man I’ve ever known” showering him with compliments in between kisses. he breathes out a small chuckle that muffles against your chest.

it’s obvious that miguel rarely gets treatments like this, he’s no one to shy from things but you're his only exception. the only person who truly can get him blush like a little kid when he's shown the slightest bit of affection.

“who’s baby are you hm? are you my baby?” a smile graces your lips as your eyes casting down to his pretty features.

“me. I’m your baby” he mumbles, tightening his grip around you. "always be your baby"

-

inspired by @webslingingslasher their frat!peter work yall is making me [REDACTED] please go take a look!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

Ok but I think you hit on something in “in the dead of night” about how Spencer leans into his mammalian instincts. Imagine him angry and tense after a rough day and needing that and then talking you through the motions of it and why it makes him feel better because of the science and chemicals behind it all

i absolutely love this!! thank you for requesting:)

also experimenting with a new short and sweet format for blurbs/request! feedback is always appreciated<3

wc 800

warnings: fem!reader, very suggestive, d/s dynamics

“I don’t—Spencer—”

Something in your mouth keeps you from finishing the sentence. Namely: your boyfriend’s tongue. You gasp into him as he tugs your jacket off, arching your back against the wall he’s pressed you to so that the fabric can hit the ground with a thick thud.

“Spence, please,” you manage, barely, as his hand cups your jaw and his thumb presses under your chin, encouraging you to angle your head up and make room for his lips. It’s not that you don’t want this—you told him he could be rough with you and you meant it—but you’re slightly overwhelmed by this uncharacteristic display of nearing aggressive passion.

“What, baby?” he breathes, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck while his hands snake under your shirt. Focused on the feeling of his hand pressed against your waist, you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

“You’re acting… different.”

A pause—his head drops against your shoulder as he reigns himself in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—you don’t need to stop, I just… it might make me feel better if I knew what this was about.”

He sucks in a breath.

“You want to hear about my day?”

The way his fingers trail downward over your skin is so gentle it feels almost dangerous.

“… Yeah.” But you don’t at all sound sure of yourself. A hum from him seems to rattle your skull as he drags his lips up your neck and over your jaw, kissing you with a softness that is almost certainly deceptive.

“You know what, angel? I don’t actually really feel like talking about that right now. Does that tell you—” he bites your lip, and it doesn’t really hurt, but you whine anyway, “what kind of day I had?”

No words are forming for you anymore, so you make do with an airy “mhm.”

The first button at the bottom of your shirt is undone before you even realize he was unbuttoning it.

“Have you ever heard of the ventrolateral ventromedial hypothalamus?” Spencer murmurs, undoing the buttons on your shirt with a practiced expertise that is hard to keep up with—especially when he keeps teasing your lips with his like this. It doesn’t even matter if you’ve heard of that or not; all the information you’ve ever retained is gone from the stores of your brain. If it doesn’t have anything to do with Spencer, it feels deeply unimportant. You shake your head no. “The hypothalamus does a lot. It regulates our appetites, our body temperatures, hormones…”

Why is this so sexy.

“It also has a lot to do with how we express our emotions. And that tiny part of the hypothalamus—the one I just mentioned—it’s where we process two really big feelings.” He undoes the last button, gently pushing your open shirt from your shoulders. “Anger.” Hands creep around your hips, blindly unzipping your skirt. “And arousal.”

Oh!

“In a disregulated brain, that can be a dangerous combination. But,” he tugs the straps of your bra down, “if you understand it, you can use it to your advantage.”

Your breath is bated as you do the work of kicking off your shoes, and he unclasps your bra.

“The human brain is fallible in so many ways. At the end of the day, we’re delicate, and vulnerable, and convoluted—but we’re also pretty simple creatures, motivated by a few basic instincts. Anger and sex are intrinsic to who we are as animals. For most of history, they’ve defined us. And they’re so closely related. Do you follow?”

Your response comes as a gasp when you realize you haven’t been breathing for a long moment now.

“Yes.” Does it matter if you understand? You just want him to touch you.

“Good.” His lowered voice gets even quieter as he continues, brushing hair behind your ear carefully. “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

“I know.”

You don’t remember how all your clothes ended up on the kitchen floor, but they’re certainly not on you anymore as he presses flush against your bare skin.

“I will always take care of you and keep you safe. That being said—sometimes the best thing you can do when you’re having a really big feeling is to follow that basic animal instinct. It’s why sprinting can help when you’re having a panic attack. Your body is in fight or flight and it will relax if you follow the instinct to run.”

Spencer’s fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ve been having some of those really big feelings today. Do you know what’s going to make me feel better?”

You whimper. Fabric slips past your hips and falls to the ground as Spencer begins closing the small distance between your mouths—but not before uttering a word that has your heart racing.

“You.”

[igotanidea]

Haircut: Jason Todd x reader

Inspired by the post from @pop-culturereference about what Jason's fans really want from DC (link here)

***

„AH!!”

An involuntary scream left her mouth the second she came home. Jason was not used to his girlfriend being so expressive, but protective instinct kicked in as he jumped off the couch he was reading a book on and immediately rushed to her side.

“Y/N! Love, what happened?” his hands found hers, squeezing them gently, trying to ground her in reality and assure her that whatever scared her so much was no match for him.

“What happened to you?” she sobbed, not even trying to stop the tears running down her cheeks.

“Huh?” Jason frowned “Look, I know I’m not exactly model handsome, but—”

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!” she wailed as if someone was tearing her heart out or squeezing her lungs.

“What are you--?” he tried again, quite taken aback by the intensity of her emotions. She wasn’t ever crying this much when he came home bloodied and bruised. She never let a single muscle on her face twitch while  patching him up. But when he was okay, just chilling and for once – not getting into trouble she got into a waterfall mode. “Y/n? Look at me. Look at me!” he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes on him.

“I AM!”

“Then you can see I’m all good. It’s all good! Come on baby, whatever fear took over your brain, you have to wake up from this!”

“Your hair!” she broke into crying fit again

“My hair?” he instinctively ran his fingers through his strands. “What about them?”

“WHERE IS IT?”

Oh.

Oh, so finally they were getting to the bottom of the problem.

He cut his hair shorter than she was used to and clearly she didn’t like it.

“Look, I just thought-“

“Was it Roy? I’m sure it was Roy. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him! How is it that I leave you guys for a few hours and you always end up causing trouble.”

“It was not—”

“Then who was it? Dick?”

“Ugh! As if I would ever let him anywhere near my head!”

“Then who helped you did this atrocity?” she pressed, taking a look at his inch-long strands.

“I did it myself.” He responded, almost sounding proud.

“You-you-yourself…?” Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she stuttered. Her bag was dropped to the ground with a concerning sound of rattling, but neither of them care about the possibility of something being crashed. They had more urgent matters at the moment. The sense of betrayal slowly started creeping inside her heart.

“It’s just hair—”

“Just hair?! Are you insane?” she snapped at him “You should have asked me what I think first!”

“But—”

“Do not argue with me, Jason! You’re my boyfriend! It is not just about what you like! You can’t just act on whims without finding out my approach to the matter!”

“It’s just hair—” once more, the poor attempt at reaching her reason failed.

“How am I supposed to run my fingers through it now? And how am I supposed to live without your mop tickling me when we cuddle?”

“Y/n…” he smiled softly, cupping her cheek, meeting her eyes

“I liked them longer… I’m sorry if that hits your insecurities, but—”

“It does make me a little unsure, not gonna lie.” He chuckled. “But only a little. Cause what I’m hearing now, is that you liked my wilder look. For example when I was taking the hood off and have my hair all ruffled? Or when I was –”

“I see what you are trying to do here, Mr. Todd and I’m not falling for it.” Y/N read right through his intentions to invoke an innuendo and tried to step back.

“Come on, baby.” Jason quickly grabbed her waist, circling arms around her like two snakes, preventing her from backing out. “Admit it. You liked the bad boy image I had. It turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Well it doesn’t anymore—“

“Guess that only means, I’ll have to try twice as hard… Cause too bad for you, sunshine, my hair is gonna stay like that for a while. So you have to like it. “

“Oh really-?”

“Most definitely. In fact, I think I’m gonna ditch the longer hair for good. This kind of haircut is so much more practical, you know. No strands sticking to my forehead when we get sweaty. None of them in my eyes when I fight only in the domino mask, no tangles and all that stuff-“

“You’re terrible!”

“Yeah, yeah I am, and what are you going to do about it baby?” he smirked and leaned forward, giving her a teasing look “you love me either way, we both know it.”

“Well maybe I should cut my hair too.” Her eyes glistened with mischief “you know- to match your new style.”

“What?” Jason turned a little pale. His princess was going to get rid of her perfect locks?! Over his dead body! (Even if that meant dying again.) “You are not!”

“Too bad for you I already made that decision. In fact I’m gonna go to the hairdresser first thing tomorrow—”

“I won’t let you out of here! You can’t just make such important decisions without talking to me first!”

“But I just told you.” She fluttered her eyelashes innocently.

“And the answer is no!”

“It was not a question.”

“You are not cutting your hair. It is not only yours! It’s mine too! We’re a couple, practically like one being!”

“Well maybe if we attach some of mine to your head we can both have what we want?”

“I got a better idea. I’ll keep you trapped here for as long as mine grow back, how about that?”

“And what shall we do for so many months Mr Todd?” she hummed with a glint in her eyes.”

“Duh! I’ll make sure to convince you that the length of my hair is not the one that should be of your concern, baby…” Jason smirked letting his hoarse tone reveal what was on his mind.

Was he acting like a hypocrite? Yes.

Did she care? No.

Cause one thing that was absolutely sure about Jason Todd that there was only one like him in the world. Capable of twisting the words in a way that always turned the situation a little less serious. And whatever hairstyle he was sporting, she was not going to change him for anyone else.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 1

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You always felt small. Shelves, table, counters, even chairs made your shortcoming, pun intended, more obvious. Even at the one time in your life when you should feel big, you feel even tinier. 

The rounder your stomach becomes, the smaller the rest of your seems. It really doesn't feel like a part of you. That life inside you that has your shirts tighter by the say and the elastic stretching further and further.  

Swollen feet, hands, and chest, and yet you're still just a speck of dust in the wind. The grocery store so often adds to that sensation of insignificance. The cart rattles over the tile as you weave between other shoppers, veering out of the way as others turn corners without looking. Your progress down the list of needs is slower than usual but you're persistent. 

You stop in the bread section and peruse the assortment of rye and sourdough. You've been craving pumpernickel forever. You pick out a loaf and check your list. Bread crumbs... 

You spot your quarry and reach for the highest shelf. Of course it has to be all the way up there. You grunt and teeter on your toes, your goal made hard as your stomach keeps you from getting very close. 

“Allow me, sweetness,” a man says as he comes up behind you. 

You squeak in surprise as he crowds you and reaches up to grab the canister of crumbs. As he does, he presses himself to you, a none-too-subtle grind of his pelvis against your ass. You gasp and elbow him. 

“Ew, get off,” you squeal. 

“Now, now, honey buns, I got it,” he offers the canister, his arm hooking around to show the crumbs, “you just gotta say please.” 

“What the heck? Can you back up--” 

“Now, that’s not very polite, baby girl,” he shakes the crumbs and moves them away from your grasp as you try to snatch them. 

“I said back--” 

Your voice evaporates in shock and horror as he slaps your ass. You clutch the shelf and brace yourself as the force nearly has you crashing into the metal. You set your feet, regretting your choice of squishy and treadless slides, and he snakes his hand under your dress, trailing along the scalloped edge of your panties. 

“Stop,” you wisp, terrified at this man’s brazenness. Why is he doing this? How is no one else seeing this? 

His hand curls around and he stops as he touches your lower stomach. He hesitates and stretches his fingers over your bump. You’re only four-months but far enough that it’s obvious. 

“Shit,” he chortles and pushes his hand down, pressing against the front of your cotton panties, “someone beat me to it, huh?” 

He pokes the fabric between your folds with two fingers, wiggling them around. You shudder and squeeze the edge of the shelves. He creases the cotton between his fingers and pulls it aside. He pinches your thigh and you whimper as he kicks a foot between yours. 

“What--” you gasp and push back against him, trying to escape. “Please--” 

Your voice cracks and something inside you breaks. You can’t move or make a sound. He touches the tuft of hair along your pelvis and delves nakedly between your folds. You hold your breath as he toys with you, rubbing your clit dryly as he pushes his crotch against your back. 

What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you doing anything? Why can’t you? 

He just carries on, rolling your bud under his fingers until you feel yourself react. It’s the hormones, not you. You’re scared, not weak. That’s what’s going on. What is going on? 

All at once, he retracts his hand. He leaves you quivering and wet and to your shame, wanting. He snickers again and tosses the canister so it lands in your cart. You cling to the shelves, legs shaking, and stare at the wrapped loaves in stunned silence. You hear him suck loudly on his fingers and hum. 

“Naughty mommy,” he tisks and struts away.  

You can’t move. You’re paralyzed in disbelief. That didn’t just happen. A stranger just touched you. Like that. And you’re wet. You look down as your knees buckle. 

You manage to move away from the shelves and look around. You can’t pick the man out from the scatter of shoppers puttering around like drones. His sleeve was black but half the men their have black jackets. Your lip trembles as your eyes brim with tears. You don’t know what to do. 

You turn to your cart and grab the handle, rolling it forward. Your eyes fall to the white and yellow canister that rolls across the bottom. You stop and skirt around to reach into the basket, looking around before you bend to fish out the bread crumbs. You place them on the table of croissants nearby and push the cart onward. 

You’ll do grilled instead of fried. You never want to think of what happened again. You hope you never see that man again. Would you even know him at a glance? 

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, angst, sexual tension

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[shadesslut]

rough

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, mention of blood)

Summary: After New York, Ethan still hungered to kill, but what happens if he gets caught by Y/N? What happens if she likes it?

(a/n: this is lowkey bad D:)

✮

✮

✮

The sound of flesh splitting open that emitted from Ethan stabbing was one of his favorite noises. Sometimes his chest would tighten from the way it made him feel. The way the blade sliced easily against skin like butter, the way skin would swell at the faintest cut. His favorite part though, was the kill. The way the shine in their eyes disappeared made Ethan giddy; he loved it.

Moving was supposed to be his fresh start with Y/N. After becoming the only member of his family alive, he promised Y/N he’d change after New York. And he did. For three months. Three months of isolation in the tiny apartment the couple shared was hell for Ethan. The day Y/N let him wander into the city he killed. 

It was four-thirty in the morning. The rattles of the windchimes that hung in their small porch combined with the creaky steps Ethan made in their kitchen filled the air. He looked out to their porch, staring at the open slide door. He shook his head as he made his way over to close it; and he wondered why Y/N left it open every night. The bedroom door was cracked open, and Ethan hoped he would be able to sneak washing the blood off his forearms without waking her. He tip-toed to their bathroom, checking over his shoulder ever so often to make sure she was asleep. He turned on the faucet halfway as he washed his arms in the dark.

He told himself he needed to calm down. He needed to be able to lay in bed still, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that with all of the tension inside of him from the kill. The cold water spilled off of his hands into the drain, catching the blood with it. Ethan looked dead ahead into the mirror. Only his eyes and highlights of his hair glimmered in the moonlight, and for a split second, his gaze gave himself chills. 

“Shit,” He hissed as the harsh light flipped on. He squinted his eyes at the glare and whipped his head towards the doorway, seeing a very annoyed Y/N. She wore one of Ethan’s shirts, the neckhole too big it hung at her clavicle, and a pair of booty shorts. The sight would usually make Ethan’s dick hard, but right now he felt shriveled up in fear. 

“Where were you?” She asked sternly. 

Ethan blinked repeatedly in a nerve wrecking manner. “What do you mean?” He asked lowly. She rolled her eyes and huffed. 

“You were gone for almost three hours. Where the hell were you?” She asked once more. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Ethan mumbled in response. He knew she wasn’t budging. She squinted her eyes at him suspiciously and walked towards him, stopping once she saw the blood streaks in the sink. Her gaze flicked down to his shoes, coated in spots of blood. Her eyes widened in shock, along with Ethan, and the next thing she did shocked Ethan more. 

She immediately raised her hand to his neck, forcing him to bend over into a heated kiss.  Ethan moaned in surprise, but didn’t protest. Instead, he sighed heavily and snaked his hands to her waist, tightly gripping flesh. Their lips moved sloppily against each other in sync, the noises of their heavy breaths flowing to each others’ ears. He roughly pulled her against his body, and through lidded eyes Ethan saw her immediately look down. Her upper pelvis rubbed against his clothed erection, and Ethan threw his head back in pleasure. 

“This is what you do to me, baby,” He said as he watched her start to quickly undo his jeans. “You fucking ruin me.” 

She let out a dry laugh as she tugged his jeans and boxers down, letting his hard cock spring up. He hissed at the cold air, and his grip on her tightened as he left marks. She started to bend down before Ethan jerked her body up by her underarm. In one swift move, he picked her up by her thighs and set her on the bathroom counter. “As much as I love your lips, I need to be inside of you right now.” He whined, nudging his nose into her neck as he peppered kisses. 

“So needy for me, huh?” She cooed softly, her fingers raking his curls. He whimpered and nodded as he began to thrust into the air. “I missed this version of you. The rough, violent, you.” 

This made his head jerk up, his eyes full of admiration. 

“I’ve been trying to change you,” She whispered. He continued to stare at her, and he started to tug her shorts off . “I just need you to be rough again, please.” She begged. 

Ethan softly kissed her forehead. “You want me to be rough?” He asked, making sure. She nodded her head frantically, begging him. He nodded once. Then he quickly ripped her panties off, making her gasp as she stared at the torn material. He lined himself up to her entrance, and without hesitation, slammed his cock inside of her. 

A deep, guttural yell came out of her at the stretch. It burned and stung, but oh did it fill her up oh so good. Ethan, having the time of his life, continued to ram himself in and out of her. 

“Fuck honey,” he cooed down at her. “So wet for me, all for me.” 

She whimpered at his words, hair bouncing as Ethan jerked both of their bodies against each other. The arch of Ethan’s dick slid beautifully inside of her. She inhaled heavily as she shut her eyes, taking all the pleasure in. She needed this, she needed him. Ethan grunted as his hips slapped against her. He talked her through his climax, and he screwed his eyes shut as he came. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop because he knew she hadn’t finished yet. 

A hiss escaped his lips as he continued to thrust. Y/N looked up at him with big doe eyes, smiling as if she knew she had him wrapped around her pretty little finger. His thumb found her clit, immediately circling the sensitive bead. She gasped his name, and she involuntarily started grinding her hips against him. Ethan chuckled. 

“Always so needy for me, so needy for my cock that you become so limp in my hands.” Ethan teased in her ear. He was still hard even after finishing; Y/N always praised him for his stamina. She felt overstimulated, like her entire body felt goopy at his touch. Her tits bounced at Ethan’s rough movements, and Ethan whined as he watched the fabric of his shirt she wore move. She clenched around him as she approached her climax, and Ethan used his free hand to grip her jaw, forcing her into a heated kiss. 

“Ethan,” she whined. Her core tightened, and her mind went into a daze. 

“I would kill for you.” He said. “I would kill to feel you, I would kill for this pussy. I was made to kill for you.” He peppered kisses against her jaw after each sentence, and he felt the warmth of her cheeks radiate. 

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” She started, sitting up slightly as she grabbed and clawed Ethan’s back. Ethan nodded, shutting her up with another kiss. He quickened his pace with his hips and thumb, smiling into her mouth as he heard her mutter curses. She gasped loudly as she finished, and he slammed into her once more. 

Their breaths were loud and hot against each other’s skin. Beads of sweat slid down Ethan’s back, sending a chill down his spine. He pulled back to look at her state; disheveled and used. She blinked her eyes open, and with the smile Ethan gave her, she knew he would still kill. And he would do it for her.

(a/n: SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN AWHILE)

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hi there!! Can I req a Matthias x reader where the reader is very nice yet shy, and Matthias fell for their kindness but is afraid to confess cause he might lose them(who's the first and only person to show him genuine care)?

(But he's also bad at hiding his feelings)

Or maybe a scenario where he has a difficult time sleeping and finds himself impulsively knocking on your door— regretful of his actions but he can't back out now that you're standing in front of the open door, curious from the unexpected visit.

He's a new char so I hardly find any fics about him and I'm desperate💔 you can change the scenario!! I'm really just desperate uehdhsishd(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

hi anon i LOVED these ideas! i tried to combine both of them into one, i hope it satisfies what you wanted!! ♡

falling slowly 🪡

Matthias isn’t one to act on impulse.

He’ll let his thoughts fester aimlessly inside him, hoping the darker among them someday fizzle out. He’ll watch precious chances fly past him, fearing the consequences of a risk taken too rashly. A missed opportunity is better than another tragedy. A guarded mind is better than a broken heart. But some restless nights drive him to desperation, and tonight that leads him to you.

He stands outside your bedroom door, arms stiff against his sides. He’s passed by this room countless times before, as the two of you occasionally walk each other back to your rooms. But never has he come here on his own, never without explicit permission.

He gingerly raises his hand, letting it hover above your doorframe. All of a sudden, he loses his words. What would he say? I can’t sleep, I need you to check for monsters under my bed? I need you to stay with me until I fall asleep? I need you to tuck me in? What a baby. He can already picture the look you’d send him: a smile that’s trying too hard to be polite, a shabby effort at concealing the judgment within. You wouldn’t turn him down directly, even though he knows you’d want to. Kindhearted people love to dance in circles before saying anything that might offend. He’s all too familiar with this game. Normally, your kindness is something he loves about you, but all he can do now is curse it under his breath. If only you were crueler to him, like most people are, then he wouldn’t have let his hopes inflate his head. He would’ve known never to even consider stopping by your room. He would’ve known to avoid this situation altogether.

His fingers close into a fist, and it’s then he realizes he’s quivering slightly. Louis wouldn’t have a problem in this scenario. That thought piques Matthias most. His “factory defect” has locked him in place yet again, and all he can do is swallow down the reminder of his incompetence. It’s just a door, for God’s sake.

He flexes his fingers one last time, glancing around as if worried someone might catch him. Then he strikes his fist. It’s a clumsy motion, rattling your door on its hinges, and his heart leaps to his throat. A courteous knock would have three raps or so, not the jarring thud! he made — nobody in their right mind would imagine that’s a welcome visitor, right? Especially not at this snake’s pit of a manor. He prays desperately for you to ignore that ever happened. In your position, he’d pretend to be asleep, maybe double-check that the door is properly locked. Surely you’d do the same.

Surely...?

“It’s open!” greets your voice from inside, entirely unconcerned.

Matthias holds his breath. Why are you leaving your door unlocked at this hour? But he tucks that thought away while he stares down at the doorknob. This is it — he’s trapped. If he turns around now, you’ll be left with unresolved fears of someone lurking around your room at night. Nothing could entice him to do that to you. And if you ever found out it was him? It’d be too late for apologies, and definitely not forgiveness. Right, so he has to answer.

Slowly, he cracks it open a fraction, afraid of peering anywhere but the ground.

“You can come in,” you urge. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. Footsteps shuffle around inside, then the door fully swings open. “Oh, hi Matthias! What’s up?”

He only meets your face briefly, at your bright and curious eyes, before his gaze flicks back downward.

“Uh… sorry to bother you, I just…” He awkwardly grasps at his elbows, struggling to string together his intentions. “…I need you.”

. . . . .

There it is. His secret is out. He didn’t mean to let it slip, but that single phrase had been bouncing endlessly around his mind, as if they were the only words he knew. It’s the one thing he can confidently admit: he needs you. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate. In fact, he’s certain you don’t. Nobody in their right mind would. That’s why he never ventured to say these words before. So when you respond to him with patient silence, as if waiting for him to continue, the entirety of his body freezes over. Maybe only a few seconds pass in reality, but that’s more than enough time for Matthias to fill the gaps. It’s a no — he knows it’s a no.

Your head tips slightly. “Sure, what do you need?”

The whirlwind in his mind slows to a halt. He remembers how he used to cough up excuses on the spot when trying to avoid you—sometimes you’d invite him for a meal or game of cards together, and he had convinced himself those were pity invites so he tended to reject them upfront. It stings less to avoid someone altogether than to endure feeling ‘tolerated’ instead of ‘wanted.��� But now he’s wracking his brain for an excuse to stay.

“I—I just wanted to see you.” It’s not a lie, but for some reason it feels like one.

“Me?” A look of surprise flashes on your face, warmth blooming across your chest. That might be the most forward thing you’ve ever heard from him. Stepping closer, you reach for his forearm, peering up into his face to better examine his strained features. Your free hand reaches up to brush aside the limp strands of hair shrouding his face. “Did something happen? It’s almost midnight—I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just so unexpected…”

The strength falls from Matthias’ shoulders. Out of relief, maybe. Or maybe it’s to brace himself for one last leap of faith.

“Can I stay with you…?” His voice is barely audible. You search his lone eye, staring back at you in its perfect hollowness. At some point, that blank stare has become a comforting sight for you. Your hand trails from his arm to spread across his shoulder. He remains motionless.

“Okay,” you say, softly. “Always.”

As you move to wrap both arms around his neck, you notice his body tense, and his brows furrow, subtly, in a clear attempt not to let you notice. The strain on his face catches you off-guard.

“Wh-What? What’s wrong?” Immediately, you pull back to search his expression.

“N-No, nothing—keep going.”

This time, it’s Matthias who draws you close. His arms weave their way around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His face burrows into your shoulder, and it’s then you understand the weight of his visit, of his need for you. All you can do is lift a tender hand to ruffle his hair, feeling his pounding heart ease in your arms.

[babydin]

Swaddling

The days are busy, but the nights? The nights are yours. - Joel Miller x f!reader - 18+, minors DNI! - References to sub/dom behavior, swaddling as the title suggests (the act of keeping the p inside the v post-ejaculate), quiet sex, interrupted sex, Joel is dad, Joel is daddy, reference to spanking kink, references to oral (female receiving), references to fingering. - 1361 words - Comments/likes appreciated. Requests are open! - A/N: I didn't think too hard about the timeline, just vaguely after the events of S1, they go to Jackson to Tommy's place and live there and nothing bad happens.

Joel was not a morning person. But the morning after he had spent the night with his cock inside you and woke up fucking you? That day he was definitely a morning person. 

 It was rare you got a moment alone at Tommy’s place with Joel, there was always something to do, always someone to talk to, and it wasn’t very often you found Joel without Ellie. He was always asking after her when he wasn’t with her, and her face lit up when he was around. His did too, as best as he could, but Joel had a chronic case of resting bitch face, and there were times you had asked him if he was okay and he politely reminded you “This is just my face.” As much as you struggled to find a moment to even share a kiss in the day, the nights were yours.   Sometimes Joel would already be in bed and you’d know he’d need some comfort, and he had certain tells as to exactly what he needed. If he just took your hand, then he just needed to be held, and you would hold him with one arm as the other hand raked through his salt and pepper locks until he fell asleep. If he shuffled back and pressed his ass into you, he was feeling submissive. You’d lean over and gently kiss his temple, his ear, the arch of his broad shoulder before carefully rolling him onto his back to pepper kisses across his chest. His hardened features would soften when you called him baby. You’d sit on his face and he’d moan against your cunt when you called him a good boy. Then there were nights like this one, Joel had been giving you looks all evening at dinner like he wanted to fuck you right there on the lasagne in front of his entire family because he could not contain himself. His hands wandered immediately when you were finally alone, you barely had time to change into your pyjamas and he pulled them straight back off of you. He fucked you with his fingers and every time your mouth opened he hushed you and reminded you that Ellie’s room was just next door and she was still awake, he stuffed a pillow behind the headboard of the bed before he fucked you to stop it rattling against the wall your room shared with Ellie’s and when you came you bit into his arm to stop yourself screaming. Afterwards he cradled you in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. You spoke in hushed tones for what felt like hours, and gentle conversation soon turned dirty, and you were surprised that your fantasies had Joel’s length pressing into the small of your back as he got hard again. He had a lot of pep for a man in his mid-fifties. He told you that you brought it out in him. The position did not change as he entered you again, your bodies entwined, he was so deep inside you and barely moved with his thrusts so you were always full of him, his strong arms wrapped completely around you, occasionally his hand snaking up to cover your mouth when you threatened to get too loud and he shushed you in your ear and when you came it was so intense from the overstimulation that you saw the entire universe behind your eyelids.   “Stay inside me?” You ask Joel, feeling his ejaculate start to seep out of your gaping cunt as he starts to pull out. Joel halts and his brow furrows deeper, “What?” Your hips shuffle back to take in the half inch of him you’d lost, a soft whimper leaving your throat as you turn your head as best you can to look at him, “Say inside me. All night if you can.” Those arms wrap around you once more and his body entangles with your own as you find yourselves drifting into a worn-out slumber.   You wake up to Joel gently fucking you, his hips are barely moving at all, and you wonder if he’s still asleep and dreaming. He’s still inside of you, you slept through the night, you don’t know if he stayed inside the whole night or if he slipped out at any point and put himself back in. You gasp as pleasure starts to bloom in your stomach, you’re still wet from last night, and he’s never been so hard. “Joel.” You whisper his name, half to ask if he’s awake, half to let him know that you are. He doesn’t respond, you lay silent for a second to try and figure out his breathing pattern before trying to turn your head to look at him. “Joel?” you suddenly realize the position you’re in, and he’s laying on his good ear so even if he was awake he wouldn’t hear you whispering to him. He lets out a quiet, pleasured moan before taking a sharp breath in, suddenly his arms tighten around you and he pulls you closer to him and the movements of his hips become a little more certain. You come to the conclusion that he was asleep before and his arousal just woke him up. Calloused hands squeeze your breasts under the sheets and he nuzzles against your neck, his beard rough but his skin so soft considering how weather worn he looks, “I was having a dream I was fucking you… I wake up inside your wet pussy? Dreams really do come true.” The pressure was growing, there was no way you were going to last long with the way you were feeling,  you could feel every nerve ending in your body, your nose was full of the smell of him. “I swear, you’re gonna make me cum again Joel, I won’t be able to fuckin’ walk.” you whisper to him. He smiles against your jaw, teeth nipping you softly, “I’ll carry you on my back like Yoda on Luke.” Your tender moment was disturbed when the door flung open, and there stood Ellie, bright eyed and fully dressed. You were quick to pull the duvet over your face to hide it and Joel’s brow creases deepened with frustration. “Ellie!” he barked, and you hated to admit it but the way he scolded made you want to call him Daddy and have him lay you over his lap and spank you raw. “Dad, you have to come see! The sheep had babies!” she exclaimed gleefully. Joel didn’t bat an eyelid when Ellie called him Dad, but you did. He once couldn’t stand the sight of her, she was the biggest thorn in his side - which was a little harsh all things considered - but he fought tooth and nail for her safety and he fell in love. She was his girl. “It fuckin’ stinks in here.” she added innocently. You try not to laugh and make a note to crack a window when you change the sheets later. Joel scrubbed at his eyes and groaned, half in frustration, half to hide the euphoric feeling he had as his cock twitched and leaked pre-cum inside you, “I’ll be– I’ll come see the lambs with you just give me like… 5 minutes to get dressed.” you reach around and pinch his nipple between your finger and thumb and it makes him yelp in a way you’ve never heard before, the sheets shake as you fight back a giggle and he quickly corrects himself “15 minutes. Give me half an hour, I gotta take a shower, can you leave? Please?” “Why do you have a pillow behind your headboard?” “I chew it at night thinkin’ about how much I hate you because you don’t do what I tell you. Ellie, get the fuck out, I won’t ask you again.” Ellie raised her eyebrows and turned on her heel, “You are so not a morning person.” She commented before leaving and closing the door behind her. “I’d like a full apology after you’ve had your burnt bean juice!” she called out, her voice growing more distant as she walked down the hall. “With tears!” She was right, Joel was not a morning person. But the morning after he had spent the night with his cock inside you and woke up fucking you? That day he was definitely a morning person.

[scoriarose]

The Language of Love

If you are already convinced snakes are incapable of love, this post is not for you. But if you are open to the possibility that maybe they do, and maybe they love us too, this post explores that thought. Perhaps snakes feel it differently, perhaps they feel it the same humans do- though even humans experience love, be it platonic or romantic, differently from individual to individual. Different people also show their love in different ways as well! Yet still even with a divide between species most of us have felt love from our furry and feathered friends. Perhaps our scaly friends are also telling us they love us, we just might not understand.

When I first got my girl Scoria, if I could tell her only one thing it would be, "I love you." When I held her, I wondered if she understood how much I cared about her, and would do anything to protect her. When I pet her, I wondered if she knew how amazing I thought she was and enjoyed spending time with her.

And then I started watching livestreams of wild snakes, and how they act toward each other. (The above still is from Project Rattle Cam!) When the babies see a trusted adult, they slither all over them! How many times had my girl happily slithered all over me going no where in particular? I imagine that my finger petting her soft as a feather was probably quite similar to another snake greeting her in such a way.

Sakura is much more shy, yet wants to form a bond with me. I see it when she fights her fear to vibe with me. Sometimes she'll sit for hours at the edge of her tank nearest me, not wanting to come out, but just be near me.

Snakes like rattlesnakes and garter snakes will vibe peacefully with each other, with baby rattlesnakes sleeping near the adult rattlesnakes they trust to keep them safe.

Perhaps, when our shy snakes sits with us, facing their fears they're saying, "I'm scared, but I want to be closer with you." And maybe when our snakes slither all over us, going nowhere in particular, like their wild counterparts do with each other they're saying, "I'm so happy to see you! You're my favorite to be with!" I wonder if they could tell us one thing it would be "I love you, best friend!" And it's okay, best friend. I love you too, and already know. <3

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT - The Deleted Scenes - Pt. 6 'The Adults are Talking' - Sweet Revenge

Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

The Scene: Remember that poll I had up for Chapter 6? It was time for Sugar and Joel to get their sweet revenge on her father, who knew that sweet, innocent Sugar had it in her? This happens at the end of Pt. 6, 'The Adults are Talking'.

Chapter Warnings: Smut (18+), Breeding Kink, Joel and Sugar do very bad things on her Daddy's desk, Established Relationship, Older Man Younger Female, Vaginal fingering, Revenge Sex (but not how you think), Joel and Sugar are fucking menaces, Almost getting caught by someone (maybe?), Improper use of bodily fluids (hehehehehe), Porn with very little plot.

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: this is just 1.3k words of pure filth. Also, you guys put it in my head that you want Suagr to call Joel Papi, so I just ran with it! Hope you all enjoy, ya filthy animals!

"Well, what are you waiting for?" you whisper, "Are you going to fuck me on my father's desk or not?"

Joel smiles, unbuttoning his shirt. "I thought you would never fucking ask, baby."

He approaches you with a cheeky smile, your ass backing into the edge of your father's desk. You perch yourself atop the surface, spreading your legs wide as Joel situates himself between them, shrugging his sage-green button-down off of his shoulders. He peers down at you, tipping your chin as he presses a chaste kiss on your lips.

"You're going to have to be real quiet for me, baby. Do you think you could do that?" His fingers graze the edge of your thong near the gusset, and if he moved his fingers over just an inch, he could easily run his fingertips along the seam of your folds-

"Jesus," he whispers, slipping his fingers under the fabric of your thong. "You're dripping," he mutters, almost sounding like it was an accusation.  

"Joel. Please-" you groan silently, bending your head back as Joel slips his thick finger into you to the knuckle. "Fuck, does this get you off, being in your Daddy's study like this?"

Your eyes meet his, blown out and dark, his eyes half-mast. "As much as I would love to eat you out," he murmurs, "I don't think time is on our side, and I would rather not have your father shoot my balls off because he caught me fucking his daughter." He takes a deep breath, straightening himself, and pushes the waistband of his slacks lower, the bulge of his cock straining the fabric of his boxer briefs. "Fuck," he groans, his hand roughly grabbing his bulge as he looks at you hungrily, his brown eyes blown black. "Do you see just how much I ache for you, Sweetheart?"

Fuck. He's fucking massive. 

"Yes," you pant, nodding in agreement as he pushes his boxers down, giving his cock a tentative stroke. He notches the weeping head at your entrance, his mouth finding yours as he pulls you into a kiss, towering over you as you brace yourself on your elbows. His hand grasps the back of your head as he deepens the kiss, thrusting inside of you to the hilt. 

You gasp against his mouth, tipping your head back as your eyes roll in pleasure, Joel taking the opportunity to groan against your bare neck as he pumps into you steadily. "Fuck-" he snarls through his teeth, angling his hips higher as he allows you to adjust to his length. "So fucking tight, shit-"

You bob your head dumbly in response, pressing your face into his curls. He pulls out slightly as he takes another breath, one arm snaking around your back and the other gripping the desk as he thrusts back up into you, cradling you as he starts to push you up on your father's desk, almost lifting you up completely as he uses the desk as leverage, picking up the pace. His hips snap against yours sharply as the desk begins to rattle from below.  

"Is it bad that I thought about this?" Joel pants, "Defiling you on your Daddy's things, making him pay for trying to keep you away from me?"

You look down at where the both of you are joined, gasping at the sight of Joel's massive cock being swallowed whole by your pussy. His shaft is glistening with traces of your slick as he continues to split you apart. Your stomach clenches at the scene, Joel groaning as your pussy sucks his shaft back inside of you. 

You could hear the echoes of your father and his friends through open window in the study, still continuing on his drunken triade. Joel stills his hips against yours as he looks out the window, glaring into the vastness of the night sky. "Tell me baby," Joel stutters as he quickens his pace, the slick squelching of his thrusts filling the room, "What would your Daddy think of his little girl now, getting fucked by a dirty rich old man? Do you think he'll disown you?"

"I'm counting on it," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him in for another kiss. "I only have room for one Papi right now, and he's currently balls fucking deep in me-"

"Fuck!" Joel roars, placing his hands on your hips as he starts to thrust into you slow and deep. "You can't call me that, fuck, I almost blew my load-"

"What, does my boyfriend like it when I call him Papi?" you smirk against his neck, sucking on his pulse point. He thrusts into you harshly, grabbing your hair and pulling you back as he forces you to look into his eyes.  

"Is my little Mami being a brat?"

You brace yourself, one hand on the desk as the other still holds on to his neck, shifting your hips to the side as he pummels into you, his thrust becoming erractic as the both of you chase your release. "Only because you haven't given me what I want yet," you chide, "What's taking you so long? I should have been pregnant yesterday," you pout. "Make me a real Mami, Papi, please-"

"You're such a bad fucking girl, baby. Begging to be breeded on your father's desk, fuck, what happened to my sweet little Sugar? You're so fucking wet for me, its dripping down my fucking thighs-" he says in reverence, his mouth agape as he throws his head back.  

"I'm so close, Papi," you rasp. Joel's fingers finding your cunt as he begins to assault your clit, his touch so fucking delicious that your pussy clenches around his cock, Joel groaning in approval.  

"Look at you," Joel sighs as he takes in your shaking form, your leg wrapping around his hip. "Getting fucked in your daddy's study like a bad fucking girl, fuck you are a dream-"

"Fuck, yes-"

"Putting these ideas in my head, calling me fucking Papi-"

"Yes. Yes, harder, Papi-"

"Make me a baby, Mami, fuck, you're going to look so fucking good, walking around, round with my fucking child-"

You bury your face into Joel's shoulder, attempting to muffle your scream as you fall apart completely, your body going slack against his as he continues to pound into you, chasing his own release. Joel cradles your shaking form against him, his chest heaving as he thrusts into you once more, biting your shoulder as he comes deep and hot inside of you. "Fuck, Mami, fuck-" he shouts against your skin. 

What was that? you hear through the window.  Sounds like a cat in heat! your father's friend exclaims, his laugh so loud you it echoes throughout the walls.  How far is this room from your neighbors? I swear I hear someone getting absolutely railed-

You laugh silently against Joel as you catch your breath. "I guess that's our cue to get the fuck out of here," you whisper, kissing Joel on the forehead. "Come on, we better get a move on before they start looking for the source of all of the noise-" Joel nods silently, placing his palms on each side of you on the desk, slipping out of you. He helps you jump off as he reaches for his slacks, pulling it up his ass as you fiddle with your dress.  

"So," you ask cheekily, your head motioning to the sweat and cum that accumulated on your father's desk, a distinct imprint of your ass amongst the carnage. "Do you think you got your sweet revenge on my father?"

Joel walks over to you as he turns you around, his hand at your zipper. He slides it up your back, his breath hot and heavy against the shell of your ear. "Baby," he whispers, a smirk against your cheek. "I got my revenge the day you agreed to be mine," he chuckles, spinning you around as he presses a kiss on your forehead.  

"This? it's just an added bonus."

[dancingpottedplant666]

So you know how Tf2 takes place in New Mexico? Well I’m an animal lover, and I know that there are tons of fantastic creatures there and I’m sure there are a bunch of them they would 100% be hanging around the nooks and crannies of RED team’s base. So I present to Ye:

Scenarios about our beloved mercs and an animal-loving reader handle an encounter with New Mexico’s amazing fauna. 

Part 1: Offense

Scout and the Roadrunner

It was one of those moments where it was somewhat peaceful outside the base for once(this being only a little shouting and an explosion every hour or so) and you where just sitting outside with Scout as he snacked on a bucket of chicken and talked your ear off with anything that came to his mind, all of which you pleasantly listened to. Then, a blur of brown whizzed by the both of you. You bolded up in your seat as Scout looked at you quizzically

“ey, is somethin’ wrong toots? I know my story was great n’ all but I didn’t think it was that excitin’”

You put a finger to his mouth as you pointed to where you saw the blur dashed to, and after a few seconds, a small bird patters into view.

“Holy shit Scout check it out! It’s a roadrunner!”

You whisper-shouted. He gave a puzzled look and then gave the small bird an eyebrow raise

“uh, huh, whazat s’posed ta mean?”

He tried to look like he knew what that was but he did a very terrible job of doing so. You excitedly told him about the little bird as it scampered around the dirt,

“it’s literally a badass Scout, it nests in cacti to protect it’s babies, can run up to 26 miles per hour, and it can kill and eat snakes like it’s nothing!”

He just stared at you as you in amazement as you continue on telling little facts about the tiny bird, until you both froze as it started to ease over to Scout. You told him to not freak out as he was looking a bit intimidated, until the bird plucked a chunk of chicken from his bucket and bolted.

“HEY!” Scout yelled as he jumped up and started sprinting after the roadrunner,

“Unfair! that’s my chicken ya dumb bird! Not yours!”

At this point you were clutching your stomach and laughing as you watched a grown ass man chase after a two foot bird around in circles in the dust.

Soldier and (somehow)the Porcupine

As per usual, Soldiers booming, patriotic, voice was rattling the hallways of the base, so to try and spare some of the other men some peace for a while, you offered to take one for the team, and offer to listen to his “speeches” outside so his voice could be “heard across America more efficiently”.

……….Speech number, what? 19? You couldn’t remember. It felt like you were listening to this man talking about everything striped and star spangled for hours. Until a rustling was heard in the distance. Soldier neck almost snapped in half as he turned to face you,

“WHAT WAS THAT MAGGOT?”

You could just see his eyes under his helmet as they darted every which way. “Uh, I’m not sure, maybe it’s-”

You didn’t get a chance to finish as Soldier sprinted towards the detection of the noise.

“ALRIGHT THEN! SHOW YOURSELF YOU DIRTY BLUE FRENCHIE! I KNOW YOU’RE THERE!”

You ran after him and did your best to keep up, trying to tell him that this wasn’t the best idea, but by the time you caught up to him, he was crouched, face first, in a shrub.

“Soldier! what the hell are you doing! You- oh no..”

Out of the bush came an American porcupine, chittering and squeaking as it bolted in the opposite direction. You didn’t even want to know what happened, but you asked anyway.

“uh, Soldier? You ok?”

He shot up, back facing you,

“CADET, I HAVE CONCLUDED. THAT THAT WAS SOMEHOW, NOT A SPY!”

He turned around, the bottom half of his face was covered in quills. You gasped and put your hand over your mouth.

“oh god, what did you do?”

He very vividly describes how he was fearlessly defending the base from the intruder as you dragged him down to Medic’s office. “SO YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT WASN'T A SPY?”

“No, it was an American Porcupine”

“SO THAT PORCUPINE WAS AN AMERICAN?”

“Yes, yes he was, and he was surprised that a fellow American attacked him”

“WELL HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF HE WASN'T A COMMUNIST PORCUPINE?”

“um,”

The conversation carried on back and forth until you reached Medic’s office, and you could say he was a tad bit shocked at Soldiers face, but then he handed you a pair of tweezers and some disinfecting ointment and pushed you two out of his office saying he was busy(most likely to do with a new supply of organs). So you spent the next two hours plucking quills from Soldier’s face as you told him more about porcupines.

“They are the largest rodents in America, and they have poor eyesight so they mostly rely on hearing and smell”

“OW, THEY DON’T SEEM VERY AMERICAN, OW, OTHER THAN THEIR OW, ADVANCED WEAPONRY, THEY OW, SEEM VERY OW, WIMPY TO ME OW,”

“yeah, they would be in more danger if they didn’t have their quills, hey, did you know the reason why it hurts so much to take out is because there’re barbed?”

When finally, all of the quills were removed, you had to forcefully smother his face in the ointment and put bandages on the nastiest cuts. Afterwards, you sent him off and flopped down on the sofa and let out a sigh. This will be quite a story for later.

Pyro and the Desert Centipede

Engineer was working in the garage one evening and you offered to come and keep Pyro company while he worked to make sure nothing was set ablaze. Safe to say you didn’t really understand how Pyro’s funny little brain worked, nor their mumbled speech, but you still treated them like the rest of the mercs and did your best to understand what they say.

You were looking up at the sky while Pyro played with matches and drew little doodles in the dust, until they got up and mumbled a few little words and crouched down near a rock. You got up to see what they were doing when they very forcefully took hold of something with their gloved hand.

“Hey buddy, what do you got there- OH HOLY FUCK”

You jumped back as he turned around and held a squirming centipede right up to your face and cocked their head.

“Hudda hu?”

They sounded as if they were asking what it was. They knew you liked animals, they saw you draw them and talk about them all the time, so if anyone knew what this was, it was you.

“Oh, y-you wanna know what that is?”

After calming yourself down, you sat next to him.

“Mph!”

They nodded a yes as the centipede did its best to try and bite the pyromaniac, but their thick gloves prevented its jaws from ever piercing skin.

“well, uh, you should probably hold it more at the back of the head then holding on to its mid-section”

They looked at their hand and repositioned it so the centipede was curling somewhat comfortably around the glove.

“yeah just like that! Good job!”

They let out a noise of pride and settled down as you bestowed upon them some epic centipede knowledge.

“These dudes are the largest centipedes in North America, and can reach up to 8 inches in the wild, they’re called centipedes because of their one hundred legs, but they actually can have less or even more than that!”

“Hrmpf Hudda Mpf!”

Pyro excitedly listens to every word you say, eagerly waiting for more.

“Not many centipedes are dangerous to humans, but that one is one of the only few that can harm humans. Their venom isn’t fatal to non allergenic people, but they can certainly give you a nasty nip if provoked”

You continued info dumping as Pyro eagerly listened on until Engie decided it was probably time for them to head back inside. Pyro let out a small mumble-complaint but eventually with enough convincing, they let the centipede scuttle back under the rock where they found it.

Now, every once in a while, you and Pyro will sit out side and look for centipedes under the night sky.

Until you needed to go back inside.

“Pyro, what’s in your pocket?”

*several centipedes fall out*

***

Let me know if you guys would like a part 2!

Update: HEY HEY! Part 2 here!

[trashogram]

Snake Charming

Striker/Fem!Imp Reader Drabble

Rated E for oral, spanking and bit of degradation/belittling.

🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

He thought you were cute.

Cute little thing, riding your horse across the plains with your hair in the wind and a carefree smile on your face. Cuter still when you blushed at the insinuation of him having your company that evening. You were led away from your girl group — bachelorette party for a friend — as easily as a sheep from its herd.

You were led right into his room, clinging to his threads as you looked at him stunned when he rewarded you with a kiss. The rattle of his tail traveled up, resonating inside his chest, through his throat and against your lips until you opened up for him.

The way you whimpered at just the touch of his serpentine tongue against yours might’ve been the cutest damn thing he’d ever heard.

But when he needed you to be a little more than that… Well.

You were eager to please.

“Nice and easy, baby.” Striker hissed, expression screwed up in concentration. “Yer doin’ real good.”

He let the sensations wash over him as you lapped at his cock. You were on all fours as he requested, with your head between his spread legs.

“Little more. C’mon, you can do it.” He prompted while stroking the hair away from your face.

You gazed at him for reassurance before taking him into your mouth fully, sucking on the head eagerly.

Perfect.

Striker reclined against the bed post, with your hair in his claws and a front row seat to the view of your ass swinging lazily in the air. The assassin groaned low in his throat as you struggled to take him down your throat with a little whine.

You choked on him, eliciting a deep chuckle. Striker’s head rolled to the side as he peered down at you, indulging your pretty tear-filled gaze with a lazy smile.

“A little too much for ya, darlin’?” He drawled, saccharine sympathy oozing from his voice.

A muffled ‘nuh-uh’ from you had him snickering again. “‘S rude ta talk with your mouth full, little one.”

Striker pulled your hair back, but let you release him on your own. You gulped in lungfuls of air as quietly and discreetly as you could, tongue lolling out as you panted.

“I’m sorry.” You rasped, sincerely. “I was saying that i-it’s not too much — ”

The hybrid in front of you grasped your face between his thumb and forefinger without warning. He squished your cheeks together, sharp eyes surveying your flushed face as you kept still.

Striker grinned. When he darted forward to smother you with another kiss, you trembled. Your breath stuttered before your lips touched his. Your tail swished through the air noisily in your excitement. You tilted forward as if magnetically pulled when he drew back. And all of it was going right to the cowboy’s head. He’d struck gold when he picked you: a little imp that would look at him as if he hung the moon and stars while he fucked you however he pleased.

“Git back to it then.” He ordered.

You nodded, still drunk on his itty bitty affections. Striker hummed as his cock returned to the snug warmth of your mouth. He watched through hooded eyes as your hips rose again.

Still wrapped around him, you could only squeak indignantly as the spade of his tail landed a good, loud smack on your ass.

“You said you could take it, baby!” Striker guffawed, following it up with another firm lashing.

Claws dug into the hardwood floor as you fought not to collapse. Skin already stinging, you endured the blows with a glare at Striker’s well-toned stomach while he had his fun. Your knees threatened to collapse out from under you, so you breathed in deeply through your nose and pushed forward.

The spanking stopped as you swallowed Striker down until all you could smell, taste and feel was him.

“SHI— ” Striker swore.

He pitched forward, groping your behind as your throat contracted around his cock. When you went so far as to vocalize your triumph with a purr, the assassin grunted.

“Fightin’… dirty… woman.” He growled, tugging the base of your tail.

Slick fingers ran down from your tail to your slit, swollen and dripping. You moaned as he thrust into you, quickly finding a rhythm that overwhelmed you.

[bullet-prooflove]

Fireflies: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@trublu2u@yousigned-upforthis@queenslandlover-93 @hiding-behind-my-glasses

Companion piece to:

Rattle Snake - Travis struggles with his failing health.

Travis is sitting in the rocking chair on the porch, the one his granddaddy crafted for his grandmama way back when. His gaze is locked on Jefferson and the other cowboys as they herd the recently purchased cattle to their new home.

A shovel rests against the railing, an empty sack tossed over the banister alongside it. His intention had been to prove you wrong, to kill the rattlesnake lurking under the porch but then he’d been hit with a wave of nausea so severe, he’d ended up hurling his guts out into his Mama’s shrubs before collapsing back into the seat.  

He hears the door open behind him, your quiet footsteps on the wood. He isn’t ready to have this argument again, to hear how he’s deteriorating because the truth is he already knows. He feels it every damn day when he opens his eyes and has to force himself out of bed.

“Baby,” he says tiredly. “I really don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright.” You say with a sigh, your elbows coming to rest on the railing as you look out across the ranch. Despite how much you hate Texas, you do enjoy the ranch. It’s different from Yellowstone, more bustling, more lively. The silence stretches between the two of you and with it so does the distance.

He isn’t proud about what he said this morning, or about walking out on you and his Mama when you’d started discussing his limitations. You’d gone to follow him but Jeanine had stopped you, shaking her head.

“He needs space when he gets like this.” She’d told you, pulling out her baking tins. “It was the same way when his daddy died and we were trying to figure out what to do with the debt he left us with. Just give him a little time.”

You’d spent the rest of the morning making sheet cake with a woman who barely tolerates your presence in her son’s life.

“This illness, it’ll consume your whole relationship if you let it, that’s what he’s afraid of, that you’re starting to see him differently.” She tells you as you’re folding in the eggs and you realise that there’s some truth in that. You’re relationship has become about his illness, it's the whole reason you’re here in Texas to begin with.

“I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.” Travis interrupts your thoughts as he toys with the red worry bracelet on his wrist. It’s the same one he gave you when your ex-husband was causing you trouble way back when. “I thought it would be a couple more months before I started to get really sick.”

You sigh as you push away from the railing, coming to settle in his lap instead. His arms wrap around you, drawing you close as he buries his face into the curve of your throat.

“Let’s do something together tonight.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his temple. “Your Mama said there’s a field out back where we can watch the fireflies. I hear they’re beautiful.”

“They are.” He agrees, his thumb chasing along the line of your jaw as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, I know you’re just looking out for me.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his. “As long as you take me to see the fireflies tonight, I can chalk it up to your general bitchiness.”

He laughs then and it feels like something releases in his chest because for now, the two of you, you’re gonna be alright.

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