#sack full of trouble

[gameraboy2]

"Sack Full of Trouble" Saturday Evening Post, April 14, 1956 Cover by Dick Sargent

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

slip

tw: stalking, abortion mention, anxiety, implied misogyny

In the beginning, Simon had his doubts about choosing you to be the mother of his child. 

He needed someone soft spoken—a sweet damozel without the connections of a lover, without something to hold her back. When he first laid eyes on you, he could see the prints in your skin. The divots left behind from the feet that have walked all over you, tread marks scarring your epidermis without any guarantee of fading. He watched those prints manifest before his very eyes in the pub he first saw you in as you laughed at your friend’s jokes, too gauche to share how uncomfortable it truly made you. 

Following you home was an easy feat when your friends were too inebriated to care about your well being. To give you a ride, or accompany you to the tenebrous corner. You were timid like a newborn fawn unsteady on their feet—too anxious to look over your shoulder at the large brute who had been tailing you for the last block and a half. There is no self preservation instinct. You let both friends and life alike drag you where they wish. 

Everything else was easy after that. Making a copy of your key, spiking the tea you always drink at night before bed, breeding you like the good bitch you are—but there was still doubt. Could something as pathetic as you ever make it as far as he needs you to? Would you suddenly grow skittish and flee the moment you knew you were with child? Could you ever be cruel enough to purge the foetus before he was finished with you? 

All his qualms vanish the moment he catches you in the grocery market. 

It’s truly by accident. A meeting planned by fate. He rounds the corner into the aisle of packaged bread and he sees you, trolley half full, teeth biting into your knuckles. Freezing, Simon’s eyes widen as he soaks you in—even the prospect of choosing between brands of bread troubles you as you inspect the shelves with narrowed eyes. Lips parted, free hand resting on your growing stomach, his mind reels. 

The sonogram in his wallet begins to burn a hole through his pocket. Its warmth is hardly matched by the blazing fury of the sun itself, but he revels in the sting. He gets to witness without a shred of doubt that he’s made the right choice. Look at you—pathetic, alone, in need of someone to take care of you. Scared. Worried. Struggling to hold back the frustration that boils just beneath your skin. In need of someone. 

In need of him. 

Simon tails you for a little while longer through the store, clandestine as he browses various canned goods and sacks of rice. His act isn’t needed, it seems, as you are utterly oblivious to the savior lurking in your shadow. Like a scientist watches a specimen squirming on an examination board, grotesque limbs pinned by unkind needles, he witnesses with avaricious delight as you stumble upon the baby food section. Small jars of puree carrots, peas, and bananas look up at you from the shelves with curling grins. Even from a distance he can see the way your throat bobs. How you attempt to be brave and reach for a jar only to pull back at the last second, unable to stand the heat. 

If only you knew how soon he would be there to swoop in and kiss the aches. To smother everything that ails you—to save you from this strife. 

These last few weeks have left his skin itching. Scarabs nettle beneath his flesh, scurrying on spindly legs, whispering with gnarly teeth into the shell of his ear telling him to take, take, take. Take you—wrap you up in the blankets you hide yourself in while you sleep and bring you home so that he can finally have the life he’s coveted since he’s seen the way bullets tear through bone. He often finds himself standing at the foot of your bed, watching you. Hands wandering to your stomach to feel, to press, to simper. He’s witnessed you swell—the child grow—his dreams manifest before his very eyes. 

He can’t wait—he can only hold this accismus for so long. 

Your gaze adverts from the baby food and you return your trembling hands to the trolley before continuing down the aisle. More often than not, your heart is like a hummingbird these days. Wings flapping too fast, beak darting, begging for sustenance, begging for anything that might free you from the bars keeping you caged; keeping you isolated. 

You’ve gotten good at pretending as if you meant for this to happen. This wretched state of your body—of this fatigue, of your swollen abdomen, of your dither. Though no one could look at you and realize that you don’t know the father of this creature growing inside of you, the gaze of the clerk has you believing otherwise. His eyes linger on your stomach for far too long as if he ponders how much red he could see if he cut you open, or the taste of ichor when licked off of his own fingers. 

He gives you a courteous smile as you pay for your groceries, then leave. Automatic sliding doors squeak as you push your trolley outside into the dying carotene puff of the setting sun, and you waste no time trudging along to your car. Its fragile, beaten exterior greets you flippantly with a simple beep as you unlock the boot and begin to pile everything inside. Milk, bread, eggs, apples, avocados—all things your doctor told you would be good for the baby’s development. 

Then, something rips. 

One of the bags tears open on the corner of the trolley, sending items tumbling free from their confines and onto the cracked asphalt at your feet. Doxylamine clatters to the ground and stares up at you. It grins. It’s goading you into doing the thing that seems to be increasingly difficult these days—bending. Crouching. Stooping low enough to grab something all while carrying the weight of some sick sin. 

Just as you go to reach for the box, a large hand swoops in and eats it. 

Blinking, you watch as the box slowly rises from the ground before it’s being held out for you to take. Scarred knuckles scream at you as they slice along pale skin, but your eyes follow the lines like words of a book—a story you’re waiting to peel back and uncover. 

“Doxylamine is alright, but I usually go with Diphenhydramine.” 

The voice that speaks to you is thick. Viscous like syrup—like cruor. Your gaze follows the invisible line that traces his arm, paying attention to the niello ink that permeates the skin just around his wrist as it peeks out from beneath the sleeve of his jumper. His palm is fat. Wide enough to smother a football with long digits that are so meaty they could pop it with a single hand. Then, there’s his height. This stranger towers over most, broad shoulders competing against even the most spacious of doorways, and the hood on his head coupled with the work boots on his feet give him an extra inch. 

Then, there’s his eyes. Inky. Pitch dark like the shadows the monsters in your closet used to hide in when you were a child. It’s impossible to see through him—to poke and prod your way into his mind. Something stops you just short of diving into the depths; a wall you can’t quite push through. 

Shaking your head, you knock your thoughts free from your mind. “What?” 

“Diphenhydramine is a better antihistamine. For allergies. Though, it makes you tired,” the man says bluntly. Once more, he shakes the box in his hand, and you bring yourself to look at it. 

“Oh.” You take it into your grasp, fingers not even coming close to brushing against his. “I don’t take it for allergies. It’s for… morning sickness, technically.” 

Your hand spreads over your stomach, almost lovingly. Almost as if this were planned—as if this is what you want. You feel this stranger’s gaze wander, just like everyone else’s always does. You’re a spectacle. Woman contorted into a show for all to witness. 

He hums in response to your unwarranted explanation before turning his attention to your trolley. Wordlessly, he begins to unload the basket. Bags slipping into his arms, you watch as he yanks them free and gently places them in the back of your car, piled neatly next to the few you had managed to load before making a mess of things. 

“Oh—uhm—you don’t- you don’t have to do that,” you stutter. 

“I know.” 

Stoic. Stale. No room for argument. Anxious fingers tap against the box of drugs as you watch him move your groceries for you. He’s not old, but the scars on his face age him. They settle into the lines of his face, deepening them until his skin is permanently creased. There’s a bump on his nose that you don’t think was there when he was born, and a rosy scar to accompany the ridge. His lips are tight. Thin, stony—as if he’s holding back something. 

A secret. A thought. 

“Well, thank you…?” Your tone curls. Your grace turns into a question, and you’re not even sure what you’re asking until he answers. 

“Simon.” 

Strong. Simple. Fitting, for a man like him. 

“Thank you, Simon.” 

He pauses when you speak his name—back turned to you, hands full of bags, he loads the last few into the boot before sneaking a piece of paper out of one of them. You open your mouth to protest until you notice it’s only your receipt. 

“It’s not right, havin’ you out here like this by yourself,” he tells you. 

Disbelief settles deep in your bones as you scoff. “Excuse me?” 

Not looking at you, Simon fishes a pen from his deep pockets and begins scribbling something on your receipt. “A woman in your condition shouldn’t be doing such heavy liftin’ on her own. You need someone to take care of you.” 

“What makes you think I need help?” you ask, brows raised. 

The pen clicks. It’s sharp. A shot ringing throughout the air. Simon’s eyes settle on you, and the weight constricts around your chest. They’re… eerie. Adust, like the lowering countryside right before a storm hits to wipe the earth clean. 

“You walk like you’re guilty. You’ve got some weight dragging you down, and I don’t think it’s the baby in your tummy doin’ that, love. When you look at people, you’re already apologizing. Can read it all over that sweet face of yours. Besides, there’s no ring on that finger. Means the dad isn't all that serious ‘bout you.” He holds the folded receipt out for you to take, but all you can do is stare at it with blank eyes. “Or maybe you don’t even know who the daddy is at all.” 

His impudence is jarring. Shame gnaws through your intestines straight into your womb where it grows. He’s read you to filth. Swallowing, you look at him, throat tightening. 

“Have we met before?” Your question flows from your mouth like blood from a wound—already apologetic for the damage. “You just… seem familiar.” 

All Simon does is stare. 

“I think I’d remember meetin’ someone like you.” 

He’s scribbled your receipt with his number, and before leaving he tells you to call him if you need anything. Stilted as ever, you stiffly thank him before shoving it into your pocket and climbing into your car, silently telling yourself that you’d never reach out to him—that you’d never drag anyone else into this… situation. Least of all someone like him, a stranger who can read you better than you can yourself; better than your own friends can. 

When you arrive home, it takes you much too long to load all your groceries into your flat. The stairs leave you huffing, and by the end of it, your knees clatter together so viciously you fear you may collapse. Instead, you endure. Unpacking items, shoving them into the fridge, the pantry, into cupboards—you think about how soon your space will be invaded. High chairs and puree food, bibs and swaddle blankets, toys to trip on. Another mouth to feed. 

Or not.

As you place the milk in the fridge, you think about how you could put the child up for adoption. Push it out and send it off into the world for you to never lay eyes on it again. You don’t have the stomach to terminate it, but you can stomach this. Sending them off to live with real parents. Someone better. 

Your thoughts freeze the moment your hand wraps around a box of toothpaste. 

Brows furrowing, you look through the contents of your final bag to find items you don’t remember buying. Aftershave. Protein mix. Soap. 

Sighing, you tilt your head back to look at the ceiling as your palms rub at your achy, swollen eyes. Simon’s phone number whispers to you from your back pocket, and you grit your teeth as you slip it free from your jeans. This grocery mix up feels like a seed—carefully planted and watered. 

Now, it’s germinating.

follow @mother-ilia for notifications on updates

[carbonfiction]

Misbehaviour

Poolverine X fem!reader-

Wade's mouth got him in trouble again, its just lucky Logan was feeling merciful. Trying a lil something out here, completely thrown at the notes app with very lil thought.. Lemme know if you'd like to see more poolverine? <33

Masterlist

Wade groans loudly around the soggy fabric of your panties in his mouth, wrists tied tight to the headboard. His bared body is coated in a sheen of sweat, cock weeping. Hard, wet and an angry shade of red as he watches Logan continue to pummel his hips into you just infront of him.

It had been like this for far too long wade thinks; neither of you touching him. A punishment for something stupid he had or hadn't done- his mouth getting him in trouble again.

This round, Your head's thrown back over wades hip, tits bouncing so wildly it has to border on uncomfortable; but its not like you have the capacity to care. babbled moans slip from your mouth, Logan having truly fucked you stupid as they join the wet squelch of your used cunt and the slap of skin filling the room.

"Gonna soak me again honey? Can feel you getting tighter around me." Logan grunts, his chest heaving as his eyes flit from you to wade and back.

He knows wade is starting to struggle, has been watching the occasional buck of his pelvis- a desperate attempt at finding friction he never receives. When you whine about being close again its then that Logan decides; whats a little reward to soothe poor wade over the loss of feeling your cunt tonight?

"Mhm, please make me cum again Logan. F-uck" you plead oh so sweetly, back arching at the way his cock hits thats little gummy spot that floods pleasure through you.

"Suck his cock then" Logan grits, one hand drifting from your hip to roughly tug at your nipples to gain propper attention. His voice is a deeper drawl as he watches how wade attempts again for more friction at his words. "Be a good girl and suck his fuckin' cock, then you can cum"

You nod desperately, quickly turning your head to Wade. You pool spit at the base of his cock, letting it run down across the skin of his sack as you envolope his head in your mouth.

Wade yelps, actually, genuinely yelps, around your panties, garbled expletives following in a muffled mess. His hips flying up into the warmth of your mouth, balls sloppily wacking your chin. Logans heavy thrusts pushing you to take Wade's cock deeper, until your borderline choking with it down your throat.

"P-please. Want you both. Need it inside" you gasp wantonly, pulling away from Wade for air momentarily.

Your moans around Wade grow louder when you take him inside again, more frequent as logan fucks into your pussy harder. The vibration of them mixes with the tight constriction of your throat in a delicious kind of torture. Wade cant think, the sounds and feelings overloading his senses. His orgasm boiling up fast as he obseves both the bulge in your neck and the soft outline consistently pumping inside the crease of your tummy.

And its then, as Logan reaches to thumb at your clit with rushed, messy circles that you all shatter. With your nose pressed to Wade's thick base your forced to gasp down his release as the hot ropes coat the back of your thoat.

Meanwhile between your legs Logan too pumps you full. A loud growl rumbling from his chest feeling how your pussy contracts tightly around him. The intensity of your orgasm having Ricochet him into his.

Its moments before overstimulation simmers up in all your bones as the room now fills with heaved in breaths. hot and sweaty, you feel thoroughly fucked and filled, satisfied despite Wade's previous consequence.

Because if that was the punishment? Maybe you'd both misbehaved around Logan more often..

[dragoneyelashart]

heat of the moment ୨ৎ

fluff/ implied smut୨ৎ firefighter! billie x detective! reader a/n: lowkey love this...

the first time you meet billie, she’s striding out of a smoke-filled apartment building like she owns the whole damn block. her helmet is tucked under one arm, dark curls damp with sweat and plastered to her forehead. there’s soot smudged across her cheek like war paint. she’s got a full-grown man slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and she looks more amused than exhausted. you’re not impressed.

not out loud, anyway. "nice entrance," you say dryly, not even glancing up from your notepad. "you planning to rescue the whole neighborhood or just trying to get your name in the papers again?" billie smirks as she lowers the man to the gurney, tossing a wink at the paramedic before turning to you. "detective," she says, her voice smooth and soaked in confidence. "didn’t know you were into uniforms. if i knew you’d be watching, i’d have worn my tighter tank."

you glance up, finally taking her in fully, arms like carved marble and a grin that screams trouble. "i didn’t realize cockiness was part of the standard issue," you reply, snapping your notebook shut. she chuckles. "only for the really talented ones." it’s not the first scene you’ve worked where billie’s shown up, all swagger and sarcasm, and somehow she always finds a way to get under your skin. you’re used to dealing with egos—detectives, politicians, and criminals alike—but billie’s a different breed. it’s not just that she’s arrogant. it’s that she’s good. annoyingly good. and she knows it. you glance over your notes, but you can feel her eyes on you. she’s not subtle. not even trying to be. there’s a confidence in the way she stands, hips cocked slightly, arms folded, like she’s dared the world to prove her wrong and walked away undefeated every time. her presence is loud, even when she’s quiet. "what caused it?" you ask, nodding toward the charred building. "faulty wiring in the kitchen," she says, tugging off her gloves. her biceps flex as she does, and you’re ashamed of the way your eyes flick there, just for a second. maybe two. "let me guess," you deadpan. "you spotted it mid-backflip through the flames?" billie grins like she’s won a round. "no flips today, detective. didn’t want to make the rest of my team feel bad." you exhale through your nose, biting back a smile. "you know, some of us have to work for a living." "you mean like profiling perps from behind a desk?" you step closer, leveling her with your best unimpressed glare. "you ever try solving a triple homicide while some jackass firefighter flirts with you mid-scene?" "no," billie says, her grin widening. "but i have rescued a very flustered detective from stepping in broken glass while she was too busy glaring." you glance down. shit. there it is. jagged shards glinting near your boots. "you're welcome," she adds smugly, and then she doesn’t move, just stands there with arms crossed, watching you like you’re the most interesting puzzle she’s seen all week. she tilts her head slightly, taking in the scene, then jerks her chin toward the building. "so, what’s your read on it?" you glance at her warily. "on what?" "this scene. the victim. your kind of mess." you narrow your eyes. "why the sudden interest in my work?" billie shrugs, but it’s all performance. she knows exactly what she’s doing. "call it curiosity. or maybe i just like hearing you talk when you're focused. your whole face changes." "nosy and observant. dangerous combination." "only when i care," she says, and it hits with more weight than you expect. she steps a little closer. "come on, detective. humor me. what’s that smart head of yours thinking?" you hesitate, then glance back at the scorched windows. the air still smells of smoke and something acrid, like burned plastic. "victim says he was cooking, left the stove unattended. but the burn pattern doesn’t match that. too quick, too focused." billie whistles low. "arson?" "maybe. or someone wanted him out of that apartment fast." "damn," she says, clearly impressed, then grins. "see? i knew talking to you would be more fun than paperwork." you glance at her again. she's smug, sure, but her eyes are sharp and fixed on you. you get the sense she doesn’t look at everyone like this, just you. and she wants more than just your theories. "you planning to help solve this case too, or just flirt with the lead investigator?" she grins, slow and deliberate. "why not both?"

you tell yourself it means nothing when you see billie again three days later. it’s at a city benefit dinner for first responders, of all things. you hate these events—the small talk, the politics, the schmoozing. you’re halfway through your drink when you spot her across the room. she’s in a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, collar popped just enough to be cocky. her hair is swept back, wild and clean, and she looks like she belongs on the cover of some magazine titled hot heroes who know it. she finds you in the crowd like she’s got radar. "detective y/l/n," she says, sliding up beside you. "looking sharp. who knew you cleaned up so well?" "billie," you reply, not missing a beat. "i see you own more than just suspenders and smirks." she laughs. "careful, you almost sound impressed." you take a sip of your drink. "don’t let it go to your head." "too late," she quips. "want to get out of here before someone asks us to donate money we don’t have?" you raise a brow. "is that a proposition, firefighter?" "only if you're into bad decisions and late-night diner food." you hesitate. not because you don’t want to go, but because you do. billie is a walking temptation wrapped in confidence and charm, and you’ve spent your entire career resisting distractions like her. but the heat between you simmers every time you’re in the same room. every word is a spark, and every glance threatens to become something more. "fine," you say, setting your drink down. "but i swear, if you try to carry me across any thresholds tonight, i’m arresting you." she grins. "deal. but only because you’re not wearing steel-toe boots tonight." she doesn’t move, though. instead, she tilts her head and gives you a look you’re starting to recognize—curious, a little smug, but with something sharper underneath. "you always this buttoned-up, detective?" she asks. "bet even your secrets wear a badge." you raise an eyebrow. "is that your way of asking about my tragic backstory?" "i’m just saying," she replies, leaning in slightly, "you strike me as someone who doesn’t let people in easy. but you let me buy you coffee. that’s gotta mean something." you scoff, but there’s a twitch at the corner of your lips you can’t quite hide. "maybe i just have a weakness for loud, nosy firefighters." "loud and nosy," she repeats with mock offense, hand on her chest. "careful, i might start thinking you like me." you stand, grabbing your coat. "come on, hero. let's see if your conversation skills are as strong as your ego." she hops off the barstool beside you. "that sounds like a challenge." "it is." she holds the door open for you, the cocky smirk never leaving her face. "good. i’m great at winning things i shouldn’t."

the diner is quiet, lit in soft neon. you sit across from her in a booth, sipping coffee and trading stories. she tells you about her first fire, about the time a cat scratched her so bad she needed stitches. you tell her about your weirdest case—a guy who tried to fake his own death using mannequin parts and a very confused goat. you laugh. she laughs. and then it gets quiet. she leans back, eyes scanning you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. "you always this guarded, or am i special?" you shrug. "i like to know who i'm talking to." "you know i run into burning buildings, right? i'm not exactly mysterious." "no, you're not," you say softly. "but you're not exactly harmless either." she smiles, but it's a little softer now. "neither are you." the tension hangs between you, thick and magnetic. it’s not new, but here, outside the chaos, it feels closer. sharper. louder. "so," she says, her voice dipping low, teasing, "if i said i’ve been thinking about what you'd look like out of that coat since day one… would that be inappropriate?" you tilt your head. "very." "please don't arrest me, officer," she says, all smug mischief and resting comfortably against the vinyl booth like she owns it. you don’t miss a beat. "i’d like to see you in a pair of handcuffs, eilish." her brows lift, amused and intrigued. "kinky. you planning to book me, or just keep teasing me all night?" you lean in, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. "who says i haven’t already decided to make your night difficult?" her eyes flick to your lips. "because you haven’t walked away yet." you smirk. "maybe i’m waiting to see what other crimes you confess to." billie leans in, her voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. "c’mon then, let’s test if those handcuffs of yours actually work, officer."

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[ameliathornromance]

“My darling lady,” the familiar rumble sent the stack of coins you had been very, very carefully stacking tumbling down.

You sighed, watching all your efforts slide down and away to become one with the ocean of coins surrounding you.

Standing from the ledge you sat on, you crossed your arms as your Dragon Boyfriend rounded the corner of the vaults and beamed at you. “I’ve brought you something.”

“Again?” You sighed, exasperated.

It’s not that you hated that your Dragon brought you things. It was wonderful and you appreciated every gift he got you, but the lengths he went to sometimes alarmed you.

One time, he came back with a jaw full of gems and jewels worthy only of Royalty and nobles. He’d brought them back just for you to look at, like a cat bringing in a mouse. While they were amazing and you appreciated them dearly… it wasn’t worth gaining your approval.

Although the gesture was nice, he also returned with injuries of his conquest. You could see it in the way he moved, gingerly setting himself down on the bed of gold, wincing slightly as he had adjusted himself to become more comfortable.

His whole under belly had been stained with blood, his wings had little cuts and bruises on them, even an arrow stuck out from under his jaw.

It worried you every time he flew out of the vault. You weren’t worth the trouble for all of these amazing things. All you needed was his love and company and yet he still insisted on bringing you all the riches in the world… as if he didn’t have enough of it already.

This time, clutched between his jaws, he held a small sack… that seemed to be wriggling.

“What’s with that face?” He asked you, gently placing the sack down with the greatest care. “You don’t want to see them?”

“’Them’?” You frowned. The way your Dragon said it made it sound like there was something living he’d brought you.

The Dragon gently nudged the sack towards you using his snout.

Wordlessly, you rushed over to the sack and undid it’s top. The cloth splayed out and revealed- “Kittens!”

All disapproval vanished from you the moment you laid eyes on the tiny balls of fluff that mewed and meowed at you. The three small cats clambered over the cloth and onto your lap.

Each one was a different colour, ginger, black and white. “How did you get these poor things? Don’t tell me you flew with them! They must’ve been terrified!” You pulled them up to your chest, desperately trying to hold onto the three of them.

A proud puff escaped the Dragons nostrils at your approval. He bent his head down towards you. “They were given to me by a Witch whose cat had just had them. She said she didn’t have the space to take care of them and thought you might like them.”

“And no one saw you, did they?” You gave him a warning look as the ginger kitten decided to climb around your neck, tiny claws digging into your skin.

“No, of course not darling.” He leaned down to you, allowing you to place your forehead against his snout. “the Witch lived far out from any kind of village, as Witches tend to do.”

After a moment, you broke apart from your Dragon boyfriend and looked down at the kittens in your arms. The black and white one squirmed in your grip, desperate for their freedom, while the ginger one had decided to make that his sleeping spot and now dozed lazily.

What had you done to deserve this? To receive all of these beautiful things? What made you so worthy? There were probably hundreds of more people in the world who needed this more than you did.

“… You really don’t have to keep bringing me these things, you know.” You said after a moment.

“But I want to,” your Dragon rested on his stomach, head laid down on top of the sea of gold as he watched you try and keep a hold of your gifts. “You are one of my greatest treasures and a treasure deserves treasure of it’s own.”

“Now you’re objectifying me.” You teased, the black kitten wriggling free of your grip, rushing over to a red ruby that sat on the edge of your seat and sniffed it with intrigue.

Your Dragon gave a huff, “that’s not what I meant.” He was silent for a moment as you finally let go of the white kitten who went to go and join her brother sniffing the gemstone.

“Do you not believe that you are a treasure?” He asked.

“Well it’s not like I’ve done anything worthy of being considered a treasure.” You said, bitterly. “Sacrifices to dragons aren’t even considered special if they’re being thrown away by their people.”

Silence fell over the pair of you again. The two kittens had now realised that they could see their own reflection in the gem – but not register that it was themselves reflected back – and had now become crablike as their fur puffed and they swiped at the gem.

“Do you think,” your Dragon growled, “that these animals are any less prized because they were brought here just like you were?”

You whipped your head around to face him. “Sorry?”

“I took them because a witch wanted to get rid of them and I brought them to you, who fell in love with them at first sight.” His amber eyes pierced through you, like he was desperate to try and get you to understand. “Have they done anything worthy to deserve your love?”

“Well, no, not necessarily-”

“So why do you believe that you are any less deserving of all these things?” The Dragon questioned. “Yes, even though you were brought to my vaults as a sacrifice, someone who wasn’t considered to be that special other than to be a meal… but have you done anything worthy of this other than being the object of my affections? Just like these kittens here?” He pointed a claw at the – in comparison – miniscule creatures.

You opened your mouth to protest, to find some kind of objection in his logic. But Dragons are wise old creatures, there was no faulting them when they had a point.

Face burning, you looked away from him earning a chuckle from the Dragon chuckled. “Nobody in this world should feel as though they are undeserving of everything. People may have told you that you aren’t, that you are nothing more than a means to appease me, but that isn’t true.” He rose his head and placed his jaw on your lap, angled so he looked up at you. “You deserve all this and more. I intend to give it all to you.”

You pursed your lips, “does this also mean that you’ll also be more careful when you fly out?”

“Of course, I always am. I want to make sure I come home to you.” The Dragon gave a dismissive snort, “darling, humans know better than to try and actually kill me. All those injuries before were just a result of a… misunderstanding.”

At that, you raised an eyebrow and returned your gaze to him.

Your Dragon boyfriend caved, “okay, perhaps not a misunderstanding, but it isn’t my fault that they wouldn’t give me all their finest clothes.”

Please consider supporting me on Patreon! It helps to keep my work free for you all to read! Plus, you get extra exclusive stories and access to my Tumblr posts early!

Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

[solar-wing]

⚣ Love's Punishment 🏛️

⚣🏛️ A/N → If y'all knew how many times I deleted and restarted this entire thing... I don't even remember how I got this idea, I just remember wanting to write an obsession/love spell fic where some male superheroes go batshit crazy & horny over the reader. Either way, hope you all enjoy it. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | OMEGAVERSE | Canon-Typical Violence | Alpha Barry Allen/Flash | Alpha Hal Jordan/Green Lantern | Alpha Clark Kent/Superman | Demigod-Omega Male Reader | Obsessive Behavior/Actions | Attempted Non-Con | Dub-Con | Oral Play | Knotting | Bonding Marks | Sneaky & Meddlesome Gods & Goddesses |

Prompts Used: @rednsuch – #39 “Just the smell of you gets me excited, darling.” – #13 “Stop being such a brat.”

⚣🏛️ Summary → One may ask what it's like having a God or Goddess for a parent. Honestly, not fun, and Y/N is a perfect example of that considering how he's being punished by his mother. How do you even bring up this level of mommy issues in therapy?

⚣🏛️ Word Count → 6.2K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🏛️

Daddy issues this, and Daddy issues that.

What about the people who have mommy issues? Because they exist, and Y/N would be shocked if anyone else’s relationship challenges with their mother were similar to his own.

Truthfully, he would never understand or believe the idea that someone could have sex and procreate with a god or goddess and not have one clue. There was no divine light following behind them? No wisps of magic or sparkles. No flowers and bright auras left in their footpaths?

Nothing, not a single clue?

Bullshit.

You may ask yourself, “Y/N, whatever could be wrong with someone having adult fun and having children with a god or goddess?”

Lots of things, actually. There could be an encyclopedia on why that could be a bad idea with lots of consequences to follow. Too many to get into right at this moment considering he was busy trying to cover his head and face from getting blasted while hanging off a superhero’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

Getting punished by a god or goddess was not for the weak.

No kid liked getting in trouble and punished by their parents. It was a very unpleasant and frustrating feeling when you had to answer for something you either 100% did without thinking of the circumstances, or something that happened and you were the victim of said circumstances.

But imagine getting punished by your God or Goddess parent for something that you had no control over. Even more, something said parent was directly responsible for!

The hypocrisy of it all.

Y/N’s father was a handsome man. Their genes were always divinely blessed, the Alpha always liked to joke, and the young Omega didn’t realize the irony of that statement until he got older and started questioning things.

Whenever he thought about changing his appearance or switching something up, it happened immediately without any action or movement from him. At one point during some teenage life crisis, he wanted to go blonde but didn’t even need to purchase dye. One moment he’s looking at his natural hair color and looks down to grab his comb. Next thing he knows, he’s got a full head of blond hair in the exact style he imagined. And it looked goood.

There was another time when he wished in his head that the sweater he was eyeing while shopping was gray instead of red, but according to the store, they never produced that particular color. When he went to go look at other options, imagine his surprise when he turned back two minutes later and it seemed as if the store did indeed have gray. And from a closer look, they only had gray. Starting to see the point?

Y/N could read people like a book, especially pertaining to feelings of affection, desire, and jealousy. Imagine the ability to feel someone’s very adult-like feelings, and you hadn’t even hit puberty yet. His dad had to have the birds and the bees talk with him much earlier than planned.

One of the most concerning things was Y/N's naturally attractive aura and charming voice. Though, he couldn’t tell if it was his voice or just the words he spoke that were attractive. But, people seemed to flock to him like moths to a flame. Even at a young age, many fought for his attention, whether it was classmates, friends, family, or strangers he’d run into when out with his dad.

It was normal for an Omega to be highly desired and sought after by Alphas, but it wasn’t just them fighting for his attention. Y/N had Betas and Omegas alike competing with each other for the chance to get acquainted with him.

By the time he entered high school, on record, he had up to four secret admirers (and two stalkers), and when things only seemed to get more out of control, that’s when his dad finally decided to sit him down and explain the truth to him.

“So, yeah. Probably should have told you this when you were younger, but your mom’s Aphrodite.”

…

Not joking, he 100% said it just like that.

Of course, you can imagine the Omega’s confusion and somewhat anger that this information had been withheld for most of his life. Now, not only did Y/N have to deal with the everyday struggles of life and being an Omega, but he also had to balance being the demigod son to the Goddess of Beauty, Love, and Desire. When you think about it, it made the Omega thing 10x more stressful than it already was.

This was the type of shit people wrote and fantasized about.

Wait a sec…

…

Nah.

Now, back to the beginning, since we have some more context, what was this so-called punishment, and why did it have Y/N grumbling about mommy issues while being whisked around the nation’s capital as some superheroes had it out with each other over who got to claim his body affection?

Oh, nothing serious, really. Just mommy dearest trying to interfere with her son’s love life! Who knew the immortal parents were privy to the same, petty tactics as their mortal counterparts…

Unlike most others who would be excited at the thought of being the child of Aphrodite, Y/N felt he had an unfair advantage when it came to dating and relationships, given his semi-godly abilities and gifts. After his last relationship ended in a horror show with a sequel he promised would never see production, he swore off dating and romance for good.

Well, that didn’t fly too well with Aphrodite. Her children, full-blood and half-blood, were always known for their romantic escapades. One of them was the face of Valentine’s Day! Well, his cousin from Rome was, at least.

So, with the help of her son and Y/N’s half-brother, Eros, God of Love, Lust, and Sex, (the mentioned Greek cousin to Cupid) they set up a little divine punishment for the young Demigod to teach him a lesson for rejecting his goldy heritage. It also paid off as insurance, just in case.

Deities and their children were always known to be stubborn little beings.

Aphrodite sent Eros down to Earth to follow his half-blood sibling around, observing his actions and who he interacted with. And, for any male Alpha that the Omega came in contact with, the God of Lust was to ensure a connection was established between the two if he deemed them worthy enough.

Simply put, he was to shoot male Alpha he figured his mother would approve as a match for her son/his brother in the ass with a love arrow. Now, why she told him to shoot only male Alphas and not female, you’d have to ask her.

Mother knows best.

Unlucky for Y/N, they chose one of the worst days to do that when he happened to be in Washington, D.C. for a work-related trip.

Do you know what else is in Washington, D.C.? The Justice League headquarters.

But, why would that be a problem? Do you really need an explanation?

Imagine how interesting it would be if, at the same time Y/N happened to be in Washington, D.C., one of the famous Justice League heroes like Flash, Green Lantern, or Superman happened to be there as well. Picture how tempting of an opportunity it would be for Eros after he was told to find the best potential matches for his little brother.

Pretty damn tempting if you ask anyone else.

Now, if we’re being truthful, Superman was Eros’ ideal choice for his brother, knowing their mother would definitely approve of the relationship between her son and the Kryptonian. Even if he wasn’t an Alpha due to his alien biology, he still had all the ideal traits of one. Not to mention his strong features and handsome looks.

But, he wasn’t opposed to one of the other heroes like Flash or Green Lantern. And when the latter had been the one to save Y/N during some random battle that broke out between the League and some villains, he figured why not just shoot them all and see who came out on top?

Plus, he was the God of Sex just as much as he was of Love. He wanted to see who out of the three heroes had the sexual prowess to handle someone like his brother. Prude or not, being mated to a child of Aphrodite meant you had to be strong in a lot of ways, especially when it came down to the nitty and gritty.

And who said he couldn’t get a little entertainment out of this?

That entertainment is what led Y/N to his situation of being carried throughout the city like some prize while the world’s defenders fought with each other like kids trying to get the last cookie in the jar.

As said, it started with Green Lantern rescuing him and carrying him away to some random rooftop. Everything seemed normal until Y/N noticed a change in the hero and his sudden lustful gazes that were being directed at him. He'd been on the receiving end of a fair amount of adoration and attention by admiring and persistent Alphas, but this he could tell was something different.

And it was.

Eros had shot Green Lantern with the love arrow while they were still in the sky. Now, instead of thinking about the fight he was leaving his comrades to handle by themselves without his assistance, all his thoughts were centered around the Omega in his arms and how blessed he was to be in the presence of such a radiant being.

And how much he couldn't wait to claim his body all for himself. Besides, no one was more fitting or deserving of an Omega of Y/N's stature than the Green Lantern himself. At least, that's what his love-delusioned, and frankly, naturally egotistical mind believed.

Y/N didn't have time to even question what was going on before the green-clad hero had whisked him away to a rooftop, not too far from where the fight was happening. He figured it was over after that and the Alpha would return to his comrades after setting him down.

Imagine the Omega's shock when he found himself pressed against a wall, the hero kissing and nuzzling his neck while running his hands down his body.

"W-What are you doing?" Y/N stuttered out, trying to push the man away but to no avail.

"What does it look like? I'm saving you," The hero's voice was gruff and desperate, and the Omega was starting to get concerned.

"Okay, but this is less saving and more of molesting," Y/N struggled, having his arms pinned against the wall before feeling a hand running down his body towards his pants.

"I'm saving you from other Alphas trying to claim you. After this, you'll belong to me, and me only," Lantern growled gruffly in his ear, an aggressiveness that was all too familiar to the Omega. He'd seen this behavior before but didn't have much time to think about it as the hero started unbuttoning his pants.

"W-Wait! Stop!"

"No, I can't," Lantern shook his head, his eyes glazed over.

"You're under a spell or something!" Y/N tried again, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"I can't stop myself. I need you now," The hero growled, finally pulling the Omega's pants and underwear down before undoing his own and pulling out his throbbing, hard cock.

"No! Stop! You don't want to do this!"

"Stop being such a brat. I need to do this," Lantern's voice was firm and demanding.

Before the green-clad hero could achieve his objective, he was suddenly yanked off the Omega by a red and yellow blur, electricity crackling off it. The Omega after realizing he was free wasted no time in pulling his underwear and pants back up, watching as the blur, now recognized to be Flash, was currently fighting with Green Lantern near the edge of the rooftop.

"What are you doing, man?!" Flash yelled, trying to restrain the other hero.

"Let go of me, I need to save him!" Lantern growled, fighting the speedster's hold.

"From what?" Flash questioned, looking at the Omega confused.

"He's mine!"

"He's not yours!"

"Yes, he is!"

"GL, you need to get a grip."

"He's my Omega! I need to mark him!"

From his position, Y/N could see Flash was struggling to hold the other Alpha down and figured he should probably make his exit right about now. He made his way over to the fire escape, about to climb over until a figure floated up from below.

Superman, ever in his large and slightly intimidating form with his cape blowing in the wind looked down at the Omega with a smile, offering his hand, "Need some help?"

The Omega smiled with a soft blush, trying to quell his nerves at the Alpha's admittedly very handsome and chiseled face. Again, the Omega was no prude, nor was he oblivious to all the gossip and rumors of the world's protectors and their handsome and muscular figures. The latter was made even more prominent by the tight nature of their uniforms.

Y/N would be lying if he said he wasn't looking at Flash's prominent glutes hidden under the red spandex.

But, before the Omega took the Kryptonian's equally large hand, he noticed something in the background. The fight that initially led to this whole mess was still going on. Yet, three of the main superheroes involved in that fight were over here. Flash, he threw to the back of his mind since the speedster did technically save him. But, why was Superman here?

That's when Y/N noticed something in the Kryptonian hero's eyes. An expression almost identical to the one he just saw in Green Lantern.

Uh oh.

Before the Omega could even react, the Alpha had already scooped him up into his arms and flew off into the sky.

"H-Hey! Put me down!" Y/N stuttered, struggling in the Alpha's hold.

"I can't. I need to save you," Superman's voice was low and deep, and the Omega could feel the vibrations from his chest.

Hmm, where had he heard that before?

"Save me from what?"

"Other Alphas trying to claim you," The Kryptonian explained, and Y/N could have sworn he heard a growl in his voice.

A nervous feeling settled into his stomach, and if he wasn't careful, he'd find himself falling prey and submissive to the very situation he was trying to find a way out of. Being Aphrodite's son as mentioned before, he had an extraordinary gift with the power of emotions and desires. He could project his feelings of desire and love onto others, just as much as he could mirror them.

Another one of those aforementioned consequences of deities breeding with mortals.

The only thing Y/N struggled to figure out though was why all of this was happening. He'd never had a run-in with any of these heroes before, and the only time he'd seen behavior like this was when it was related to his...

...Of course.

His mother.

Now, everything was starting to make sense. This could only be the work of mommy dearest, and if Y/N had to guess, his half-brother Eros as well.

He'd have to deal with that problem later, though. Right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand, and that was escaping the arms of a very powerful, very strong, and very horny superhero.

"You're mine. I'll protect you from the others," Superman continued, and Y/N could feel a slight rumble in the Alpha's chest.

"I'm not yours," The Omega shook his head, continuing to struggle.

"Yes, you are. You're mine," The Kryptonian's grip tightened, and the Omega winced at the pain.

Y/N looked down and quickly rid himself of any thoughts that he could survive a fall from this height. Even if he was Aphrodite's son, he lacked something vitally important that his mother and brother both possessed. Immortality.

Hopefully, he could figure another way out of this.

He knew there was no reasoning with the Alpha. As long as he was under Eros' spell, no amount of logic or reasoning would get through to him. As cliché as it may sound, Y/N needed a divine intervention.

Thankfully, it seemed as if one was on the way.

Trails of green energy suddenly surrounded the pair, forming a giant floating cage. Superman turned to see his comrade, having escaped from Flash's grasp flying toward them.

"Get away from him!" Green Lantern yelled, flying towards the duo.

"No! He belongs to me. You have no right to him Lantern," Superman shouted back, clutching the Omega closer.

"You're not even a real Alpha, Clark! You're not even strong enough to make an Omega like him submit to you."

"What did you just say?!"

"You heard me, you fake-ass Alpha. I'm the only one worthy enough for him. Not some alien trash!"

"Why, you-"

Before the two could continue their argument, a vortex suddenly surrounded the two, causing Lantern to lose his focus. The energy cage surrounding the Kryptonian and Omega dissipated and the force from the vortex sent the two heroes to lose their flying. Superman tried his best to stay in the air, but the sudden force was too much and caused him to crash into a nearby building while Lantern crashed into a dumpster.

The Kryptonian managed to shield the Omega from the damage and brunt of their fall by wrapping him in his body. When Y/N realized they weren't falling anymore and had come to a complete stop, he peeked from the Alpha's hold, just in time to see the return of a certain Speedster who must have run up the side of the building to where they were now.

"Are you guys alright?" Flash asked, his eyes landing on the Omega in Superman's arms.

"I'm fine," Y/N nodded, and Flash sighed in relief.

"A vortex, Flash? Really?" Superman questioned with a raised eyebrow, still holding the Omega to his body.

"It was the quickest way to get you two out of the air without hurting anyone," Flash defended, crossing his arms.

"By throwing us into a building?"

"Better than the ground."

"You could have gotten him killed!"

"You were the one holding him!"

"Guys, I'm fine. I promise," Y/N interrupted, and the two Alphas turned to him.

"See, he's fine. Let's get back to the fight," Flash suggested, turning to leave.

"No, not until he's mine," Superman shook his head, and the Omega groaned. He stood up from the ground, letting the Omega stand on his own feet, but keeping an arm wrapped body to prevent him from running off.

"Not this again," Flash sighed, turning back, "You can't claim him."

"And why not?"

"Because he's mine," Lantern's voice suddenly joined the conversation, and the three turned to see the hero, seemingly recovered from his fall, walking towards them.

"No, he's mine!" Superman shouted, his eyes suddenly glowing red as he pointed them at the green-clad hero.

"Clark, no!" Flash shouted, holding his arms up in an attempt to stop the Kryptonian.

"No, he's mine. He's mine. He's mine!" The Kryptonian yelled, his eyes getting brighter.

"Clark, you're gonna kill him!"

"I don't care, Barry. No one is taking my Omega from me."

"He's not yours to claim," Lantern shouted back.

While this was all happening, everyone was oblivious to the new presence that had joined him. Only, none of the heroes could see him. Only Y/N could, and that was a very big problem.

"Eros..." Y/N muttered under his breath, narrowing his gaze at his half-brother who held a mischievous grin on his face while positioning himself slowly behind the speedster.

When Y/N realized what he was doing, he struggled in the Kryptonian's grip, "Eros, no!"

But, it was too late. The deity had taken his shot at the Flash, hitting him perfectly square in the back. The speedster flinched at the impact, turning to look around but finding nothing there, at least, nothing his sight could see. But, when he turned his gaze back around and they fell on the Omega still trapped in Superman's hands, an identical glaze to match the one in the other heroes fell over his eyes. One the half-blood was all too familiar with.

"Oh fuck..." Y/N muttered under his breath.

"Mine," Flash growled, his eyes trained on the Omega.

Before either of the two other heroes could react, Flash sped forward and landed a bunch of fast punches and blows on the Kryptonian, causing him to lose his grip on the Omega.

"Flash, what are you doing?" Lantern yelled at his comrade.

"Taking what's mine," The speedster responded, a charming but crazed look in his expression.

He grabbed Y/N and threw him over his shoulder, the Omega flailing in his grip while also trying to hold on tight as the speedster sped around the space, avoiding attacks from both Green Lantern and Superman at the same time.

"He's not yours, Barry!" Superman shouted, his heat vision shooting at the speedster who avoided it with ease.

"Yes, he is! He's mine!" The speedster yelled, clutching the Omega tighter.

"No, he's mine," Lantern yelled back, sending a giant fist toward the speedster who avoided it in a blur.

"No, he's mine!" Superman yelled, sending his heat vision at Lantern who in turn blocked it with a shield.

"No, he's mine!" The two shouted together, and the fight resumed.

Y/N, still trapped in the speedster's arms, watched helplessly as the Kryptonian and Lantern focused their attacks on each other, feeling a pat on his ass from the speedster who tightened the grip he had around his legs.

"Don't worry about them, beautiful. They're not worthy enough to have you. I am. You'll be mine, and I'll protect you from the others," Flash's voice was husky, and the Omega could feel his heart pounding against his chest.

"You're under a spell, Flash. You don't want to do this," Y/N tried to reason, but the speedster just laughed.

"Oh, but I do. I didn't know what actual life was until just a few minutes ago when I gazed upon you. and now that I have you, I can finally make you mine," Flash smirked, and the Omega gulped.

Flash sped out of the building with the Omega over his shoulder still, the two other Alphas only noticing their disappearance after they were already a mile down the street.

"Shit, where did he take him?" Lantern asked, looking around.

"I don't know," Superman answered, "But we'll find him. And when we do, you'll be the one who has to step aside."

"Like hell, I will!"

While those two continued to bicker, Flash ran himself and the Omega all the way back to Central City. Y/N was amazed at how he didn't pass out from the speed and movement, but he was grateful he didn't. Also, having superspeed may have made it a bit easier.

Just a guess.

When they finally came to a stop, the Omega was set down on his feet, and he looked around to see they were in some bedroom.

"Where are we?" Y/N asked, trying to keep his composure.

"My bedroom," Flash answered, his eyes still glazed over.

"Oh," Y/N nodded, a nervous feeling in his stomach.

"Don't worry, you're safe here," The speedster walked towards him, and the Omega backed away, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You say that, but your eyes say otherwise," Y/N responded, continuing to back away until he hit the wall.

"I know. But, I can't help it. I need to have you," Flash smirked, and the Omega felt his arousal getting excited in his pants.

"I'm not yours to have," Y/N shook his head, his heart pounding.

"Yes, you are," Flash's voice was firm, and the Omega felt his resolve fading.

"I-I'm not," Y/N stuttered, his knees getting weak.

"Yes, you are," The speedster was in front of him, and Y/N could feel his breath on his skin.

"I'm not," Y/N shook his head, but his voice was barely a whisper.

"You are," Flash whispered, his face close to the Omega's.

The very thing Y/N was concerned about happening when he was trapped with Superman earlier began to manifest, much to his fear. His divine abilities were reacting to his body's 'chemistry spikes' and now, he was beginning to mirror the Alpha's current feelings toward him, including the obsessive ones, which were now clouding his judgment.

"I'm not," Y/N shook his head, his breathing getting labored.

"You are," Flash whispered, his lips getting closer to the Omega's.

"I'm not," Y/N stuttered, his body giving in.

"You are," Flash whispered, pressing his lips to the Omega's.

"I'm not," Y/N muttered against his lips.

"You are," Flash said firmly, pulling the Omega's body closer to him.

In a move Y/N thought was him going to push against the Alpha in an attempt to resist his seductions, he actually was running his hands up and down the spandex-covered muscles. His legs were spread open by the speedster as he hoisted him up, wrapping them around his waist while pressing him to the wall, kissing him even harder while undressing his clothes.

"You're mine, Y/N," The speedster whispered, his lips trailing down the Omega's neck, "All mine."

"I'm yours, Barry," Y/N panted, his body flushed. Y/N remembered hearing Superman call the speedster by that, figuring it must have been either his civilian name or a codename they had. Either way, he could see from the delighted expression across the Flash's face and his blue eyes through the slits of his mask that he was very pleased by it.

"Say it again."

"I'm yours, Barry. I'm yours."

"That's right, beautiful. You're mine, and I'm yours. You'll never have to worry about other Alphas again, because I'll protect you from them."

The sun's light cascaded through the open windows in the bedroom as the two continued frotting against each other against the wall. Barry trailed his kisses from Y/N's lips down to his neck and eventually to his naked chest, before sucking on his wet nipples while the Omega through his head back in pleasure, the Alpha looking up at him with his blue eyes before taking his lips away from the leaking nubs.

"Do you like that, darling?" Barry asked, and the Omega nodded, his eyes glazed over, "Are you ready for more?"

"Y-Yes, Alpha," Y/N nodded, his breath labored.

"Good boy," Barry whispered, his voice husky and deep. He kissed the Omega one last time on the lips before pulling him away from the wall, carrying him bridal style to the bed.

Barry laid the Omega down, the latter spreading his legs open in submission and invitation, and the former smirked, climbing on top of the bed. Barry pressed kisses to the side of the Omega's neck again, right over his scent gland before taking a big sniff.

"Just the smell of you gets me excited, darling."

Barry's hands roamed the Omega's upper naked body, feeling the smooth and soft skin while trailing his fingers down his sides and to his hips. Y/N gasped, his hands gripping the sheets as the speedster's fingers teased the inside of his thighs.

"I love the way your skin feels, and the way your body reacts to me," Barry whispered, his nose pressing into the Omega's scent gland.

"Barry," Y/N moaned, his body arching off the bed.

"Say it again," Barry growled, his hands squeezing the Omega's hips.

"Barry," Y/N moaned, his eyes closed.

"That's right, baby. I'm Barry, and you're mine," Barry whispered, his fingers moving up the Omega's inner thighs.

"I'm yours," Y/N nodded, his legs spreading open even wider.

However, before Barry could move to remove the Y/N’s pants, the Omega whined at him, tugging on the spandex of his suit and mask with his hands causing a cheesing smile to appear across the Alpha's face.

"Aw, you want to see me out of my suit, don't you, darling?" Barry asked, and the Omega nodded frantically.

"Yes, Alpha. Please."

"Good boy," Barry praised, and the Omega whimpered.

He quickly removed his gloves and masks, tossing them aside before unzipping the top of his suit and pulling it off, revealing his sculpted and muscled chest. Y/N's eyes widened in delight and appreciation at the sight, reaching his hands out to touch the smooth and pale skin.

The Omega moaned happily at the sight, running his hands down the hard pecs and abs while leaning up to press his own kisses against the skin. Barry shuddered above him from the move while resuming his earlier actions of removing the offending pants and underwear that were hiding his prize from his sight.

Tossing the pants aside, he leaned up and took in the sight of the fully naked Omega, writhing on his sheets and whining for him, feeling his own throbbing hard erection under his suit pants.

"Look at you, darling. So beautiful, and all mine," Barry ran his hands down the Omega's sides, creating a tickling feeling that had the smaller male giggling, "I can't wait to claim your body, all for me," he growled, voice husky with want.

Barry kissed his way down the Omega's chest, taking a moment to bite and lick at the leaking nubs again before gripping his thighs and spreading them open. He positioned his head between the open legs while staring at the tight, slick-producing hole in front of him. He lapped his tongue to gather of taste of it on his tongue, Y/N flinching violently at the sensation while calling out the Alpha's name.

"Delicious," Barry muttered, before diving in on the wet treat in front of him.

"Oh fuck," Y/N moaned, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly.

Barry's tongue lapped at the dripping slick, his hands gripping the Omega's thighs tight and pushing them open even further to gain better access. Y/N moaned, his back arching off the bed while the Alpha's tongue entered his hole, tasting him from the inside.

"Barry, please. Please, I need it. Please," Y/N begged, his body shaking with arousal and want.

Barry didn't listen to him though, he kept feasting on the Omega's arousal while using his speed to vibrate his tongue inside him, causing the Omega to moan even louder, his body shaking with pleasure.

"Barry, please! a-ah, fuck ... !" Y/N cried, his body shaking even more.

"What do you need, baby? Tell me," Barry asked, pulling his tongue out and looking at the Omega with a smirk.

"I-I need you... Please, please," Y/N begged, and the Alpha smiled.

"You want me, baby?"

"Yes, Alpha. Please, I need you. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

The Alpha discarded the rest of his suit and underwear, his throbbing erection springing free, causing the Omega to lick his lips at the sight. Barry chuckled at his reaction while pulling him down the bed and picking him up in his arms, wrapping the smaller male's legs around him and pressing him against the wall.

Barry played with his cock against the Y/N's wet heat, enjoying the pleasurable reactions that ran across the Omega's face. "Who's your Alpha?" He asked with another playful smack of his mushroom head against the hot and throbbing entrance.

"Y-You, Alpha," Y/N panted, his face red and eyes glazed over.

"That's right, baby. I'm your Alpha," Barry whispered before he slowly slid inside the Omega.

"Fuck!" Y/N yelled, his head leaning back against the wall.

"So tight and warm. It's like you were made just for me, baby," Barry moaned, his cock pushing all the way in until his balls were pressed against the Omega's ass.

Y/N dug his nails into the skin of Barry's shoulders while the Alpha pressed him harder against the wall, his hips rapidly moving back and forth as he fucked him hard. The speedster's hips and legs were already dripping with more and more of the Omega's arousal as it dripped into his carpet, creating more of a mess the harder he thrust in and out of the hole.

"h-harder ... p-please, harder ..." Y/N moaned, his eyes closed while Barry sucked on his neck.

"So beautiful," Barry growled, his hands gripping the Omega's ass cheeks while thrusting harder, "Such a good little Omega, taking my cock so well."

"Barry! Barry!" Y/N moaned, his legs wrapped tighter around the Alpha's waist.

"Say it again," Barry growled, his hips moving faster.

"Barry!" Y/N moaned, his back arching.

Suddenly, Barry got the bright idea to add his speed to it, making his hips move at a pace that would be deemed impossible for any regular human. Good thing he wasn't a regular human. However, the increase in speed had Y/N shouting at the top of his lungs, tears springing to his eyes as he pounded his fists against the Alpha's hard, mildly sweaty chest.

Meanwhile, Y/N was a soaking mess. The shine from the sweat all around his body was highlighted by the sun's fading rays and the increasingly bright glow from the streetlights outside the window. Combined with the sticky fluid still leaking from his chest and the slick that was all but splashing between the Alpha and Omega.

"That's it, baby. Take my cock. Take it all," Barry growled, his hips moving faster.

"Barry, I-I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum," Y/N cried, his legs shaking.

"Do it. Cum for me, baby," Barry commanded, and the Omega followed.

"Fuck!" Y/N screamed, his back arching and his eyes rolling back into his head as he came between the two, digging nails into Barry's sweaty back as his release overwhelmed him.

"That's a good Omega," Barry said, before slipping out of the smaller male, carrying him over to the bed and propping him up on all fours.

He gripped the Omega's hips, sliding back inside him and fucking him at a rapid pace, his hips slapping against the plump ass cheeks. Y/N's eyes rolled back into his head as he cried out, his body shaking with pleasure while the Alpha fucked him.

"That's it, baby. Take it," Barry growled, his grip tightening on the Omega's hips.

"p-please, I can't... FUCK! I can't take anymore... !" Y/N cried, his body shaking as the Alpha started using his powers again to increase his speed.

"You can, and you will," Barry growled, his hips moving even faster.

"Barry, please! Fuck, I'm gonna... !"

"Do it. Cum for me, baby. Cum for your Alpha," Barry growled.

"mm ... mmh ... ! O-OHH, FUCK ... !" Y/N shouted, his back arching and his eyes rolling back into his head as he came, his legs and body shaking from the overstimulation as the Alpha started to chase his own finish.

Barry's knot started to form at the base and slowly was inching closer and closer as the Alpha fucked the Omega who was beginning to softly cry from the amount of pleasure and pain he was experiencing. His hands weakly tried to push against the speedster's hips in an attempt to slow him down but were snatched together in a grip while feeling a painful smack against his ass.

"Don't try and fight it, baby. Just let me claim you. Just let me have you," Barry growled, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Barry, I-I can't ... !" Y/N cried, his body shaking.

"Yes, you can. Just a little longer," Barry's hips started to stutter, and the Omega cried out, his legs shaking as he felt the Alpha's knot starting to press against his hole.

"Barry, please! PLEASE ... !" Y/N sobbed, his body convulsing on the inside from the overwhelming sensation.

"Just a little longer, baby. Just a little longer."

"I-I can't... Please, I can't ... !"

"Almost there, baby. Who's your Alpha?"

"Y-You... You are ... !"

"That's right, baby. I'm your Alpha. And, now I'm gonna make you mine. Forever."

With that, Barry pressed all the way inside, releasing his knot into the Omega with a loud groan as he leaned forward, catching himself on the bed as Y/N had his third orgasm against the sheets, suddenly feeling heavy and drained from the strenuous workout he just went through.

While the pair were both recovering, neither of them realized the small, matching marks that slowly appeared over their scent glands. They were now a fully mated pair, and the God of Love and Sex knew this as he peered in through the window, watching the sweaty individuals with satisfaction.

"Welp, my job's done. I'm sure Mother will be pleased with this outcome. Serves you right, brother. You should know better than to try and deny your heritage. Hope you learn well from this punishment."

With that, the deity disappeared, making his way home.

Meanwhile...

"That should be the last of them," Lantern said, flying through the air after he captured the last of the attacking minions.

"Good," Superman nodded, his eyes still glowing white as he scanned the area.

"What are you doing?" Lantern asked, looking at the Kryptonian confused.

"Looking for him."

"Who?"

"The Omega."

"Oh yeah, do you think Barry already claimed him?"

"Probably, but it doesn't matter. Cause he belongs to me, and I'm going to take him back, by whatever means necessary."

☀️ | Barry Allen/Flash | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[overwhelmed-alien]

Fire/ER Hangster Headcanons:

🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

- Bradley and Jake met in the Navy.

- Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, former SEAL, is a firefighter at Station 86.

- Pete “Maverick” Mitchell (former Naval aviator) is the fire captain and his godfather. He has a soft spot for the Navy and hires mostly retired members.

- His team consists of the Daggers, as well as Slider, Cougar, Hollywood and Wolfman, and the rest of the “‘86 boys”.

- Callie, Javy, Bob, and Phoenix are paramedics.

- Jake (former Navy medic) became a paramedic right out of the Navy; this is where he partnered with Javy and they instantly became hetero-life mates. They both ugly cried when Jake became an RN and wouldn’t be riding with Javy anymore.

- Anytime Javy brings someone into the ER he makes a point to seek out Jake and they have to enact a brief but intense ritualistic “bro” handshake, even if Jake is with a (stable) patient, complete with a bear hug and a heartfelt “I love you, man!” “I miss you, baby!”

- They do this multiple times a day.

- Rooster and Javy’s wife think their codependency is adorable.

- Dr. Beau “Cyclone” Simpson is head of the emergency department, and Jake is both a thorn in his side and his unofficial adopted child. Beau is more of a stern father figure to Jake than a boss. Although he gets yelled at more often than anyone else, everyone on the floor knows Jake is his favorite.

- Dr. Sol “Warlock” Bates is a cardiac surgeon and Beau’s best friend. Everyone loves it when Sol is doing rounds in the ER because Beau is infinitely more amicable when his bestie is with him.

- Ice is retired COMPACFLT, Mav’s former wingman and also Bradley’s godfather.

- I’m so torn between Ice and Mav being married, or if they’re hetero soulmates, with Ice married to Sarah and Mav crushing on Penny.

- Dr. Penny Benjamin is the best neurosurgeon in the hospital. Everybody is terrified of her. Jake calls her Aunt Penny.

- Jake wears mint green scrubs because they make his eyes pop. He is supposed to wear burgundy. Beau picks his battles when it comes to his problem child.

- Residents are in awe of Jake’s capabilities. He has more than once taken over for a nervous new doctor, especially with things like difficult intubations, traches, and chest tubes. “Now try doing that while people are shootin’ atcha.”

- Jake is equal parts genuinely compassionate and genuinely smug.

- Bradley is a badass rule-bender who flings himself into dangerous situations to save people. He is extremely intelligent and capable when it comes to logistics and strategy.

- He will also faint at the sight of a needle being poked into someone’s skin - doesn’t even have to be his own. He will go down like a sack of potatoes.

- Bradley is a regular at the ER. He hates seeing Jake upset (or mad), but he always gets fussed over, and a long hug and a forehead kiss, so it’s worth being in trouble. He whines and has to hide his face in Jake’s neck if an IV or shot is necessary. Nurses and residents find it endearingly sweet and pathetic, like a nervous German Shepherd at a vet. Sometimes Jake thinks Bradley plays it up a bit too much for attention, but he’s not complaining. He just smiles and holds him and pets his hair, happy that Bradshaw is safe in his arms for a moment.

- Jake stress bakes when Bradley is on long shifts just so he has a reason to drop by the firehouse to see him. When a white jeep Wrangler pulls up in front of the station, a gaggle of firefighters run out to greet Jake like excited children expecting treats.

- Bradley, in full gear, once stole a police cruiser at a scene and sped (with lights and siren) to the hospital when he heard a 911 call over the radio that there was an armed, violent person in the ER making threats and fighting personnel. The person had been apprehended by the time he got there, but Jake (who had tackled the guy), got an elbow to the face and a black eye. Bradley had to be physically restrained from yanking the handcuffed man out of police custody. Ice had to call in a favor from the governor to keep his godson out of jail (and out of the news).

- Their favorite thing to do together is cuddling/falling asleep on the couch watching reality tv like an old married couple.

- People always think Jake is a firefighter because if he’s not in scrubs he’s in Bradley’s stolen “Bradshaw - Station 86” hoodie. Bradley had to train himself early on not to be turned on this, otherwise he’d be walking around every day very uncomfortably. Sometimes he can’t help it. The sight of Jake in soft pajama pants and a hoodie with his own name across his back as he does something as innocent as toast pop tarts, or walking through the grocery store in that hoodie and a ball cap, drives him crazy (in a good, frenzied way). When people ask if Jake is a firefighter, and he proudly replies “no, my husband is the firefighter”, Bradley, who had not yet proposed, has to restrain himself from throwing Jake over his shoulder like a caveman. (This is the exact reason Jake does what he does.)

- They get married within months of Jake saying that the first time.

This is how they look at each other (or look when they’re thinking about the other) 24/7. They’re disgustingly in love. Gross. 🤭

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Cater Diamond: Woke Up Lookin’ Like This

The way that goofy diamond mascot follows Cater into his various outfits 💀

dbsjgejeje Can’t believe he’s being an beauty guru/influencer showing off makeup products and shooting a GRWM vid in his groovy… OTL

Rise and Shine!

Looking like you have it together is far different than actually having it together.

Some days—like today—Cater had trouble getting himself out of bed. He always did in the end, but with great effort, like lugging a sack of potatoes to the washroom. A splash of ice-cold water often did the trick, rousing him awake and adding a faint flush or pink to his face.

But color is a flaw. Imperfect. No pure diamond has splotches of another color tainting it.

He’d paint over his half-dead canvas with cleanser, toner, serum, and moisturizer. Skincare was less routine and more ritual for him. A special magic charm, complete with an incantation muttered to himself.

Smile already. You’re never fully dressed without it.

By the time he patted himself dry, his face managed to settle into its usual arrangement. The upward curve of his lips, a friendly sparkle set in his eyes, tangerine waves pushed back by a headband to show off the mask he wore. This was “himself”—the thinnest sliver of Cater he showed the world.

He plopped down on at the foot his bed. His phone was mounted on a tripod, and just out of camerashot were various pieces of equipment. Extra lights, reflectors—tricks to flatter him. To distract, deceive. Even the placement of the plushies on his bed had been arranged for maximum visual appeal in the eye of the camera.

Aaand… action.

The recording started.

Cater flashed a huge grin and waved to his phone. “Gooood morning, Magicam fam! How’re you doing today?”

His spectators were, of course, no one. Not now, at least. He’d have to edit this footage later, tweak and fine tune it to achieve perfection before releasing it to the public. Then he would lap up that sweet, addictive validation.

And so he donned that mask once more, playing to his imaginary audience.

“Hahah, you guys are so silly.” He playfully tossed a few of his locks. “Did you think Cay-kun woke up like this? It takes effort to look this good!”

Cater winked, pointing at his imagined audience members. “You can do it too! I’ll walk you through my base makeup routine 🎵”

He held up a slim grey tube, his palm acting as its backstop to keep the camera focused on it. Other products were neatly lined up before him like a procession of card soldiers.

“Lately, I’ve been really gravitating to this beand new UV primer! Have you heard of it? It literally just came out this month. I got my hands on it as soon as I could and I’ve been wearing it every day since!”

Cater rattled off the benefits and uses of the primer: UV protection, dewy—not greasy (this difference was important) finish, great coverage, evening skin tone. “You can put powder on top or dab it on with a tissue over a full face of makeup and it still looks good! This is sure to go viral ⭐️”

He was in the middle of a demonstration when the knocking came. Cater startled, smearing a blob of product across one cheek.

“Aaah, shoot…!”

He scrambled for his phone, cutting off the recording. Then Cater shot up, rushing to his door while rubbing the primer into his skin.

"Coming...! Wait just a sec!" he called.

An aside, to consult his reflection in the mirror and ensure that every last bit of product had been pressed in. His skin was left supple and glowing, giving the impression of a guy that hadn't spent the last hour before drifting off doomscrolling and commenting on shallow posts. A guy that had it all together.

Cater slicked back a stray strand of hair and braced himself for his next act. The door swung open, revealing you and your school bag.

“Mornin’~! You’re up bright and early!” he chirped, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Wasn’t expecting you to be over so soon.”

“Oh—well, I wanted to see if I could catch you without your full face on.” You squinted at him. “Wow, did you really wake up looking like this?"

Cater gave a laugh that was light and effortless. "What do you think?" he asked teasingly. An expert dodging of the question--not the truth, but not quite a lie either.

You bit your lower lip, considering it. "Come on. Nobody's that perfect. Even Vil-senpai has to work hard to be the way he is."

You took a step toward him, and he backed up. One foot rested on that line dividing his room from the rest of Heartslabyul. You teetered there, as if on a tightrope. One more step, and you'd breach into his territory--his room, his most intimate place.

"... What's your secret?"

My secret?

He had many. Too many. They writhed like worms inside of him, those ugly pieces that shrank from the sunshine.

Cater turned away, plucking up another tube of product. He squeezed a dollop onto his index finger. "What's the fun in giving it away? I think..."

His arm shot out, poking you in the chin.

"... It's more fun to give chase! If you spot a white rabbit hopping around, you'd be curious about where it's going, right?"

Your reached for where he had marked you. Your fingers came away moist with a thick cream. With a sigh, you rubbed at it, the cream vanishing into your skin.

"You're impossible."

Cater smiled--perhaps for the first real time since he had woken up. "That's one impossibility! Come up with five more before breakfast and maybe I'll be nice enough to give you a hint~"

[konigslittleliebling]

MEAN SOAP MEAN SOAP!! soap who's all broody and grumpy after a messed up mission, and takes all his frustrations out on you :( (angry soap in mw3 changed my life)

yes yes yes angy!soap is my favourite soap 🤭🤭

this is a little long so… TUCK IN 🍽️ (i hope i ate this up too for ruru’s sake)

## need ya, bonnie.

johnny mactavish x wife!reader. mdni below the cut!

he’s never been happier to get home. the shambolic aftermath, not even that, but the overall execution, leaves a weight on his shoulders — tense and stocky. losing a teammate is already tragic and absolutely fucking harrowing, but they didn’t have to die. they didn’t have to die for such an ignominious outcome, at the hands of a traitor, no less. shot through the crown of his skull. bam, down. like a sack of spuds. the mission was a shoddy endeavour. it wouldn’t be so vexatious if they hadn’t gone out so ingloriously, and for what? nothing. an unsuccessful attempt. the task force got out by the skin of their fucking japs’ eyes. of course the blame fell on price; poor fucker already held himself accountable anyway. ghost could only shake his head, hanging it low. should’a been me, he said. gaz was shaken, understandably so. they were particularly close, and he saw it happen. johnny’s furious. seething. steaming at the ears — like a rodeo bull at the business end of a red cloak.

he sees you through the window, then. there you are — chirpy little thing at the kitchen stove, his son babbling nonsense on your hip. his lips stretch somewhat upward and for a second he almost musters a smile, but it falls as quickly as it arose. you looks so happy without him. you don’t know he’s back yet; he wasn’t due home for a week. price had dismissed 141 for grievance purposes. compassionate leave, he called it. the intrusive thoughts start spiralling, silly voices — talking at him just to make noise and cause trouble. you’d be better off, they say. johnny can’t say he doesn’t agree. a sweet lady in her prime, so you are. what the hell are you doing with a lad like him? a man with baggage and a dog shite temperament. but you see the good in everyone. even johnny. the best of the worst is something, he supposes. even if that’s all he’ll ever amount to.

“johnny.” is gruffed lowly from behind him and he turns, cerulean blues landing on a tired pair of hazels. “what’s the problem?” simon had been watching the cogs crank within the sergeant’s head, gaze flitting between the scot and you who still obliviously prepares supper in the warmth of your house. “c’mon, lt.” johnny dodges the question, opting to invite him inside instead. “manchester’s at least a nine-hour treck from here. wifey won’t mind makin’ up the spare bed.”

simon narrows his eyes, blonde brows knitting together. “she might not, but i do. i’ll stop overnight somewhere, mactavish.” but the driver’s door is swung open, johnny holding it for him with a ushering wave of his hand. “the fuck ya will, lt, it’s nae bother. my wee tot’ll be happy ta see his uncle simon.” the manc parts his lips to reject the offer once more but your cooking smells bloody devine wafting through the breeze from the open window, and a rumbling of his stomach speaks before he can. “i’ll stay for some of your missus’ grub, then i’ll be making tracks. point me in the direction of a b ‘n b, yeah?” so johnny nods in agreement to that. it should give him plenty of time.

so when a startling knock almost rattles the front door off its hinges, you jump — wooden spoon falling from your fingers to land in the casserole that simmers on the hob. having plonked your toddler in his high chair, you pad across the oak hardwood in a pair of fluffy socks to answer the door, not before consulting the peep hole. your husband smirks back at you like he knows you’re looking at him through the circular one-way glass, its his rule that you check it before opening the door after all. you refrain the urge to squeal as you fling it open, pearly whites on full display as you beam up at him. “johnny!?”

he says nothing, just slings a heavy arm around your middle. his fingers bite into your side, digging into the soft dip of your waist but you’re too overjoyed to protest. he pushes you back into the hallway, face burrowing into the crook of your neck and your cheeks burn — eyes finally noticing he brought company. your hands press against his chest but his iron grip still holds you to his front, lips starting to suck your earlobe between them. “john. stop.” you whisper, a little flustered and definitely overwhelmed. you’re very much aware of the smell of something burning and the presence of a six-foot-something lieutenant stood awkwardly in your doorway — issued duffel bags at his feet.

“a’right, love.” simon bluntly greets and you manage to send a fleeting wave his way before he’s mumbling something alone the lines of ‘christ on a bleedin’ cross’, expression clearly frowning behind the skull mask. “need ya, dove. let’s go upstairs, aye?” johnny nips at the shell of your ear, hands dragging southbound to grope the plump meat of your hind. you squirm against him, leveraging your knee to press into the swelling bulge that hardens against your belly. “stop it.” you hiss to which he growls, loosening his grip of you in a moment of weakness in response to your refusal. you wiggle free, fixing your hair and straightening your clothes as you trot back into the kitchen like nothing happened, leaving your hubby to watch you scamper off with a brooding glare.

you hug simon, the larger man’s hand sliding to pat your back in response. “it’s great to have you here, si! johnny didn’t tell me you’s two were coming.” you point to the calendar that dangles from a loch ness fridge magnet. the following tuesday is marked inside a love heart with ‘johnny - home’ and a smiley face doodled beside it. “i would’ve been more prepared.” you add, casting a scowl your husband’s way — still skulking in the low light of the hall. there’s a thick silence — easily sliceable with that of a spoon. simon clears his throat, the tension frosty and a little unnerving. he takes a seat at the table, thumb and forefinger gently pinching at his godson’s chubby cheek. chunky wee fella. dribble down his chin, food on his bib. spit of johnny, just with your eyes.

“what’s for dinner, love?” simon asks you and you sigh, plucking some tongs from the utensil pot to fish for the spoon that bobs around in the casserole — boiled over with chunks of charred meat floating in it. “it was beef casserole. i was gonna divvy it into tupperware and refrigerate it for the week. it’s ruined now.” johnny rolls his eyes. someone got fucking slotted in the head on the field today and you’re bellyaching over some burnt food? “bonnie, need a word.” he rasps, finally strolling into the room where your son makes grabby hands at him. johnny scrubs a hand over the child’s head, tussling his thin, brown hair and muttering a quick ‘hey, my boy.’ before his eyes are back on you — expectant and demanding.

you’re not thick, you know that look. you see it every time he has a bad day at the office. a failed mission, a dispute with a new recruit, any time he has to take the high road. he doesn’t need a word, he wants to take his anger out on the thing between your legs. his poor anger management is how you ended up with a kid. he picks up on your unwilling attitude immediately — the arch of your brow, the flat line of your pursed mouth. you’re prancing around in some skimpy cycling shorts and one of his shirts with a stinking attitude, and he wonders if you had an incling he’d be home tonight. mother’s intuition or whatever the fuck. he’s not too sure what, but he’s thankful all the same.

“sweetie… you just got here. sit down and spend some time with your family. it can wait until after dinner.” you snap back, turning away to whip something up from scratch, not before casting him a grim look. “fuck dinner.” he snarls, and the uncomfortable silence returns. “simon can plate himself some fish fingers or somethin’. i need a word, now. upstairs.” his energy matches yours, maybe overpowers it a little. you’re flabbergasted by his use of language within earshot of your young son; he’s learning to talk and the last thing you want is for his first word to be one of filth. “fish fingers sounds lovely.” simon chips in, fingers drumming against the table surface. he’s hoping you’ll just give in and let johnny fuck you dumb so be can eat in peace, maybe converse with the youngin at his side. at least then he can be guaranteed an intelligent conversation. “dunno what’s up with the pair of ya. usually y’r all kurt an’ goldie. gowan, have ya tiff elsewhere so i can make me an’ the little one some scran.”

you look between both men, one disinterested and blatantly bored in the company of marital friction whilst the other shoots icicles into your soul with a cold stare. your shoulders slump and you push yourself from leaning against the counter with a sigh. “right y’are, then.” you clench a tight hand around johnny’s wrist, slender fingers barely able to wrap around it. “a quick word.” your husband rolls his eyes at your emphasis, trailing after you like a bad pup. the floors of the upper floor creak when you reach it, and you can hear the echos of your child’s laughter whilst simon no doubt keeps him entertained with silly stories or a jarring serenade. you push the door to your bedroom open, johnny’s hand harsh on the small of your back like a paper weight.

“so what-” he cuts you off with a hard kiss, messy and clumsy without his usual technique — just tongue, teeth and saliva. “john.” you warn against his lips, pushing him off and wiping your slobbery, puffy-lipped mouth on the back of your hand. he huffs, approaching you again in a single stride and uses his large arm to cage you against the wall. “bonnie, please. no talkin’. just let me ‘ave ya.” you frown, hands gliding up to his sturdy chest. “what happened, johnny? you get like this after something big.”

he stops, finally. forehead falling to rest against yours. he’s been sweating, pupils slightly dilated and you can smell a stale hint of booze on his breath; they must’ve stopped off at the local beforehand. you lift your hands to cup the crisp angles of his jaw, sharp and stubbly thanks to the 5 o’clock shadow that peppers it. “talk to me, john.” but he’s silent still, eyes drooping to a close as he leans into the familiar comfort of your touch. you really are what sedates him. he’s been like this before, when he lost someone during a mission. the penny drops, then. “who did you lose?” the question is whispered but you might as well have spat it at him because his eyes shoot open, predatory and not all there.

“johnny?”

“need ya.” he growls, lifting you so swiftly that you barely register that your feet are off the ground. before you know it you’re spread eagle on your shared bed, whiplashed a little from the forceful way he threw you down — but for now that’s the least of your worries. “johnny, you’d feel far better with some food in your belly—” you’re cut off by the sound of your shorts ripping, yanked clean off like they were never there. you’re about to express how much you liked those shorts, but he’s on top of you, lips attaching to yours desperately. ravenously. so you guess he’s feasting on you tonight. “would rather put a bairn in yours.” he snarls into your mouth, tongue wrestling with yours. something stirs within you, arousal seeping through your panties. “let me take care of you then, hm?” you propose instead. at least then you can go at your own controlled pace. last time you let him take his anger out on you, you couldn’t walk for two days, sit upright for five, and your piss burnt for a week. you like to joke that labour was the least painful part of the process compared to how you actually got pregnant.

“no.” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt. “take that off.” his juts his chin in gesture to his shirt that you wear, baggy and draping over your chest. you’re not wearing a bra underneath, your nipples are pebble-hard beneath the material. the notion that simon may have noticed too infuriates him further, strong hands flying to strip you off himself. “tight shorts that show most’f that arse.” he’s talking through clenched teeth, hands slithering to rid of those knickers next. “tits showin’ through my tee.” you whimper at the implication, hips wiggling beneath his large thighs. “tryin’ ta make me mad, bonnie?” you shake your head, small hands reaching for him. “no, love. wasn’t expecting you’s, remember?”

he hums, maybe so. but he’s making himself angrier which means more pent-up rage that you can fall victim to. fuck he’s so hard, cockhead twitching at the thought of disciplining you for fuck-all. he can’t punish who really provoked this resentment. might as well take it out on his two favourite girls, no? pointedly, he pats your bare pussy. wet and ready for him. it would seem you’re into this too. “gonna take what’s mine, ‘kay? need this.” you nod at his words in silent consent, not that he needs it. he can always have you, he knows that.

with the hard length of his cock sprung free, slapping against the v-line of his stomach, he rolls his hips against yours so the head of his dick can meander through the slick of your folds. it’s delightful, your clit responding to the friction with subtle tingles to its nerve endings. “go on, love.” you coo, fingers stroking the strength of his back. “let it all out.” and oh boy there goes his go-to and he’s not holding back now. with a snap of his hips he’s inside you, filling you to the brim until his heavy balls clap against your arse. your eyes pinch shut at the sudden breach, his intrusion burning your cunt and stretching you impossibly. you dig your nails into his skin, half-moons cutting into the ridges of his shoulder blades.

johnny groans, mouth falling open and eyes lidding heavily like drapes. you’re so beautiful beneath him, struggling to take him as tears water your eyes and little gasps tumble down your chin. just what he needed. he begins to move, teeth gritted as your pussy clenches around his prick. he’s engraving himself inside of you, your cunny memorising him inch by inch. he slots into you like a glove every time; your spongy walls already familiar with his generous shape. he groans a barely audible ‘fuck, lassie’ against your sweaty neck and you mewl, legs locking around his middle which only allows him to sink deeper. you know what’s coming, you’re plenty prepared and yet you somewhat dread the oncoming treatment of your insides — soon to be rearranged.

as if on cue, he retracts almost completely until only his cockhead remains sheathed by you, before fucking back in with brute force. you lurch backwards, your head smacking the wood of your headboard. you wince, which he ignores, presuming you can’t handle his size after being away from his cock for some months. he rises on his hands, elbows locked beneath him whilst he drills into your tight hole, a frown printed on his face like war paint. droplets of sweat drip from his forehead onto your bouncing chest, tits jolting with the speed of his thrusts. “hell’s bells, bonnie. so good f’me.”

you groan, mouth trapped in an ‘O’ shape as you take his beatings between your legs, the base of his cock squelching against you as he pumps your juices from you like a plunger. his rhythm never slows, never falters. he’s consistent in thrashing himself into you, tip slamming into the velvety roof of your cunt each time without fail. “too- hmf! too hard.” you try to tell him, voice cracking mid-sentence when he hits the spot every single time, hips bashing against yours. your pussy makes lewd, suctioning noises with each entry of his cock, and johnny only grunts when you clamp around his girth, swallowing him further into your guts. “not hard enough.” he corrects, quickening his thrusts. jesus christ you see stars, head spinning as a white heat rockets from your core to narrow on your cunt.

he’s snarling above you, fucking all his pent-up emotion into you. you’ve never seen him in such a worked up state — fury in his eyes. he’s not showing your pussy any mercy, persistent in this vendetta. you hope he’ll talk to you about it tomorrow. you’re willing to wager you’ll be in bed for a while after, waiting for the feeling in your lower region to return. you know that mentally he’s absent, probably picturing a grotesque scene of bloodthirsty vengeance whilst in the meantime he tortures your tight cunt.

he rises on his hunches, kneeling up so he can bend your legs so your thighs press against your breasts, knees almost touching your chin. tears start to pool in their ducts with the new angle, your husband’s cock ploughing into you roughly with the same grim expression still present on that handsome face. the chord in your stomach tightens. the sight of his rage paired with the bliss of these animalistic humps like he’s in heat, proves to be something you find yourself drunk on. he’s probing at the entrance to your cervix, the puckered rim of your pussy stretching around his base and you fear you might split with the width.

“oh fuck, johnny.” you garble, hands curling around the backs of your bent knees. his remain firm on the backs of your thighs, thick digits splayed around them almost entirely. he knows you’re close, he is too. you can feel him throbbing within you, your string on the verge of snapping. johnny growls, jaws tense as every muscular tendon in his body ripples with his strain. there’s a thin film coating his tanned skin, a slick sheen illuminating his sculpted features in the dim room. he’s beautiful, and it tips you over the edge as you constrict him like a boa. the iron vice that your pussy has around him sends him reeling forward, chest pressing into yours as he fucks you both through it.

his hips stutter, pace stammering like a broken sentence as he pumps you full of his thick load — webs of creamy spunk shooting into your womb as you milk him dry of any last drop. the room is filled with your oxygen-greedy panting, the window fogged and air humid. johnny rolls to the side, keeping his softening cock in your warmth so he can tuck you into his front. “do you feel better?” you ask him, voice murmured into his firm pectorals. he only hums a ‘mhmm’, scarred hand rubbing up and down the curve of your spine. “did i hurt ya?”

“a little. i’ll be sore tomorrow.” you honestly say, wincing at the mere thought of standing up. he pats your back. “sorry, lass. got carried away.” he could say that again. your nuzzle your nose into his neck, inhaling his natural scent.

“can i take my hands off junior’s ears yet?!” simon’s voice carries up the stairs and you want the ground to swallow you up at the thought of how loud you’d been. “uh, yeah! we’ll be right down!” you call back, cheeks burning at the fact you’ll have to show your face to the world again.

“we’re terrible people.” you sigh, hiding yourself against johnny’s chest.

“aye.” he agrees with a disinterested yawn. “next time we’ll let him watch. simon, i mean.”

[bitterrfruit]

Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

[unboundprompts]

Hello! Could you do a cowboy/wild west terms & phrases?

Thank you!

Cowboy / Wild West Terms and Phrases

-> The Chief Storyteller

-> Cowboyaccountant

A Lick and a Promise - to do haphazardly.

Above Snakes - If you were “above snakes,” you were above ground; still alive.

Acknowledge the Corn - admit the truth, to confess a lie, or acknowledge an obvious personal shortcoming.

An Invite to a Dance - could mean shooting at a man’s feet to make him dance.

Bake - to overheat a horse by riding too fast, long, or hard.

Barkin’ at a Knot - Doing something useless; wasting your time, trying something impossible.

Barn sour - horse that loves his stall; speeds up the pace as he nears the barn on the journey home.

Bedroll - Blankets rolled and carried for sleeping.  Also called sugans, soogans, hot rolls, or dream sacks.

Bee in Your Bonnet -  An idea.

Boondocks, Boonies - far from civilization.

Broom-Tail -  a negative term for an ill-behaved or ugly horse, often a horse that looks or acts like a mustang.

Burn the Breeze - ride at full speed.

Chuckwagon - A wagon used to carry food on a cattle drive, which also serves as a mobile kitchen.

Clipped his Horns -  took him down a notch or two; referring to a fight or a braggart.

Cowboss -  In charge of the cattle operation on a ranch.  They choose where the cowboys will ride and hire and fire cowboys.  Answers to the general manager or ranch owner.

Curly wolf -  real tough guy, dangerous man.

Dilly-dally - loiter or vacillate.

Flannel mouth - overly smooth or fancy talker, especially politicians or salesmen. 

Night-Wrangler -  A cowboy that herds and cares for the saddle horses during the night. 

Pull in your horns -  back off, quit looking for trouble.

Rustler -  A horse or cattle thief.

That Dog Won’t Hunt - That idea or argument isn’t going to work. Or, the person saying it doesn’t believe what you’re saying.

Will Die Standin’ Up -  brave

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[pedge-page]

Nobody Knows My Girlfriend is a Werewolf

Joel Miller x Werewolf F!Reader

Here's my late halloween contribution!

Warnings: monster sex, werewolf!reader, brief rimming, ball nipping, oral m!receiving, breeding kink, battle of dominance

18+ ONLY

- - - -

‘HeY! Tommy—shh!—no sorry not you I’m just—fuck, stop that!”

Burying the receiving end of the phone into his shirt, Joel puts his finger to his lips to shush you before shoving your clawed hand away. He puts the speaker back on his ear. “Sorry we—“

A strong growl rumbles below Joel.

“You got a dog or something?” Tommy chuckles on the other end.

“Uhhh--“ Joel looks down at you, now on all fours and nudging his clothed sack with your pointed snout. “StoP! Shit--“ he tries to push your nose away but you keep coming back, inhaling deeply through your blackened sniffer with heightened senses. You let out a low howl from your throat of approval, pawing at his jeans now to get them off. “Y-yeah— I mean no! We’re watching a friend’s dog—“

“You gonna keep it?”

“Wh-no. She’s being a —very-bad-dog!” He enunciates at you. “I’m gonna tell them she can’t play here anymore when she’s like this.”

You scoff, knowing deep inside your wolf brain he’s full of empty threats. 

If you really wanted to annoy him, you’d crush his phone under your foot, pin him down, and force you needs onto him. you'd actaully done that before, only to wake up with little memory next to a Joel who looked like he got hit by truck.

You were actually being a VERY good girl tonight given the circumstances.

He pushes you away with finality, walking away towards the bedroom.

You should try to behave, but its so difficult once this shape takes form. It's like asking a kid on halloween to wait to open candy until he's out of his costume and washed up for bed. you couldn't communicate with him, your wolf-like vocal cards unable to form words. But your gestures lead to pretty obvious intentions, and Joel was not getting it one bit.

Luckily, he isn’t prepared when you pounce on his back, making him grunt an “oof!” And falling flat on the bed.

“Joel?” Tommy asks, concern laced in his voice from the other end of the call.

“Shit—Yeah I’m—alright…stubbed my toe.”

You flip him around like he’s nothing. In your current state, he actually does weigh nothing to you. He tries not to yell as you start literally tearing his jeans off, the shredded denim falling by your side.

He coughs, trying to play it cool as if some monster didn't just rip all his clothes off with a single swipe. “I’m gonna have to—“ your sharp teeth pull down his boxers, revealing his rapidly hardening cock. A devilish grin spreads across your elongated mouth, salvia pooling in drops and falling to his stomach.

“Don't!—F-FUck!” He yelps as you wrap your sticky, long tongue around his member, a full 360 covering from base back up to the tip. Your warm breath is fanning his mushroom tip as your tongue jerks him off, granting you a hum of approval. Joel’s eyes go a little crossed, leaning back into the pillow and feeling himself float. “Tommy—No I’m not getting off right now—“ he furls his brows, unable to put his eyes on you and instead, pushes his palm along your furry forehead, knees digging into the matress trying to get away from your grip.

You growl again at his profuse denial of you. 

Shredding his shirt off as well, your leathered paws glide roughly over his chest and soft stomach.  You lick over his nipples, down to his naval and soaking his happy trail with slobbery kisses before returning to suckle his cock easily in your mouth.

In human form, Joel’s girth is impossible to take in one go, leaving you often choking and having to jack the rest of his member with your other two hands. But when you’re in wolf form, with your now larger frame and more importantly, longer chops, he fits just perfectly without any trouble. You had gotten pretty good at avoiding scraping with your larger teeth, instead now pressing your twitching nose deep into his pelvis while his cock breaches your throat heavenly. He closes his eyes, arched up in bliss and forgetting his brother on the phone.

“Tommy—I’m—not feeling great… this dog…I gotta—I’m—“

You flips him over again to his face, your tongue slitting between his ass cheeks and gliding over his taint. Joel lets out a shocked whine when you prod at his hole, glazing over it until slick from your saliva coats his entrance enough to slip the very tip inside. 

“‘Mgonnahavetocallyouback—“ Joel smashes the end call button with stumbled fingers. 

“You’re not putting anything in my ass tonight,” he groans as you lap at his entrance. 

You snap at him angrily, nudging his balls with your nose again. He feels your teeth nip along them as gently but hungrily as possible, hoping he’ll finally take the hint.

“Do you want me to fill you or not?” He asks, turning over and tossing his phone.

Your tail wags excitedly, fast panting jiggling your belly.

You lean back, spread your legs, as two clawed fingers spread your hairy folds. He can see it glistening with hormonal juices even with the slick fur around it. You lazily roll your paw in circled motions, a general amount of your wolf pussy juices dribbling down below and fillinig the room. Tongue lolled to the side with a heavy look in your eyes, your quick breaths dry you out, licking over your chops over and over again as Joel positions himself between your legs, his leaking cock in one hand.

“Ugh—wait—“

He reaches behind him to fish a few viagra’s, knowing even he will tire after a few round of half dozen, but you’ll be needing his seed pounded deep into your womb for at least 15 times tonight.

He mounts you like a dog, one foot propped up on the bed while the other steadies on his knee. “You gonna be a good pup tonight?”

You shake your head no teasingly, spreading yourself wider for him.

“No? How else am I gonna fill ya with a litter?”

You whine out dramatically, pleading with him. He keeps slapping his dick along your slit, giving himself a good warm pussy soaking without actually doing you any favors. “Not sure you’re worth breeding with pups since you’ve been so—“

Your jaws snap shut with a vibrating growl. One whole paw wraps around Joel’s waist as you hoist him towards you, his dick finally penetrating your walls. You let out a delicious howl, using him to fuck yourself. 

“HEY I’m not—shit baby—not a fuckin—toy!” It’s so easy for him to get lost in your cunt, internally much warmer and almost sucking him back in for more. You’re probably meant to take another werewolf’s cock, a werewolf’s knot, something proportionate, but you always go feral for Joel. And Joel’s a blessed guy down there. You enjoy the fact that you can be stretched wide in human form, but needing no preamble in wolf form.

And wolf or not, Joel Miller has breeder balls. The scent alone of his seed swimming inside them sends you into early heat each time, leading to nights like this where you’re biting at his sack then pinning him down until he dumps load after sticky load into your womb.

He doesn’t have a knot, but having human cock in werewolf pussy has its perks. Like how he can push deep inside, his balls snugly pressed against your entrance until they slip inside too. The two of you groan lowly as he ruts himself inside you. Your walls practically swallow his cock and balls all in one, refusing to let him pop them back out. Warm and wet, you can feel all of his twitching inside you, ready to give you those pups you’d been begging him for. Whether he understood that or not from you, it didn’t matter.

Joel grips your fur tight as he splatters his cum inside you. Maybe this time, it’s deep enough that it’ll take.

Even so, you’ve got the rest of the night to find out.

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

[charliemwrites]

Good morning. Chapter 8. 😈

(Okay I was a lil wrong. Not full smut, but some spice.)

CW for violence, threats, non-con groping. Reader has a “bad” time and Simon is a bastard. Stay safe while reading!

He doesn’t kill Brandon immediately. No, no that little sack of spare organs deserves a long, slow, thoughtful death. But he doesn’t need to be able to walk for that.

Besides, Simon has a little bunny to track down.

And when he picks up your trail, oh. Oh. You are in so much trouble.

Somehow, you managed to shimmy a window open just enough to squeeze through. Out into a goddamn blizzard. At the very least, he notices when he finds your tracks, you put some boots on.

Catching up to you is pitifully easy. Longer legs and more experience in extreme terrain like this - you’ve barely made it to the tree line before he snatches you up.

“No!” You shout. There’s something so fucking cute about it. The pitch, the indignance mixed with despair. His shoulder shake a bit as he hauls you over her shoulder. “No, Riley, put me down!”

“Name’s Simon, luv.”

“I don’t care!”

“You will.”

He carries you, kicking and squirming and shouting back towards the lodge. Only starts to lose patience when he loses his grip a bit and nearly drops you on a hard sheet of ice.

He growls, digs his fingers into your plush thigh. “If you don’t fucking behave, I will spank you raw right fucking here. With your face in the snow.”

You gasp. Pause. Then go limp, sniffling and crying as he carries you back inside. He dumps you gently in front of the fire on your stomach, pins you down with his boot in the center of your back when you instantly try to scramble away.

“Where did those good manners go, sunshine?” he teases.

“Fuck manners,” you cry, pressing your wet face into your arms.

“No, baby, see? Those good manners are why you’re still alive. So sweet, so nice.” He leans down, careful not too put too much pressure on your abdomen. “Too sweet and nice to die.”

You hitch with a quiet noise. “Why are you doing this? Another lesson?”

“Mm. Could make it another lesson, couldn’t I? But no, luv. This all just for you, because I want to.”

As if on cue, Brandon comes crawling into view whimpering and begging for you to help him. Simon, annoyed by the interruption, snaps at him to shut up.

“Speaking of what I want you to do…” He drops to his knees, straddling your ass. You jolt when you feel the unmistakable hardness pressed against it. Takes everything in him not to grind. “I want to peel this little prick’s skin of square by square.”

Both you and Brandon make frightened noises at that. Simon rolls his eyes and continues.

“I’d settle for letting him bleed out from the stomach or lighting him on fire if he apologizes though.”

“F-for what?” Brandon demands.

Simon buries his fingers in your snow-wet hair because if he doesn’t, he’s going to take this idiot apart piece by piece right in front of you. Seems like a bit much for a second date.

“To her, for being a fucking pervert.”

“I’m not the sick fuckin-“

“S-Simon, please,” you pipe up, voice quiet and wobbly. “D-don’t do this, don’t hurt him.”

He clicks his tongue. “Little late for that, eh?”

“Just… please. He’s suffered enough hasn’t he?”

He laughs. Can’t help it. You just don’t get it yet, do you?

“He touched you. He upset you.”

You swallow. “You’re upsetting me.”

“You’re mine.”

You suck in a breath and finally, finally seem to understand.

“Then…. Then just leave him be. F-for me?”

Simon sighs, but can’t help the fondness that flares in his chest. Such a smart, kind little thing.

“Tell you what, sunshine, I’ll make you a deal.”

He shuffles back a bit, captures both your little wrists with one hand. You don’t try to struggle, know better now. He could purr; such a fast learner too. He draws you up on your knees, leaning you back against his chest.

“If I win, he watches what I do to you and then dies nice and slow like he deserves,” he murmurs in your ear.

You tremble. “W-what are you gonna do to me?”

He grins wickedly, trailing cool blood-stained fingers beneath your shirt. “Nothin’ you’re not already gaggin’ for.”

You jerk a bit, that precious flame of defiance brightening. “I’m not-!”

“Then prove me wrong and take the bet.”

“W-wait what happens if I win?”

He snorts softly, nuzzles his mask into your cheek. Likes the way you shift uncomfortably.

“I’ll stop. Hell, you know what? I’ll turn myself in. Brandon gets to live and you go to therapy and I got to prison, yeah?”

You turn to him, eyes huge and mouth parted in shock. Hook, line, and fuckin’ sinker. Oh, sweet thing, you never stood a chance.

“Deal?” he asks.

You only hesitate for a beat, know that it’s off. Too good to be true.

“If you don’t take the deal, I’ll just continue with our regularly scheduled programming.”

“No!” you gasp. “I-I’ll take the deal. What… what’s the bet?”

“Well,” he purrs, tracing aimless patterns along your sensitive tummy. “Since you’re so sure that you’re not gaggin’ for my cock - you win if this pretty cunt isn’t drippin’ wet for me.”

And he sees it, the exact millisecond that you realize you’re going to lose this bet. You squeeze your eyes shut, a little sob escaping you.

Brandon makes a horrified noise on the other end of the carpet.

“You can’t be fucking serious?! You’re fucking-”

That’s quite enough of that. Simon can’t have you feeling ashamed of something that’s only natural.

“You say another fucking syllable and you’ll be eating your own eyeball.”

Your stomach hitches with disgust. He shushes and coos to you, “I know, I know. Gross nasty, hm? But I can’t have him speaking ill of you, sunshine.”

He tugs the mask up to the bridge of his nose, places a slow kiss against the corner of your jaw.

“Now, for our wager…”

You turn your face away as his hand trails down your abdomen, thumb sweeping over your navel. You shiver as he toys with the waistband of your pants, then finally slips his fingers inside, down….

“Oh, luv,” he moans.

You’re fucking soaked for him. Your panties alone are absolutely ruined. When he pulls them aside and strokes his fingertips through your slit, they come away gleaming. Your clit is swollen and hard, so sensitive that the gentlest brush makes you hiccup and twitch.

He stuffs the two fingers in his mouth, sucking the taste of you from bloody skin. Fucking divine. He could cum in his pants from that alone.

“Mm, shame that,” he rasps in your ear. “Guess I win.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[odileeclipse]

I feel like hollyberry is the mom of the group and if y/n is part of their group and is weak...like just an ordinary cookie who joined them...she'd mother them so much lmao! She has that energy!

You had barely managed to escape becoming a cake hound’s midday snack when she appeared. HollyBerry cookie, in all her might had bodied the cake count with one swing of her shield. You would say that was more terrifying than the cake hound itself, but she had decided you were hers now. "Look at you! Fragile as a sugar petal!" she bellowed, giving you a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent you face-first into the dirt. "No way I’m letting you wander around like this! You need strength, food, and a proper family! And lucky you, you just found one!" Before you could even protest, she had hoisted you onto her shoulder like a sack of flour and was marching forward with the enthusiasm of a general leading an army. That’s when the others arrived. Pure Vanilla Cookie was the first to step forward, looking utterly bewildered. "Hollyberry… who is this?" "A new friend!" she announced proudly. "Found them running from a cake hound! Poor thing doesn’t have a lick of battle in them." You wanted to get a word out but were cut off by Pure Vanilla’s kindness. Pure Vanilla’s concern instantly turned into sympathy. "Oh, you poor dear… Are you hurt?" His serene face was full of warmth as he reached up, carefully fixing your slightly askew hat. "Don’t worry, you’re safe now." "Safe?" Dark Cacao Cookie’s deep voice cut in, his sharp gaze sweeping over you. "They are weak. They would not last a day in our company." You stiffened. Ouch. Hollyberry shot him a glare. "And that’s why I’m keeping them! We’ll toughen them up!" Golden Cheese Cookie scoffed. . "Oh, please! Look at them—frail, small, utterly ordinary! If we bring them along, they’ll just slow us down!" "Then we train them," Hollyberry countered. "Besides, look at this little face!" She held you up like a prized trophy. "Tell me this isn’t the face of a future warrior!" You gave a very unconvincing, awkward smile. Golden Cheese squinted at you. "…Hmph. I suppose they have a certain charm." Dark Cacao crossed his arms. "A burden." "A friend," Pure Vanilla corrected, already using healing magic on the minor scratches you had from running. "And if they need guidance, we will provide it." White Lily Cookie, who had been quiet this whole time, finally stepped forward. She crouched slightly to meet your gaze, her dark fuchsia eyes studying you with interest. "You must be quite clever to have escaped a cake hound for as long as you did," she mused. "Do you wish to stay with us?"

…Did you have a choice? Hollyberry was still holding you. You nodded hesitantly. "I-I mean… if it’s not too much trouble…" "No trouble at all!" Hollyberry declared, setting you down—only to immediately pull you into a rib-crushing side hug. "Welcome to the family!" Pure Vanilla smiled warmly. "I’ll make sure they’re well cared for." White Lily nodded. "And I can teach them a thing or two about survival." Golden Cheese tossed her hair. "I suppose I could help them get some speed in those legs. Can’t be running like a lost chick forever!" Dark Cacao sighed. "If they must stay, they will learn discipline. I will see to that." You gulped. That sounded… intense. Hollyberry just laughed, giving you another hearty pat on the back. "See? You’re in good hands! Now, first order of business, FOOD! You need to eat! I’m sure running away from that cake hound has you beat!"

I really feel that she would have taken you in whether you had said yes or no LOL

[harrywavycurly]

Summary: Harry is given the wrong number when he goes out to a bar but oddly enough he’s not that upset about it because the number he’s given belongs to you. He quickly learns you’re southern and from then on he finds himself coming up with excuses to talk to you because you not only have no clue he’s Harry Styles you also just bring him a sense of comfort that he can’t seem to find with anyone else. Will you ever learn who he really is? And if you do will it change anything? Let’s find out shall we?✨

Pairing: Harry Styles x southern!reader

CW: Language

Tag List: Open

A/N: this series started off from a request I got for Harry to text someone southern and the idea just took off in my brain from there so I hope y’all enjoy💖

Conversations: here

Extras: here

*this is a texting story but you’ll find everything in the correct order down below*

Part 1: Happens All The Time

Part 2: Wonky

Part 3: Smooth as Sandpaper

Part 4: Fiddlesticks

Part 5: Church it Up

Part 6: After A While

Part 7: King George

Part 8: How in Tarnation

Part 9: Don’t be Ugly

Part 10: As All Get Out bonus convo between Harry and Niall here

Part 11: Odd Little Duck

Part 12: Beat it With a Stick bookstore with Harry here

Part 13: Till the Cows Come Home bonus convo between Harry and Niall here

Part 14: Oh My Days

Part 15: Full As a Tick Harry picking you up here

Part 16: Like A Fiddle

Part 17: Tall Order To Fill

Part 18: Borrowing Trouble how your date ended with Harry here

Part 19: A Little About A Lot you meet Jeff here

Part 20.1: You Thought

Part 20.2: Saddle Up

Part 21: Rub Some Dirt On It Harry’s convo with Jeff here

Part 22: So I Can Kiss You Anytime I Want

Part 23: You Better Not

Part 24: A Sack of Potatoes convo with Kathy here

Part 25: Mouse in Your Pocket

Part 26: Mind Your Manners convo with Jeff here

Part 27: Fired Up

Part 28: Some Kinda Alright

Part 29: Honky Tonk you picking Harry up here

Part 30: Feelin Sassy

Part 31: Get Out of My Kitchen

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

The random thoughts are returning. Vampire bill gets brought Stanley again for the exact same reason. Except now he smells delicious! And he has levrege against Ford now that he's certain he cares.

Too bad Ford is on a war path.

Whew. Back at my laptop, which means I can write this :)

Stan scrambled to keep up with the hands holding him up on either side, the sack over his head making it hard to see what he was doing and their unfairly fast speed and strength another reminder on how Stan's vampiric nature sucked (in a not funny, actual terrible way.)

What use was luring vampires if they weren't going to bite him? And why even lure vampires in the first place! He needed to figure out if he could do anything else fast because the moment more than one jumped him he was useless.

He cursed as he was jerked to a stop and shoved to his knees, the silence making him tense. They'd shoved a gag in his mouth shortly after nabbing him off the side of the street, making his fangs useless and ruining his natural ability to talk himself out of trouble or annoy his captors into making mistakes. A pair of footsteps clacked against stone, coming closer from, and a high pitched annoying voice grated his ears and made him groan.

Bill.

"Well well well," He said, getting closer still, "If it isn't Pines. Funny how we keep running into each other like this, isn't it?"

Stan shuddered as Bill's hand ran up his chest, then blinked in the light when it snatched the sack off his head.

They were in the middle of some kind of fancy living room. A large blazing fireplace roared across from him, with two plush couches on either side and a bar full of red bottles to the left. To the right was a window, hidden from sight by two thick black curtains. Giant tapestries lined the walls, each one bearing Bill's triangle symbol, eye staring down at him. A giant piano was sitting to the side, and various small tables and dressers had lit candles.

There were also rose petals on the ground.

Bill was standing right in front of him, smile frozen and sack still in his hand. The vampiric lord looked the same as ever, wearing a yellow brick patterned vest with tails over a yellow dress shirt and black pants. Long black gloves covered each hand, made to let his black claws poke through the end, while his black heels added an extra two inches to his height. A black bow tie was tied snuggly around his neck, while a black top hat sat on top of his yellow hair. It laid flat and covered half his face, so that only one of his yellow eyes was visible.

Visible, and staring at Stan with rage in a small teenage face. At least Stan had that going for him, being stuck at almost thirty forever (or until Ford cured him), being stuck at sixteen for eternity probably didn't help Bills wild behavior.

"You." he seethed, crumpling the sack and throwing it aside, "Why is it always you. I had a whole thing set up here, and you're RUINING IT!"

Stan raised an eyebrow as Bill yelled and threw himself onto the closest couch, grabbed a pillow, then started screaming into it, kicking his legs all the while. He looked up at the vampire's holding his arms to see two stone cold faces, like watching an immortal sixteen year old throw a tantrum was an everyday occurrence.

Maybe it was for them.

"Whatever!" Bill yelled, sitting up and throwing the pillow across the room, "I can use this! Fordsy didn't get to find you're ruined husk last time, but I know you've been hanging off him, and my eyes have told me all about how clingy he's been with you. He, ugh, cares."

Bill jumped to his feet, then started pacing around the room, rubbing his chin. Stan shuffled in place, then winced when the guards tightened their grips. Being in the middle of whatever was going on between Bill and Ford really was the worst. He should make Ford pay him back for this.

"Not a present this time," Bill muttered, "I'll use you as bait. Get him to come to me, I'll show him I have you, then rip your head off in front of him. That way he can see how strong and powerful I am, how much better he'd be with me, and you'll be dead. Actually dead, instead of whatevers... whatevers..."

Bill sniffed the air, then turned to face Stan, eye focusing on him in a way he didn't like.

"...going on with you." Bill approached him, steps slow and deliberate. Stan tensed as he got closer, then shuddered when Bill traced his chin. A moment later the gag was ripped out, and Stan sputtered when Bill clutched his face and tilted it back and forth.

"Can you stop? This whole things already terrible," Stan mumbled through his squished cheeks. Bill ignored him, prying his jaw open and looking inside his mouth, then letting go to pry one of Stan's eyes so he could look at it, the other hand holding the back of his head so he couldn't jerk away.

"Huh. Interesting." Bill said, letting go to grab Stan's head again, "What's going on with you, you couldn't even turn right? So pathetic and low quality I couldn't even turn you into a proper vampire? I can smell how dead you are, but besides that..."

Stan tried to wiggle away as Bill leaned forward, one hand holding him by the air and holding his head in place while ha came forwards to sniff at Stan's neck.

Creep.

"Stop being creepy." Stan said, glaring at his hair and skin tingling as the Vampire continued to sniff at him. His tiny teenager neck was out of reach, and with his head grabbed he couldn't lean forwards to chomp it. Then something wet touched him, and he screeched, "Did you just lick me!"

"Hmm." Bill leaned back and licked his lips, confirming the licking without even having to say anything, "What is that? I've eaten millions, humans and not, and you don't taste like anything I've had before."

"Well-" Stan started to say, before Bill grabbed his head, jerked it to the side, and bit into his neck. Right away Stan tried to lunge forwards to snap Bills, but the vampire used his other hand to twist Stan's away, holding him in place while Bill started draining him. Stan growled and bit at the air, trying to get one of his fingers, to move, something.

Anything to stop the feeling of the blood leaving his body and the heat creeping up his spine.

It was worse than the last time Bill ate him. Last time he was still alive, still human (if one that had way too much vampire blood in his system). When Bill drained him last time, he'd been too panicked to feel the vampire feed, and everything had gotten cold and fuzzy before he'd passed out.

Not now. Not this time. This time he wasn't alive, didn't need his blood to stay awake and aware. Could feel himself getting drained and knew what it meant. Instead of getting colder, he started heating up, breaking into a sweat as his body desperately tried to lure a meal.

At some point the vampires on either side of him had let go, and the only thing supporting him was Bill's hands on his head as the vampire shoved Stan to the ground so he could drink from a more comfortable angle. Stan whined and shoved at him, trying to break free of the grip on his head as his teeth came out and he started panting. Unfortunately he hadn't hit the critical point where he tapped into the strength and speed of a regular vampire, so Bill just pressed down hard and sunk his teeth in deeper.

He was so hungry now, melting from the inside.

Bill let go before draining Stan completely, licking his lips and staring down at Stan. One of his hands let go to trace Stan's face, and Stan blinked heavily at him, eyes trained on Bill's neck.

"Look at those!" Bill said, leaning in close to look at Stan's eyes, still shoving Stan's head down so he couldn't bite him, "Now that's new! A whole new vampire huh? Messed yourself up so bad you taste delicious to others! Hah! Talk about the worlds biggest screw up over here!"

Stan wheezed, panting and uncomfortable from the grab and the lava churning his stomach. Bill was right on top of him, right there and the only vampire Stan couldn't overpower in a one-on-one. It didn't stop him from trying, straining to shove Bill off and reverse their positions.

"Aww, is someone hungry?" Bill cooed, "Did I take a little too much? Should have thought about that before making yourself taste so good! Man, its been ages since I've had something new to eat around here! I'd drain you dry if I didn't need you to get Sixer."

Bill rolled off of him, using a glove to wipe Stan's blood off his face. Stan rolled over too, eyes locked onto Bill's exposed neck and fire dancing across his skin.

"We'll have to scratch the head popping part of the plan," Bill said, turning to look at him in amusement when Stan shoved himself to his feet and lunged, "At least until I figure out how to make more of you."

Bill sidestepped Stan, then grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him at one of the vampires that had dragged Stan there. They were standing a few feet away, and Stan didn't hesitate.

He grabbed their head and jerked it to the side, then latched onto their neck and started drinking. The effect was immediate, a cooling balm that spread into his stomach. It felt different from usual, his own lack of blood making his skin even hotter and itchy. Unlike Bill, Stan didn't let go until his meal was dead and dry, letting them drop in a crumbling heap.

"Look at that!" Stan turned to see Bill, clapping his hands and standing on the other vampire, holding them in place so they couldn't get away, "So speedy! Try to take this one slower, really appreciate the flavor!"

"Lord Cipher!" The vampire pleaded, trying to crawl to freedom, "Lord Cipher, please!"

"Not now," Bill said, kicking them towards Stan and stepping away as Stan pounced, "Can't you see I'm feeding my newest juice box?"

Stan ignored him, focusing on the taste flooding his mouth as he clamped down on the screaming vampire. His skin felt less tingly, the coolness sluggishly spreading to his limbs as he drank them dry.

"Now," Bill said, kneeling right in front of him when he let go, "I'm sure you could still eat, but I don't have the time to scrounge up more meals. Not with IQ on the way! So you just rest tight for a while until he gets here, sound good?"

"No," is what Stan wanted to say. Before he could Bill grabbed the sides of his head, lifted it up, then slammed it into the ground.

Ford snarled as he tore through another vampire, silver sword slashing through their arm before he looped off their head and plunged a stake through their heart.

It had been foolishness on his part to let Stan go hunting without back up. Stan had proved that he could handle himself fine against most threats, but he still had human limits. He couldn't handle more than one or two vampires at a time.

And now Stan was paying the price for Ford mistakes. Again. They were lucky Fiddleford had put a tracker in Stan's jacket in a fit of paranoia, back when they didn't know that Stan only drank the blood of the undead. They managed to follow the signal to an abandoned mansion on the outskirts of town.

Bill hadn't been expecting him this soon, that he was sure of. None of the dramatics he'd set up were in place, and the vampires lurking inside had been off guard. Ford led the way towards the basement, where the signal to Stan's tracker was coming from, making sure to silence everyone they came across.

This was a rescue mission first, an extermination second. They couldn't let Bill escape with his brother again.

Ford found the stairs to the lower levels, then used the rail to slide down and ram into a vampire heading up. He staked them in the chest, then pushed himself up and kept going down.

The basement lacked the finery upstairs, gray hallways and heavy doors splitting off in two directions. Ford looked at the tracker information, then ran to the left, eyes scanning for-

-Blood.

A trail of it, starting halfway down the hall and going further down before turning and disapearing under one of the doors. Ford picked up speed, cursing at the locked door as he banged against it.

He didn't have time for this.

Bringing up his foot he kicked down the door, then scanned the room he found himself in. It looked like some kind of storage, metal shelves empty, and in the middle was-

"Stanley!"

Ford rushed to his brothers crumpled from, gently flipping him over. Stan let out a low whine, but didn't respond otherwise. His front and face were covered in blood, and Ford shoved the rage growing in his heart as he wiped away his neck and saw the teeth marks, slowly healing.

There was only one vampire who would dare to touch something connected to Ford, and Bill had made his stance on Stan quite clear.

"Stanley," Ford whispered, then grimaced at the wound on his head. It had cracked part of his skull, but thankfully Stan's status as a member of the undead meant it couldn't kill him a second time. They'd need to find food for him once they left, but he'd be alright, if dazed for a day or two.

Ford dragged him to his feet, then threw one of Stan's arms over his shoulder. He'd drag him out of here, try to feed him anyone else they came across, and maybe, if he was lucky, put Bill in the ground.

Permanently.