#swings him around like ragdoll

[hyp3rfixation-h3ll]

trying 2 collect screenshots of pac so i can post a screencap dump of him here 4 my say cheese series but like. son boy unlimited...

[nestedfeathers]

he wants a date nari. your not going to let that cutie patootie down are u? he loves you so much... >:(

forgor this

[its-rat-time-babey]

Idea #65538:

This Slimecicle video but it’s a detached Five Pebbles encountering the rot in his own can.

[whumpcloud]

oh my god Vincent is the personification of a wet crumpled paper towel. has the backbone of a naked snail. yk when a fluffy cat accidentally falls into the water and comes out drenched to the bone, having lost like 90% of its volume? that’s vincent. he’s so chewable :}

sopping wet beast

[gayrika]

big fan of when eggman is drawn all fucked up and spooky like this

[k9wa]

⟁ PLUMMET. ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — “swoopin’ in to save me again, sugar plum?”

⚠︎ mechanic!reader (but it isn’t really relevant), i saw boothill trailer and ran to google docs, gn reader (ma’am used once at the end) wc 1k.

“your bounty has been completed!”

boothill could feel the explosion of the ship, even from the distance he was and against the strong winds from his high speed fall. a rush of heat slapped him in the face, leaving a thorough hunger in his gut temporarily quelled.

“how would you like to land?”

the cyborg kept his hat fastened to his head with his palm against the top, eyes briefly glancing down to the city below he was slowly getting closer to plumetting down into.

“…good question.”

the ground was steadily approaching, even if it was gonna take him a solid second or two to actually reach it. he’d never tested if his body could withstand smacking against concrete from— give or take— six thousand feet in the air, but he had a small hunch today wasn’t the day to try his luck. becoming a blue splat on the pavement wasn’t exactly in the cards of his itinerary.

boothill’s eyes looked left, looked right, fingers twirling the rope on his belt. he doubted it’d do much to really help, but it was a start nonetheless. 

he eventually came up with an idea— a totally foolproof idea. loop his rope around one of the street lights when he got close enough, avoid hitting the ground, swing himself back up into the air, and land safe and sound on…wherever the hell he managed to land. hopefully on his feet. 

super simple, super easy. lightwork.

and so he eyed the ground, wrapping one end of his rope taught around his right palm, his left getting the momentum of the other end ready in a smooth swinging motion.

“c’mon now boothill,” he muttered to himself, voice thoroughly drowned out by the wind. “ain’t nothin’ but a lil’ repositionin’.”

he kept falling, getting closer, 

closer…

closer…

almost there…

boothill readied his hand to swing, but the motion quickly became unnecessary when something— or rather, someone— grabbed his wrist, and he was pulled upward with a shocked ‘muddle—!’ before he could test the success rate of his plan.

the cowboy snapped his head up, hat nearly tipping off his head. he was hung like a ragdoll from his arm, feet dangling down below him as his eyes met his apparent saviours—

of course.

boothill’s sharp teeth slowly shone in a wide grin, loud and scruffy laugh echoing into the still rather open air around him. because who else would it have been besides you, your brows slightly furrowed at him from the safety of your little hoverboard he remembered you tinkering with just a couple days ago.

“well fudge me!” he’d slap his knee if the position allowed. “look who it is— ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” 

boothill reached up for your other hand, you wordlessly met him halfway reaching down, leaving both of your fingers locking around the others wrist.

“swoopin’ in to save me again, sugar plum?”

you shake your head with a sigh, hoverboard beginning a steady descent down. it was a little harder to balance with boothill weighing it down, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

“you’re lucky,” you half scoff. “i’ve got a sixth sense for you being an idiot.”

boothill’s hearty laugh echoed out again, the wind whipping around you leaving his hair tousled and a little tangled. 

“ain’t that the fudgin’ truth,” he jostled your hand a little. he doubted he could really get adrenaline rushes anymore, but this was pretty damn close. “reckon i’d be flatter than a darn hotcake if it weren’t for yer timely intervention!” 

his feet touching the ground were a welcome stabilisation, though the cyborg made no move to release your hand— instead he actually broke into a quick sprint, barely giving you the time to pick up your board as he tugged you along.

“you got somewhere to be or somethin’?”

you asked, stumbling a bit before you got your footing to keep up. you were just so cute when you pretended to be all sore with him.

“you bet i do— somewhere that ain’t swarmin’ with those sorry IPC shirtbags!”

it was a fair point— a giant explosion in the sky of one of their own ships made quite the beacon for attention.

running with him wasn’t so bad, at least. his grip around your wrist was surprisingly gentle, and the smell of him filled your nose in the wind as you trailed behind. some citrus, maybe cedar, and an unmistakable lingering of those phosphorus tracer bullets he chewed on so often. 

you two dipped around a corner, backed against an old brick wall as some heavy footsteps kept running the other way. 

“say, remind me to get’cha a drink later,” boothill gave a small tug to your wrist again, bringing you just a little closer. “as a thanks for all them times y’saved my sorry behind.”

boothill smiled when you chuckled rather than shooing his hand away or giving a smart response.

“you’re gonna have quite the tab going.” you carefully repositioned your hand with his, your fingers lacing together rather than him just holding your wrist. boothill’s eyes could have turned into cartoonish hearts.

“tell ya what,” his hand gave yours a squeeze. “i know a place. it ain’t too far from here, won’t have to worry about no one botherin’ us,” it was quite endearing, the way his voice still held that gentle rasp even as it softened. “i start workin’ off that tab, get a night with you, and heck we’re both winnin’ ain’t we?” 

you hummed at that. it didn’t sound so bad.

“alright,” you nodded. “but let’s focus on you not having to gun down another dozen IPC workers first.”

it was your turn to pull him along with a swift tug of his wrist, resuming your sprint just in time to avoid some more heavy footsteps heading in your direction.

“you weren’t pullin’ my leg about that sixth sense, were ya sweetheart?” boothill fell into a natural step behind you.

“consider this added to your tab.”

“yes ma’am!”

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[avatar-mikazuki]

My favorite thing about the teen titans is that they all have combos with each other, but the fact that Starfire and Robins is called "launch" and it's just Starfire chucking Robin at the enemy is hilarious. Like home girl literally grabs him by the foot, does a spin, and YEETS him 😭

Swinging bro around like a ragdoll

[novemberheart]

{overview} you reach a new milestone with Johnny and Simon, you have a bad dream

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, mentions of death, panic attacks, mentions of bruising and pain, cursing, p in v sex (not related to the violence warnings), exhibition, you like being watched I guess….

Chapter 25 <- Chapter 26 -> Chapter 27

“Push your knee against me like that. It's easier to grab a foot or a hand than a knee,” Johnny explained, moving your knee towards his shoulder. He had some downtime and you had the energy to burn so he settled on teaching you a few self-defense moves.

“I don't think these are actually moves,” you panted. You had just spent the better part of twenty minutes being thrown around like a ragdoll. When you agreed to this you assumed it would lead to more with Johnny- much more. Yet here he was, his eyes laser-focused, using a tone that could rival Simons.

“People aren't going to expect you to know how to fight back. So you are going to have around five seconds of surprise- even more if they aren't trained,” Johnny moved you onto your stomach, gripping your arms with his hands so they were pressed against the mat. You peeked in the mirror along the gym wall, your hips raising slightly at the sight of him hovering over you.

Who knew you liked mirrors so much?

You had been wearing scent blockers, your hips raising being the only sign thus far of how this was making you feel. His mouth fell open, his eyes landing on your bottom that your gym shorts really didn't hide. You smirked, using all your body weight to swing your legs to the side, effectively knocking him over with a thud. Just like he had taught you. You scrambled up running to the edge of the mat. He had drilled into your head to run as soon as you could and even made you practice getting up in any position- which felt silly at the time but made sense now. He chuckled, the vibrations of it going straight to your core even though your distance. You smiled, prancing back over to him.

“That was very good,” he praised, his eyes lighting up to match yours.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. He purred under your touch. He was still kneeling before you, his arms wrapping under your bottom. He hoisted you up easily, and you craned your neck down with your teeth grazing over his bottom lip. He bit back. He slid your body against his, so you didn't have to bend so far, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your lips ghosted over each other, waiting for the other to give in. A standoff. Your fingers played with the grown-out pieces of his mohawk, a small whine leaving your throat as you flashed him with your softest puppy dog eyes. He growled, smashing his lips against yours.

“I won,” you gasped between attacks.

“Did you?” he smirked, his lips quickly devouring you again.

“Bloody hell, you two. Get a room,” Simon growled. The task force had the gym booked, even with half of it missing. “Anyone could walk by and see you,” he reprimanded. Which was funny given the position the two of you were in last night.

“Yeah, any perv,” Johnny agreed, eyeing the alpha up and down. You giggled, pressing kisses against the Scot's jaw, nipping at the corner of his lips. He let you do as you please, his hazy, melted eyes staring down at you. Simon stood still, not quite able to pull his eyes away from the sight himself. He watched the way Johnny’s chest heaved up and down, his lips parting open as you marked him up. The look of determination on your face and the way your lips moved against his heated skin. The fact he had felt the softness of your mouth yesterday, he could imagine you against his skin. He watched as Johnny’s hands gripped your thighs, the softness pooling around his fingers. One small movement from you would have you secured against the heavy bulge the fabric of his workout shorts was doing a poor job covering.

“Johnny?” Simon spoke. His half-lidded deep blue eyes met his. “Take care of your omega,” it was commanded. The life re-entered Johnny's eyes, your back colliding with the wall before you knew it. You gasped, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. All the control you had flying out the window.

“Mac,” you whined, your hips rolling against him. He pressed back harder, a shaky moan leaving you, the vibration going straight down his spine. Your hands crept down his strong stomach, clawing at the waistband of his shorts.

“Can’t take you here, Bonnie,” he growled, making you whimper.

“I don't care,” you purred in assurance. The new position had you blocked by a shelf and all someone had to do was look at Simon's heavy figure and know not to enter. “Please,” you begged, your hands sliding up his shirt. You could feel his warm skin twitch under you, short and soft coils of hair brushing against your palms. Your hands left his skin, beginning to tug at your own shorts. He looked over his shoulder at Simon, who nodded his head. You watched as Simon disappeared, walking over to the door. You could hear the lock click. You had won. You attached your lips to his and Johnny set you down to slide your shorts and panties off, chuckling at the wet spot in them. He tossed the pair behind him, Simon's hand catching them and sticking them in his pocket. You chewed your lip, Simon's hazy eyes meeting yours. You were dragged away when Johnny lifted you up again, your core rolling against his cock through the fabric of his shorts.

Your mouth fell open, your head resting against the chill of the wall. “Johnny, please,” you whined again, your fingers gripping at his shoulders. He was enjoying this too much. Enjoying the way you squirmed and begged for some help.

“What, baby? Couldn't hear you?” he murmured, making you growl. His hand slapped against your thigh to check you, his hand pressing against the spot to help ease the sting. “Still couldn't hear you,” he corrected. “Don't be shy,” he soothed, his lips resting against your cheek, nipping at the burning flesh. “Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it. You have to ask nicely though,” you wanted to bite the smirk off his face, but you knew you'd never get what you wanted then.

“I want you,” you mumbled quietly, your eyes trained on Simon’s shoes.

“Alright,” Johnny seemed satisfied with that until he started to put your feet on the floor to kiss down to your heat.

“No,” you whined, pulling him back up. He hoisted you back up, his face showing all the patience in the world. He could play this game with you all day. “I want your cock,” you said finally, making sure to say it loud enough to where he wouldn't play dumb. The deep rumble echoed off of both men, shooting straight through you. “Please,” you finished. You had a reputation for being their good girl- you couldn't break that by demanding.

“Well how can I say no to that,” Johnny smiled down at you. He distracted you with his lips and it wasn't until the head of his cock caught against your entrance did you realize one of his hands had left you. You gasped, pulling away enough to look down at him. It matched him, stout and energetic- twitching in his hand. He pushed in slowly, your legs already quivering. He was so responsive. Curving into all the right places, throbbing in time with your spasming walls. It felt so intimate even though you were pushed against the hard gym wall. Your toes curled in your shoes. He wanted to say something. Say how good you felt, how beautiful you looked, yet all he could do was groan his hips snapping into place. Your moan caught in your throat, your head lulling against the wall.

“How’s she feel?” Simon grunted. You had forgotten about him as he leaned against the shelf. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him but just knowing he was there made you clench around Johnny, the words he was trying to say catching in his throat once again.

He settled for a purr, sending a vibration through your body. You twitched, your hips pressing harder against him. That’s how John must've felt when you purred around him. “Perfect,” Johnny finally managed to choke out. His mouth attached to your shoulder where your tank top strap had fallen. His thrusts were hard and slow, without a set rhythm but that somehow added to the pleasure. His cock would drag against your walls only for him to roll himself back in with one hard fluid motion. He'd hold himself inside you letting you feel every throb and vein, only to drag himself back out, repeating the process whenever he wanted.

You were a mess. Teary eyes, hair disheveled, clinging onto him as the force of his thrusts knocked you into the wall. Your hand pressed against your mouth to stifle your moans. Normally they hated that, but considering you were in a semi-public place they'd let it slide. His pace picked up, your arms gripping around his neck, his mouth pressing against any skin he could reach. It was almost torture. The two of being so close, yet he couldn't feel the softness of your skin against his. He growled, his hips deciding a set rhythm. He had played with his food enough.

“I can't,” you gasped, your face burying in his shoulder. Your hands gripping onto his shoulder blades.

“Doing so good, Bon,” Johnny assured through his own groans. You could tell Johnny was as vocal as you, and was also trying hard to stifle it. You wondered how loud he could get. A pair of fingers brushed over your knuckles. It was Simon. You reached forward your hand tangling with his, as you felt the ascension of a familiar peak. You whined Johnny’s name, pressing your heated cheek against his. “You’re almost there, beautiful. I can feel it,” he snarled against you. “Feels so fucking good,” his voice dropped to a whine, holding onto you equally hard. Simon raised his mask, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. You held his gaze as much as you could with the stars clouding your vision. You shook your head again. Your heat had made your orgasms more tolerable- less intense so your body could preserve its stamina. You didn't have that to fall back upon. “Relax,” Johnny repeated against your temple, your cunt nearly pushing him out. “We’ve got you, just let go,” he murmured, his muscles shaking from pleasure. “I’ve got you baby, come on,” he pressed, not being able to hold on much longer himself.

You felt too good. Your pussy shaking around him, so wet and and warm. Your breathy moans in his ear. The fact anyone could come in and find you like this. It didn't excite him in the way he thought it would. It made him more possessive. You were theirs. No one else deserved to see such a sight. He could sense Simon behind him, the alpha offering enough protection where he could turn his brain off and focus on you.

The knot in your stomach finally shattered, your vision lighting up behind your shut eyes. You shouted, but nobody could find it in them to care, not with your head thrown back like that. Johnny pressed himself impossibly deep, holding your shaking form so you wouldn't be separated from him. He was a ball of curses and groans, his grip on you sure to leave bruises.

He rested against you, you sandwiched between him and the wall. Both of you were panting- mixing with moans and whimpers. Everything felt too much. The aftershock in your veins, the bright lights, the hard wall. You wanted to curl up under the covers and breathe in Johnny’s cinnamon scent. Simon cleared his throat, his pupils blown as he scanned you and Johnny up and down.

“Come on, pups,” he spoke softly. You smiled at the plural version of your nickname. Simon grabbed your shorts off the floor, his hands resting on Johnny’s shoulders. “Let's get you two cleaned up and back home, yeah?” he hummed. Your eyes widened as Simon placed a kiss on the back of Johnny's neck, mumbling out small praises at how well he took care of you. You both squirmed as he pulled out of you, his spend immediately dripping down your leg. The two men groaned.

“Round two at home, bonnie?” Johnny smirked, kissing your burning cheek.

Round two indeed took place at home. Your butt resting on the counter in your bathroom as Johnny worked himself in and out of you. Simon was too busy with his ear pressed against the door, his hand working in time with your moans.

It felt like hours before the shower finally turned on.

You giggled as Johnny massaged lotion into your feet, his lips pressing against the ball of your foot.

“You and John both have a thing for feet,” you teased, expecting him to jump into denial. He just smiled, his thumb working deep into the tense tissue.

“Maybe we do, Bon,” he said slowly. “At least you get foot massages out of it,” he smirked, pressing a kiss against the top of them.

Guess you didn't have room to complain.

“Whose room are we sleeping in?” he questioned, moving to stand from his seat on the coffee table. You were about to say Kyle's but the back of your neck tingled at the sight of Simon’s closed door. Johnny followed your gaze. His face spread in a grin that made you nervous.

“No, Johnny it’s fine,” you insisted. His arm wrapped under your bottom, lifting you to his chest. He held you against him, your head hiding in his shoulder as he knocked on Simon's door. You heard a muffled sound, Johnny not waiting for a clear answer as he opened the door.

“Pup wants to sleep in here,” Johnny sighed like he was doing you a favor.

“It’s okay Simon”-

“You have your jellyfish?” was his response. Johnny gasped in remembrance, tossing you onto Simon's bed. It was amazing you didn't accidentally elbow him in the face with how much of it he took up. Johnny disappeared, heading towards your room to get the stuffed jelly. You had forgotten it when you went on leave and had a harder time falling asleep without it. You had grown a bit codependent on its softness against your cheek to fall asleep.

Johnny came bounding back, tossing himself onto the bed.

“Always forget how shite your mattress is,” Johnny grumbled. He tucked both of you under the covers with Simon, his body curling around yours as the big spoon. Simon shifted and you heard the rattling of a pill bottle.

“Take some of these. You'll be sore later if you aren't already,” he sighed, his thumb brushing over your chin. You opened, his eyes trained on your kiss-bitten lips. He held his water bottle up for you to wash them down with. Simon popped a few in his mouth.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you questioned. He shook his head.

“He’s a big boy, bonbon. Aches and pains are his middle name,” Johnny smirked, his lips pressing on the back of your ear. You giggled as his scruff brushed against your neck. Simon relaxed back into the bed, his arm and shoulder pressed against your front. You wanted to rest your head against him, but didn't want to invade his space too much- although you felt like you had already passed that point.

You could feel yourself fading fast. If the three different orgasms pulled out of you weren't enough then the feeling of being the safest pup in the world was the cherry on top. The best sleep you had ever gotten had been that night you were curled up with John and Kyle. You wondered if this would be similar. You didn't know if it was the beta-alpha pairing that made it work so well or just the fact you trusted the both of them.

You rumbled in a quiet purr, Johnny immediately responding with his own.

It was pouring. The onslaught makes it hard for you to keep your eyes open. Your chest hurts, and the cold water, despite its power, does nothing to get your nervous system back on track.

You felt sad. The sadness felt more suffocating than the rain that was drenching your clothes. Why hadn’t you worn your raincoat? You feel like you knew the answer to that, yet couldn't find the perseverance to dig around in your brain for it.

Maybe the yellow felt too happy for this type of day.

A hand gripped your shoulder. It wasn't gentle. It wasn’t warm or comforting. It was angry- maybe at you, maybe at the world. “Time to go,” it snapped. You recognized it as John. It made you feel sicker, a bubbling anger rising in your chest. Why were you so mad at him? Why was he so mad? He looked worse than when he had left. His eyes are nearly swollen shut from tears and rubbing at them. His face looked older. How long had he been gone? Or had emotions aged him? His hand fell to your forearm, the tips of his finger bound to leave marks against your skin.

Your feet splashed against the ground as he tugged you along. The rushing water makes it hard to walk. How long has it been raining? Every step forward felt like three steps back. If it wasn't for John you would have fallen, and the water would have swept you away by now. A slight warmness fills you at the idea.

“I don't want to go,” you say before you can stop yourself. Your voice is small and weak. He hears you despite the rushing of water.

“You think I want to?” he growls back. It was mean and nasty- his voice and look in his eyes. You whimpered. You’re continually pulled along the flat concrete. There are no trees, no green, just gray as far as the eye can see. Your knees give out, and you can feel the concrete break your skin. A small plea leaves you. A plea of mercy for John to be gentle with you. He wasn't. He growls low in his throat, yanking you up with no patience or fondness in his bones. You shriek, your arm creaking under his grasp. He pays no mind. There's a building in the distance. Gray and square just like the buildings at base. You’re sobbing now. You aren't sure if it’s from fright or exhaustion. His hand digs into the hair around the base of your neck, pulling you forward. You were moving too slow. Your sobs are louder than the rain by the time you reach the building. John throws open the doors. The inside was beautiful, resembling a church. Every seat was filled, each and every person's head snapping behind them to look at the two of you. You don't know any of them, but they all look familiar.

They were waiting for you. John pulls you along the aisle, your eyes landing towards the front. You fall to your knees again, your hands grappling with the legs of people or chairs to keep from advancing. John is jerking you forward by the back of your dress, your body shaking against the carpet. Shrieks and sobs escape you, yet no one comes to help you. In fact, they aren't even looking at you. Once you make it to the front John tosses you against the steps of the stage, your chin colliding with one. You sob against them. You couldn’t breathe. Your heart ached so painfully in your chest all you could do was lay there. There was a mean kick to your legs. Your head finally raised, your eyes landing on an oak casket, half covered by a Union Jack. Your hands reach forward gripping onto the fabric. It pools around you as it falls to the floor.

You don't need to be told. You know who’s in there.

You gasp awake, four pairs of hands holding onto you. You shake in their grasp and they quickly release you.

“Easy, Bonnie,” Johnny soothes. You couldn't breathe, the lightness in the room burning your eyes. Your hands run over your wet face as you sit up trying to take in your surroundings as your eyes adjust. An arm wraps around you, trapping your arms and back against a chest. You fight against it and lose.

“Relax, pup. You're alright,” it was Simon, his chin resting on your shoulder. The smell of alpha fills your nostrils, your brain immediately gives into it- too distraught to do anything else. They both sigh in relief when you relax against him.

“Where is Kyle?” you croak. They share a look.

“He left with John, baby,” Johnny reminded, pulling your legs into his lap.

“Is he okay?” you whimper, tears beginning to descend again.

“Something happen to him in your dream?” Johnny asked.

“Is he okay?” you repeat desperately.

“He’s alright,” Simon affirms to you. The pressure slows your heart rate, and your breathing automatically syncs with his. “I can try to get him on the phone for you. It'll be early morning where they are,” Simon explains, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

You would do anything to hear his voice. Even if it meant waking him up. Simon lays down with you still in his arms, and Johnny goes to turn the light off. You were thankful Simon had given you those pain pills. Without them, the throb in your body would be worse.

Your cheek rests against Johnny’s, his scruff a welcoming contrast to your soft skin. His large hand takes up half your face and neck as his thumb brushes the tears out from under your eyes. You let yourself sink fully into both of them.

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled softly.

“Never apologize for loving us, Bon,” Johnny soothed instantly. Your heart lifted in your chest.

You couldn't help but feel fortunate. Your pack wasn't writing you off as sensitive or troublesome. Instead, they were protecting you. Assuring you. Protecting you from your own thoughts and assuring you they would be there with you along the way. Simon held the phone up and you quickly snatched it with a quick thanks.

“Kyky?” you breathed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the sound of his groggy voice. You had woken him up.

“Hey, Lovie,” you could nearly see the smile in his voice. He wasn't mad at you. You buried yourself under Johnny, the phone pressed tightly against your ear. “Having trouble sleeping?” he murmured. You tried to imagine his breath on the back of your neck as he spoke or the way his hand liked to rest between your thighs as he slept.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “I had a bad dream. Just wanted to hear your voice,” you explained.

“Guess I should get talkin’ then,” he yawned. You were thankful he didn't ask what the dream was about. You could hear him adjust, the sound of metal creaking under him. You hated that his bed wasn't comfortable. He shouldn't be sleeping on metal bars and springs, he should be curled up in your nest with you. He talked about where he was- without giving you a location. He said it was mountainous and the perfect temperature. You knew for Kyle that meant hot. He told you about all the different birds and the sounds they made and how it made him think of you.

Your eyes grew heavy, your body erupting in a barely there purr.

Warmness flooded you as your pack once again took care of you.

Hello everyone! See you in three days for chapter 27! 🧡

[dimepdf]

★  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that Miguel is the bane of your existence, the way you react during training proves otherwise.

─── ☆ notes. i need fics of miguel being an absolute dick, like a petty bitch just for the hell of it i need more attitude yk? Like if that man isn't calling me a slut it ain't canon! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4.3k (33 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | no spoilers | smut, enemies to lovers, maybe mutual pining, fighting and violence, semi public sex, gym sex, mentions of abuse, size difference, pain kink, strength kink, degradation kink, manhandling, power play(?), begging, rough sex, cervix kissing, choking, fangs, biting, marking, cunnilingus, eye contact, hair pulling, creampie, open ended, not an taiyo fic without a few typos.

IF YOU ASKED any of the other Spider-men what they loved so much about being Spider-Man, their answers would all be the same, ranging from "the suit" to "the enhanced abilities." It was a no-brainer that being a superhero came with a few awesome perks.

Which was why your answer was just a bit confusing, "the combat." You would always smile, despite the many eyebrows raises and looks that convinced you you had to be some type of overcover masochist, especially since you would never really go into true detail about why.

Your reasoning behind putting on the mask was similar to all the others: another traumatized kid being thrown into a whole new reality that you never would have dreamed of being possible.

Sadly, you had been raised with the loss of most of your loved ones, and your family was in shambles from the abuse you would go through from them. It was the reason why it was difficult for you to grow up and make many friends, let alone navigate your abilities on your own accord, which was why it was a whole different ball game when you first joined the spider society.

When you first met Miguel O'Hara, you thought he was an overly intimidating man with an even more scary personality. Your aesthetics and morals would clash in the first few run-ins you would have with him.

In all honesty, you first thought him to be a massive dick who surprisingly needed more therapy than you did. From his bored expression to his unnerving glare, it was clear upon the first introduction that you two just would not get along.

Which was why the universe made him the only spider person willing and with enough free time to train you. It came as a surprise to you both, who are usually butting heads. Miguel was adamant about not wanting to waste his time training some little girl who didn't even know how to throw a punch.

With much shit-talking on your part and a lot of teasing claims of him being afraid that you were going to kick your ass, training had quite literally started in full swing.

It was probably a bad move on your part to push the buttons of the guy who was teaching you how to fight. Miguel was clear with his fight-style techniques. He was nimble with his limbs and swift on his feet. It was hard for anyone to get a hit on him, especially since he wasn't the type to hold back his punches. 

His teaching style was the same: your sessions included throwing you around as if you were some ragdoll and picking you up as if you weighed nothing, just to slam you into the ground with full bruising force.

There would be some very rare occasions when you would manage to get the upper hand on him. Miguel was about a foot taller than you, not to mention how pathetically compressed you looked standing next to him. You learned that the only way you could manage to get the upper hand was by using your size difference to your advantage.

All the sessions you won were hosted by you managing to tangle yourself from his claws and climb his towering figure into a headlock, praying that you had enough strength in your legs to make him tap out.

"How is she not dead yet?" Miles would mutter, looking concerned, as he stood from the sidelines of the training room, watching one of your sessions, as the blonde by his side didn't even wince at the sound of Miguel untangling you from the headlock you had him in.

His arms moved faster than you could process as he managed to loosen your hold enough to slam the air from your lungs as you fell back facing against the mat so hard that even Miles was convinced he could feel the blow in the lower spine.

"I mean, at this point, I'm kind of convinced she’s turned into his personal punching bag." Miles strains to watch Miguel not even wipe a sweat as he sprung back on his feet. He stretched out his full body, towering over you, curled flat against the mat, trying to collect your breathing as well as your broken ego.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how someone could hit someone so...squishy? She’s just so cute." She muttered, watching with her arms crossed. 

"This punching bag needs to learn that in the real world, people aren't going to go as easy on her just because she’s cute." Miguel, despite glaring at the two bystanders, leaned down and yanked you back onto your stumbling feet. 

Your fingers combed through the matted curls now drenched in sweat away from your forehead, using your water break as the perfect excuse to help cover up the reaction to the sudden compliment that came from his lips and the way he had made you feel.

"And her being my personal punching bag is completely at her fault, if you want to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to take a few punches." You couldn't help but roll your eyes and wave your hand out in annoyance at another one of Miguel O’Hara’s famous lectures.

"I’m not a punching bag, did you not see the hold I had on him early?" You huffed, almost choking on your water, trying to protest. Gwen humored your claim, the blonde reaching out and rubbing your shoulder out of support as you continued with your defense. "Any tighter, and I would have easily snapped his neck."

Of course, Miguel only smirked as you continued grasping at straws at the point of trying to prove to your friends your improvement, his eyes flitting back and forth at the exchange, expressionless at the sight of you managing to still joke around as if you weren't about to pass out from fatigue at any second.

"And was that before or after the part where I kicked your ass, little girl?" He shot out, chipping away at the final lock that held back your annoyance, you hadn't even had time to process the insult before he bumped his shoulder into you on his way out of the training room.

His rude exit enticed a round of reactions from Miles and Gwen trying their awkward best to comfort the boiling pot of anger they saw written all over your face, rolling your eyes, you pushed past the two, not without grumbling a string of insults in Miguel’s name to the washrooms.

You blessed the spider lords for somehow having the ability to shower under running water, let alone the unexplainable strange amount of amenities that the spider society dimensions had. 

Like a web shooter's wonderland, you quickly shed the sweating clothes you trained in and stepped foot into the cold cubicle shower booth, letting the water run for a bit until enough steam fogged clouded stepping under the stream. Even with the hot water splashing pressure against your aching muscles, no amount of water could manage to wash away the annoying feeling in your legs. 

It was enough of a jab at your pride to even find Miguel attractive in the first place, and here your body was betraying you once more, begging, throbbing desperately for his every touch in its every form, and having the nerve to grow more intense during your training.

The feeling had yet to fully disappear the next day, even with your session starting off with you fueled from yesterday's comments. You tried pushing the feeling as you were just ready to have Miguel mutter another word insult with the ass kick you were ready to give him. It was the only possible explanation for why you were so jittery about getting to training on time.

"It took you long enough." Was the first thing you heard Miguel announce throughout the empty room.

He wasn’t wearing his suit—neither of you did while training—instead, he was wearing dark gray sweatpants paired with some random dark red graphic shirt that fit him a bit too snuggly to leave room for imagination around his arms.

"Almost thought you were gonna skip out."

You were aware enough to spot this quick observation of your outfit as well. Keeping it casual and opting for better mobility, you shimmied yourself into plain Nike shorts that stopped higher up than you had expected them to on your thighs with a loose tank top that peeked out the straps of your sports bra.

Nothing about your clothes screamed attention grabbing—at least that's what you thought before you caught Miguel’s red-tinted stare on the way your shorts hugged your thighs.

He glanced away, muttering something in Spanish you couldn't quite translate the moment your fingers fidgeted with the bottom hems of the shorts, tugging them slightly more down while deciding to break the tense silence that had managed to sneak up on you. "So what are we doing today?"

"Huh, I’ve been thinking." He answered, followed by the clearing of his throat, "We try something a little different." You could never get used to the roughness of his voice or the way he spoke with so much arrogance that it reminded just about everyone that he thought he was better than just about everyone.

Even now that you stepped towards the middle of the mat, standing rigidly just a few paces away from him, you could tell from that stupid, cocky expression as he stood looking down at you that there was no possible way that he would ever see you as a real threat. "I want you to try to hit me." 

Your brows creased together in confusion. 

"What?" was all you asked, which seemed to be the wrong question to ask as Miguel stretched out a sigh from his mouth, his hands coming close to his to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"I said hit me." He speaks more slowly, making sure to mockingly over pronounce every symbol in every word as if you were a child. "Preferably soon and as hard as you can." A grimace finds itself twisting on your lips before you can even process your bubbling annoyance. Your body moved on autopilot because of your keen senses, jumping over the swing of his left leg with ease.

You couldn't say that swift grace stuck with your attempt at a counterattack. Bending your knee just enough to reach out and kick, you were only met with the bottom of your foot stomping flat against the floor mat and Miguel dodging your kick, standing just a few paces away. "Too predictable," he scolded in that annoyingly deep voice you hated oh so much and totally did not turn on you at all. You sprung yourself up by the heels of your feet and charged at him with full determination to land at least one punch on his stupidly chiseled, handsome face.

It had been your second mistake, giving him too much time to brace himself. Already regretting your emotionally impulsive start, resulting in the punch you swung being easily deflected by Miguel.

His hand wrapped entirely around your wrist, bending your arm almost out of your socket and kicking the back of your knee to the mat with his heel. You feel down to a kneel with a hissing pain in your arm threatening to get worse at any wrong twist.

"Lose that fucking attitude, or you’ll get sloppy." As if your body could radiate any more anger, you knew he was just trying to push your buttons, trying to throw you off your game with smack talk that was not working on you or anything.

"Again," he prompted, letting your arm go and stepping back, egging on another attack from you.

"Give me a damn minute." No matter how much you wanted to snap back at him with something snarky, you knew it would only prove his point entirely—not only that but also the fact that he was mentally hitting you in all the places that he knew counted the most to throw you off your game. 

Biting back the insult you already had threatened to slip from your tongue instead of making a point by rolling your eyes as you stumbled back to your feet. Rolling your sore shoulder back as your eyes scan over his stance, trying to find the best opening for a better attack, you steady your breath and cloud your mind in thought. "You aren't going to get anywhere but dead standing around like that, you know."

So much for wanting to consider your options. Miguel took the first swing at you and was on the verge of kicking you on your ass if it weren't for your shoddy dodge.

"Didn't you just say I had to be less fucking predictable?" You snarled, lifting your foot with most of your weight pointed in the direction of his jaw. Surprisingly, the kick landed just not in the place you wanted it to; instead, Miguel’s arm blocked the blow, much to your annoyance.

"I also said—" All he was doing was using dodging moves on you, swiping your other foot from under you as he held the other one that you kicked up in his arm, resulting in you landing once again flat on your ass. "to lose that fucking attitude."

You had not gone down without a fight, twisting and kicking, trying to wrestle your limbs free by any means. Miguel had almost embarrassingly quickly ceased your squirming, his palm cuffing your arms and pressing hard against your chest as his other hand pressed tightly into your thighs, folding your legs in place under his hips.

The position was interesting, to say the least, but you still had some fight in you, wiggling against his grip with any strength you had left to break free. It was a useless battle, but the man had his grip around you tight as well as an overpowering size difference that blanketed your entire figure like one big rock.

And that's how you caught yourself in another web of misfortune. Your nerves are surging at the feeling of something—him brushing against your calf. Maybe it was all the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the fact that you were practically being manhandled so easily that did another thing to your body, or maybe it was just pure horny instability that your brain couldn't even process the lewd whine that tugged from your throat after the fact that it had happened.

Watching in pure horror as Miguel loomed on top of you, his mouth slightly agape as his chest heaved and his brows pulled together, the embarrassment from his confused, almost offended looking expression hit you fast. Here your body was betraying you once more, this time going absolutely haywire and melting like a stupid pile of putty at the fact that you were being body pressed against some mat with some guy's hard junk pressed into your leg.

You couldn't bear to even look him in the eye anymore, your head tilting to the side, pressing your cheek into the mat, and squeezing your eyes closed, not suddenly envying the spidermen with teleportation powers. "Fucking Christ, can you get off now?"

A beat of silence hovered between the small distance between you two, neither moving nor talking. It was starting to become unbearable how tightly Miguel had folded your legs against him, in the sense that you could already feel his body heat radiating. The close proximity did not help with how unbearably your heart was beating against your chest. "How do you manage after all of that to still have that shameless fucking attitude?"

You stilled at how his voice had managed to cut through your own thick cloud of betraying thoughts as well as the ringing in your eardrums. "Shameless? As if you don't have your dick pressed against me right now."

"By the sounds of it, you don't seem that bothered at all." Miguel taunted, You thought you were bound to die of embarrassment.

Yeah, this is how you went out—by dying from the sheer effect of your own extremely horny though—not some overpowered supervillain with a vendetta against you but Miguel O'Hara and his dick print.

You could already hear the new taunts that he would use against you, "Not even in your fucking dreams." being the only comeback that you could muster, your limbs tingling with slight pins and needles, threatening to go stiff under his unbound grasp. 

"Oh, like you wouldn't love to," he sneered, shifting the weight from his hips flat against your thighs. "Probably thinking about me taking off these tight fucking shorts and having my way with you?" Your body reacted first to the accusation, cursing under your breath as you felt your second heartbeat flutter in between your legs.

His lingering stare hadn't helped one bit, and you watched from the sidelines as his eyes raked over your body with interest.

"I bet this was your plan the entire fucking time, huh?" He asked, leaning in as the distance dwindled until you could feel the brush of his breath against your face. "Put on some sweet naive act in front of everyone, knowing that you're getting yourself off on me throwing you around, touching yourself like some bitch in heat."

You hadn't bothered covering the whine that parted from your lips at the feeling of his erection slowly rutting against your thigh, the cocky smirk on his lips wanting you to melt away against the mat.

Miguel practically growled at the pathetic sounds that parted from your lips, tugging your legs apart to rut his hips down against your core. You shivered at the intrusion of his bulge pressed against your eagerness, the foreign feeling of him grinding against you left your thoughts in a dizzy fog.

"What? Can’t fucking speak now," he said as if he were dangling your most prized possession in front of your face, his fingers creeping into dangerous territory, making it a point for his fingertips to drag down your lower torso only to halt right above the elastic waistband of your shorts. "Go on, use your words."

"...fuck you."

The small amount of distance made the space between you two fall tensely thick, and the words spoken from your lips were different from the feelings that made your heart thud against your ribs. You weren't stupid, you knew Miguel could sense it, he could sense just about everything about your body from how close he kneeled on top of you.

Maybe that was why he had closed the distance so quickly after, letting the tight grip around your wrists give way to his hand finding a new objective, wrapping his fingers around your neck, not bothering to be gentle as he guided your lips towards his. The kiss was as rough as you had dreamed it to be. Eager for each other's kiss, you couldn't even process the noise that vibrated sharply from your throat before Miguel could pull away first, leaving you panting for more of his touch.

"First time I've ever seen you so quiet," his deep taunts were starting to grow unbearable, shifting your hips at the brush of his fangs against the jugular of your neck with every word, "who knew all you needed was some dick?" The harsh kisses he left trailing down to your collarbone made you feel like a hot, needy mess of putty. If it weren't for the tight grasp he had on your body, you were convinced that you would feel like you'd melt into some type of puddle. The growing frustration had only started to build up more as Miguel let go of your thighs, his hand trailing between your legs ruthlessly as the bud of his fingers rubbed against your clothed pussy. 

As for why you shifted your hips up and let him impatiently tug and yank at the bow knotted around the waist of your shorts, breaking away from the red splotching light bruises already forming against your brown skin and wiggling you out of your shorts, Miguel thought it was quite the image, his eyes were fixated on the drooling sight of you under him, so vulnerable with your thighs hugging to your chest, spread open, revealing yourself in your pants.

All sanity was thrown out the window the moment he tugged you closer by your knees, your lower half lifted in his arms just enough for him to sit face to face with your cunt. His eyes darkened, his pupils blown as his tongue lapped over his lips, leaving you feeling restless. It was a slow and almost painful battle of trying to reach down and shove his face closer or buck your hips as his fingers sheathed and explored themselves against the fabric of your underwear.

As if Miguel could read your mind, his fingers hooked the fabric under the bend of his finger, followed by a quick tearing sound. "I’ll get you new ones," the comfort emitting a whine from your throat as you couldn't even scowl at him for ruining your underwear because you were too busy admiring the work his fingers were doing. Without warning, Miguel leans in closer, the warmth of his mouth almost sending you into a frenzy as his fingers spread open your lips, his lips sucking at your clitoral area, prompting you to let out a very lewd moan.

"Too loud," Miguel mumbled against your pussy, too busy webbed up in your own pleasure to even notice how every embarrassedly sloppy wet noise had seemed to perfectly echo throughout the empty room. You couldn't even explain the number of emotions that were flowing through you, from shame from being tongue fucked and fingered against the floor about the one man you hated so much to bashfulness from holding eye contact with him as he lay between your legs and ate your pussy like he was starving for you.

"I can't help it," you whined, shivering at the string of spit that contacted Miguel as he lifted his head in an idea. It took a second to process Miguel picking you up and turning you on your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up and stripping your torn panties down your legs to stuff them in your mouth.

Without a word, Miguel grabbed your ass with another hand, guiding your lower back into an arch as the other made small indents from his nail bearing into your cheeks as he spread them apart.

Before you could even feel embarrassed at the new position, he shoved his face between them, your moan being muffled by your makeshift cloth gag that worked a bit too well in lowering your whines as Miguel’s mouth sought his tongue out for your pussy once more.

"You're close I can smell it," you almost missed Miguel's groan over your building ecstasy, "just let it go, baby, let me take care of you. That's what you want, right?" His voice is drastically different from his usual rough, rude tone, softened to something of a coo that has managed to unknot your pleasure with his tongue. Your body tensed against his mouth for a moment as he had the nerve to suck his fingers clean. No grace period was given before he could lift you once more with a grunt, laying you flat on your back.

Slotting himself back between his legs, Miguel chuckled at the dazed look on your face. "It's alright, baby, I can take it from here." taking the balled up drool covered panties from your mouth and instead replaced them with his lips. The sensual change of pace wasn't enough to stop the shiver that rid your nerves of the feeling of his bare cock rutting against your slit, using his thumb to spread your lips apart to sink his tip inside of you with a low hiss against your mouth.

A gasp left yours as his girthy length intruded deeper inside of you, the burying stretch of his dick having your nails roughly grasping at the nape neck of his hair tugging a handful as his pace hadn't bothered to even get familiar already. Miguel’s hips weren't letting out as he fucked you almost animalistic against the floor. You were convinced he was trying to fuck you into the mat, to be one with the floor, which would perfectly explain the rough pace that left you breathless with each piston of his hips. 

The graphically lewd sounds of your weak groans were nothing compared to the pornographic sound of your skin meeting his, your brain empty with nothing but greed, wanting to take everything and more of what Miguel was giving you. His fingers reach to unwrap your fingers tangled in his hair to intertwine them in his. "That's it, mama, that's it," he whispers against the shell of your ear, earning a whimpering reply from you, almost close to spilling the tears clouding your waterline.

Your mind couldn't process anything other than how good Miguel’s dick felt being shoved inside of you, his cock dragging against your tight, flustering walls with each shaky breath brushed against your ear. Your cunt seemed to react to Miguel’s lashes tickling against your neck as his eyes screwed tightly shut, muttering a string of compliments in his mother tongue.

You weren't lucky enough to be more stable, surprised that your throat hasn't gone horse with how ruined your vocal cords sounded in the pace of his pistoning hips. Only going up an octave higher as one of Miguel’s hands reaches down to pay attention to your clit, he doesn't stop even when your limbs start to tremble from your climax. 

With one last hard thrust, he finally stills, your name being the only thing you could make out through his mumbling as his unfamiliar warm sensation welcomed itself inside of you. 

Groaning right in your ear, he cums inside of you with his entire dead weight pressed against you, caging you against the floor. "Alright," Miguel sighs, settling on top of you once more with his arms holding himself just a few inches away from your face. "Again."

🔖 @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @inumakiiz @iheartlinds @creamyarishi @marzipaanz

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[gothghostiie]

more musk kink with price or soap im on my knees

why not both??

cw: musk kink/huffing, degrading, fingering, oral, creampie, risky place, gn!reader, another one that turned out longer than I meant it to

price is always a lil musky, no matter how much he showers, what cologne or deodorant he uses, he just is. soap much less, unless its after a mission or after training and he didn't get to shower yet - like today. you're training with soap, price just happens to watch. he's really pushing you, it's been a gold 1 ½ hours already, you're both sweaty and exhausted but naturally soap refuses to give in; instead set on making you tap out.

with that in mind he puts you in a nasty headlock, face pressed right into his armpit. your eyes widen, struggling as you try to hold your breath and push him away, but he's laughing in your face. "tap out and I'll let ya go." he says simply; unfortunately you're as stubborn as he is. price is watching with a chuckle; just as he's about to give soap a little nudge to let you go he's stopped by you - or more like the noise you make when you stop holding your breath. it's a high pitched, far too pleased moan, paired with your eyebrows furrowing and you pressing your thighs together. the two of them exchange knowing looks. "oh? y'like that? fucking nasty slut.." soap laughs, meanwhile price goes to pull your pants down, revealing how fucking horny you are - the gym is empty right now, so might as well make use of it.

your eyes widen and you blush, shaking your head as you panic a little at being exposed; but all it does is make you huff soaps scent more. your eyes roll back, hole clenching around nothing, making price laugh. "look at you.. eager aren't you?" before you can give a muffled answer he already pushes 2 fingers into your hole, stretching you open for what he knows is gonna come. fingering your poor hole, playing with your cock/clit - you can't help it, can't hold back. they already realised you're enjoying yourself far too much, so might as well properly enjoy yourself, right?

you start inhaling the scent deeply, one hand clinging to soaps shirt while the other one holds onto his tense biceps. your eyes are rolled back, your face flushed fully red as you get lost in the sensations, allowing soap to force your face deeper as his boner grows in his sweatpants. meanwhile price is still fingering your hole open, gruff voice throwing little praises at you to keep going, bury your pretty face in there good. only when you cum the both stop, but it's far from over. soap releases you, pushing you into prices arms who smiles at you, patting your red cheek gently - just to carry and throw you in position like a ragdoll.

he carries you to one of the little benches, sitting down on it and forcing you on all 4s. you watch him pull his pants down, not even realising that Johnny is kneeling behind you - only when he pushes inside you the realisation hits. lucky for your fogged up little brain price makes sure you can't think too hard, grabbing your head and forcing it between his thick thighs, making you huff his cock n balls while soap fucks you silly from behind, slapping your ass and degrading you for liking something this nasty.

you moan and grunt against prices skin, hairs tickling your face as you bury yourself deeper and deeper on him, licking and sucking at his thick cock while he keeps pushing your head closer. you get close to cumming far too soon, pulling away to speak to them - what a dumb little mistake honey. price scoffs, grabbing the back of your head and forcing it almost painfully to his crotch - catching you in a headlock as he swings his leg over your neck, making you unable to escape him while soap fucks you silly, cumming into your poor hole.

[stickytrigger69]

NSFW TFP Soundwave x femme autobot prisoner if that’s ok, what if he used his tentacles as bondage?

TFP Soundwave x Femme Cybertronian Reader

Femme Reader

NSFW minors DNI!

I took some liberties and thought I'd spice it up just a bit more, so you're about a helm shorter than Arcee.

A/N I am so sorry I've been so inactive, but the universe has been blessing me lately, so I've been losing sleep and spazzing lol so thanks for understanding. Hope this makes yall happy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Extreme discomfort sends wave after wave of hot pain from your wrists down your arms. Your frame heating up every second you're suspended in the dark room. You've tried wiggling and shifting, even trying to flip backward, but there's not enough space above you to do so. Every time you struggle, you whimper and groan, venting heavily as you try to relieve the pain from your wrists. You swing slowly from all the moving, helm hanging low optics shut in defeat. While you struggle the door whooshes open and the clanking of pedes slowly approach. Wait, no, there's two sets.

Two bots have entered. A servo snatches your chin and forces your helm up coming optic to optic with Starscream. "Quit moving, you filthy creature!" He scowls. "You're going to hurt yourself, and then I'll be blamed."

"Not like you care screamer!" You snarl at him. You look past his helm to see who's with him. While you thought it would be the good doctor, it's Soundwave. This realization makes you nervous. Starscream growls, deeply angered at your ferocity, let's go of your face and walks over to the controls.

"Maybe this will put you in a better place of understanding." A button is pressed and held, electricity shoots through your small frame and makes you writhe. Your helm shoots up so you can scream at the ceiling, body tensing and shaking. Soundwave stares fascinated, watching your abdomen and tribulen, you move them in circles beckoning him forth.

He grabs Starscreams hand away from the control center and stares into the seekers' faces, who just groans and pulls away sharply. "If you think you can get them to obey, then by all means, I actually have work to do." He nudges Soundwave out of the way and leaves as swiftly as he came.

As the door shuts behind Starscream, a tentacle comes from Soundwaves back and connects to the control center behind him to lock the door shut. Several fire walls later, to ensure his privacy, he unlocks cuffs, and you fall to the ground like a ragdoll. Another ungrateful groan is pulled from your throat. He looks down at your crumpled form. You slowly move and try pushing yourself up, but your servos refuse. You whimper slightly as you try to excessive them, bending them in different directions.

Soundwave stares at you, thick, shiny, smooth tribulen pushed together, pedes supporting your aft. Wide hips but slim waist accentuated by the position. He feels his spike pressurize the longer he stares, his vents kick up a notch trying to cool his processor. He hasn't felt these needs for years, but the second he saw you, that spark of want and need struck him in the chest like a plasma bolt. He takes small steps toward you while tentacles are released one after one, his optics trained on you the entire time. Audials picking up your small whimpers and gasps of pain, "Do your worst decepticon. I'm not afraid of you."

He tilts his helm to the side, and his chest bounces forward in a small chuckle, 'foolish femme,' he thinks to himself. The tentacles slowly stretch towards you as he thinks about something. Should I or should I not bounce around in his helm while his tentacles ever so slightly rub against your plating. It's just as smooth as he had hoped.

This newfound information thrusts his decision forth. "No, silly femme, not hurt you but make you wiggle and writhe like you were just minutes ago." Your optics widen, fear, arousal, confusion all flash through your frame. His voice was deep and low, and the sultry tone made the small wires in your hips feel twitchy.

You're at such a loss, having been flashbanged, you hardly have time to react as his tentacles take hold of your wrists, ankles, and another around your middle, lifting you off the floor pulling you closer and closer to his own frame. You make several surprised noises, but no words are formed. You look and sound like a stupid mechanimal when it's been picked up for the first time for domestication. Your cute face turned up, searching the blank mask he wears for answers.

"N-no!" You finally shout, vocalizer staticky from the excitement coursing through you. His servos reach out to grasp your waist. His digits rub circles on the seams and small wires he can get to. You're ashamed to admit to yourself that you like this. It's disgusting and bordering on rape but, you like the attention. He's cool and confident and quiet and a beautiful mech.

You loathe to say but he's an attractive mech, even if he wasn't physically appealing, the way he carries himself and does his job would be all you need to look at him and imagine fucking yourself on his spike. Your frame heats up and reacts to his touching, tentacles coil and tighten around you, each part being set ablaze.

You look away from him, angry at yourself. ' I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it!' You scold yourself. A smooth digit rubs on your modesty panel, and your helm snaps around to look at him. A gasp sharply sucks oxygen through your vents as it slides back lightning fast. "No, no, stop. Dont-!" You feel your optics flood with coolant. 'This isn't happening. This isn't happening' you hyperventilate.

"You like this," His digit rubs against your node, making you twitch, "you can't lie to me. Don't cry, sweet one." He calms your fast beating spark. 'Why!' You scream at yourself, upset that you're losing to him. You have wanted this, maybe. Maybe he can change? He'll switch sides to be with you, right? He starts playing with your slick, rubbing your lubricants all over your soft folds. A moan rolls off your glossa, making him smirk and chuckle, 'now I've got you,' he thinks to himself triumphantly. His own panel slides away, his fully pressurized spike bobs out.

No time is wasted as he rubs the tip against your slickened folds. Your beautiful valve is warm and inviting. Your entrance feels tight, causing a giddy feeling to bubble in his chassis. Without wasting anymore time, he thrusts into you, making you moan so deliciously. Oh, you're so tight.

He wishes he could stay in you forever, but his frame forces him to pull out and thrust back into you again. You pull against his tentacles, but the grip tightens and pulls your arms behind you, wraps around your neck, and holds you a bit higher. Pulling you off his spike and then back down into him, effectively using his strong appendages to use you as a fuck toy making your own chassis buzz with arousal.

He watches closely as your derma split and hang open as he uses you, optics lidded and glowing bright. He's savoring every last second, recording your session together for later reference. He looks down and watches your tight valve swallow his spike. He pulls out and rubs it harshly against your soft lips, so wet and inviting, node swollen and ready to burst. He never asked, but now he wonders, is he your first, has he been the one to rip your pretty little bow off and opened your flower? His spike throbs at the thought, bio lights flickering and popping. His tentacles bring you closer, and he takes hold of you once more, claws digging into your strong armor, pinching and pulling at sensitive wires.

You cry in pain, but it's just a small rock compared to the mountain of pleasure he's built in you. Your node releases wave upon wave of warm pleasure as his spike fucks you deeper and deeper. "Oh please, oh, don't stop." You beg, trying to rock your hips into him, but the tentacles keep you from doing so. One of the smooth appendages snakes it's way up to your plump derma and pushes them apart to slowly push through and pull out in a thrusting motion.

You whine at the intrusion, optics shutting tight, glossa sticking out and rubbing against the underside of his tentacle, making him shudder. His hips plow you forcefully, your processor a muddy mess, only the thought of overloading on his large spike pushes its way through to the surface. He beats you to the punch, however, and overloads, thrusting his transfluids deep inside your valve. The warm flood of liquid is all you need.

You cry and moan out as your own overload shocks your entire frame, arms and legs tensing and straightening out as much as they can. Black tentacles are tight around you as they glow brighter by the second. You both shudder and shiver and twitch. You nearly faint from the charge you've received. Your poor valve is now pulsing and sore from the harsh treatment.

He pulls his now softened spike from inside you, a copious amount of transfluids drip and pour from your now puffy and abused valve. Soundwave stares in awe at the sight, so beautiful, so proud of himself. He thinks he may want to just keep you locked up in his hab from now on. "Am I your first? It sure felt like it." He asks you smugly, making your faceplate heat up once more with embarrassment. No answer, he's right.

He lets go of your legs so fast you groan, your lower half so tired. When your pedes hit the floor, he drops you entirely, tentacles retreating to wherever they came from, but your tired body fails you, and you stumble forward into his chassis. You groan and whine, though not in pleasure. Your legs shake and bend, tiny servos hold on tight to the mech before you. An interesting sound warbles through the room, and suddenly, a blue light illuminates the room. The next thing you know, you're in the middle of nowhere. "Did he just throw me?" You say out loud expecting no one to hear, but then you hear curious buzzing and pips. "Bee?"

Soundwave stares at the floor, transfluids in puddles and drizzles, he thinks of the sky with cloud trails. A small tinge of loneliness vibrates through his chassis. Why should he miss you. You scowled at him the entire time he used you, right? No, you liked it, liked him.

He turns to where the portal had been opened just moments before. He'll have to have you again soon. Swiftly, he cleans up the mess, wipes the camera memory, and leaves the room. Excitement in every pulse of his spark, processor buzzing, he will be planning for cycles about how your next encounter will go, perhaps he will, yeah, that's perfect.

[guillotine-drop]

I love Benny fuckers because any time I see a post being horny for that checker suited freak it’s almost always either

A. Something tender and longing. You want to feel his hands on yours. You want to cup his face in your hands and tell him “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight alone anymore. I’ll be by your side.” You want to feel him relax in your grip, want to feel and see the breath he’s been holding in for so long leave his lungs. You want to make him feel safe, make him feel as though he’s actually going to make it this time. That he’s finally going to know peace. The boot riders, the chairmen, it was all for this moment; it was all for the sanctity of having someone he can trust, fully and openly, with his life.

Or B. You wanna grab him by the leg and swing him around over your head and throw him at the walls like a milk soaked ragdoll and hit him with a stick and just generally treat him like a chew toy (he is buck naked save for his suit jacket and enjoying all of this a little too much)

[mikoth]

lil bro asked for a dance

.

.

.

5 minutes later, lil bro was found dead with most of his bones broken

suspect was arrested that night for first degree murder even tho it's a third degree

It really was an accident 😭 she just wanted to mess with him by swinging his short ass around like a ragdoll, not fucking kill him

ennui dont know her own strength sometimes...

[bowieandqueen11]

Zoro Falling In Love With You Would Include...

Request: I've been binge watching one piece this Friday night so I could appreciate your recent requests and finally send one in! Please can you write for Zoro falling in love? 🥹❤️ I know you would do it amazingly!

Yayayay I've been waiting to write something like this for Zoro, thank you lovely!!! I had WAY too much fun writing this one I am so sorry if I went overboard on the imagery but also sorry not sorry I want to press a thousand kisses over this beautiful man's face

Okay this actually took way too much time to write so comments are much much appreciated!!

Warning: slightly suggestive if you squint, mention of scratching/ injuries and sword fighting

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @starryyshadows.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Oh, mosshead. What a dopey ass himbo you are. Istg this m*therf*cker right here (affectionate) would be so god damn ANNOYING when he's in love. Forget about Zoro nearly grabbing Sanji by his curly brows and swinging him like a ragdoll over the railings any time his continuous nosebleeds drip into his sake. Zoro is just as bad, just a needle swung in the opposite direction; he grumbles around the ship like a mopey, exasperated crocodile, snapping at anyone who comes near him that isn't you.

He wasn't built for love; hellfire roared through his veins, ravishing every cell in his body until his teeth gritted and lips bled in his struggle for self-discipline. He was a predator; rampant, ravaging, resolved in his fortitude. So why? Oh god, why? Why did he feel like he was being torn apart? Ravished by teeth that left rupturing silver punctures in his lungs, shredded by claws that streamed blinding light through the chambers of his heart.

He had felt like that: bent over doubled, clutching his chest in pain when the two of you first met as teenagers. If it hadn't been pitiful enough that you had bested him during your first sparring match at the Shimotsuki Dojo, you had to rub salt into the wound by being kind to him afterwards. He had scoffed when you had thrown your helmet to the ground and held out your hand to him, a scowl cloaking his face and making his teeth grind as you offered him advice on how to perfect your technique. Yet all you had done in response to his slight was to smile: a smile so shining, so unjustly kindly, so prepossessing and beautiful that the swordsman froze in shock, a fleeting flash of pure light haloing his eyes.

He knew. He knew, right there and then. That you were the only thing in all of the seas that could stand in his way. In that moment, he had decided that he would like to live forever in that strand of light: that one that strayed through a gap between the oak leaves, straying past its dark, dense leaves, foraging past the crawling thickets to instead brush against the tip of your cheek.

'What does it matter anyway?', Zoro had glowered, refusing to look back at you again. 'It's not as if you're going to stick around. Once your gone, I'll be the best fighter here again.'

'I'm not going anywhere. Not until I defeat you ten more times, at least', you added, once you noticed him rolling your eyes. You held your hand out, and Zoro glanced down at your outreaching fingers warily. 'No matter where we are or what happens to us, I'll always be a better swordsman than you.' His lips finally curl up in a smile then as he reaches out to shake your hand, and the feeling sends a spark of something running down his fingertips. His whole body feels alight, and he spends the whole rest of the day clenching his fingers into his palm and trying desperately to relish the feeling.

Which is why, for a while, Zoro seems to go extra hard on you: calling you away after lessons for private sparring matches deep in the woods, where only the crunchy bark could hear your swift steps and the fine mist wrapped around the pale trees and sent a cold shake down your hilted hand. The only way to warm yourself up was to butt the edge of your sword against Zoro's flailing torso, shoving him back so you could use the leverage to pin his panting face up against the nearest tree trunk. This time, though - this time, you surprise him.

If he was disappointed in himself for losing again, it soon melted away by the feel of your torso pressing up against his heaving lungs. For a moment, his lips tighten into a thin line as sees your approaching forehead and believes you're straight up just going to headbutt his sorry ass. He jumps even more when your skin lands... softly? against the burning side of his temple. He can't seem able to find his breath, the world seeming to be frozen in glinting threads of light as you linger against the young demon. All that exists is the soft push of your nose against his fluttering shut eyelid. The warm puff of breath as you sigh against the shell of his ear. The light scrape of the bark against his back as he shivers. The sound of his own heart, his blood scorching through his veins and convulsing against the sharp cage of his ribs.

He's so hyperaware of his body tantalisingly close to yours; his stiff elbows lay drawn up by his side, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly as he spreads and flexes his fingers, slowly drawing them to hover around your back. He was still too afraid to touch you.

Too afraid of the fire burning through his fingertips again.

But before he could muster up the courage you had pulled away, and the moment faded into a jaded dream that he nestled safely in the back of his memories.

It's impossible to shake Zoro from you after that moment. He hounds after you like a coveting beast: he stays tied to your hip like a disruptive dog harnessed on a leash. Your favourite activity is sneaking out of your dorms after hours and running down to meet by the riverbed: feet sprinting across the cream petals and sharp pine needles to collapse next to one another among the buzz of the fireflies nestling above the woven grass. For a while, as the two of you turn your tired heads to the skies, there's nothing but a silent affinity settling over the clearing. Nothing but the feel of the silk sleeve of Zoro's pyjamas brushing over the side of your cheek as unclasps his hands from behind his head and warily rests them in the short space between your hips. Nothing but the sound of your extolled voice as you point up at the bursts of sparks and swirls of silver against the darkness, enrapturing Zoro as you chart out the dips of your favourite constellations.

The reflection of the skies you had spent your younger years on the seas watching with wonder fill your eyes with a wonderous light, the delight drawing your attention away and allowing Zoro the opportunity to docilely turn his head to face you instead. His cheek freezes against the dew, but he's too revered in memorising the scrunch of your nose as you swat your hand at him for not paying attention: too busy watching the placid look that softens your smile as you look, too busy wishing he wasn't so cowardly. Wishing he didn't feel so feeble. Wishing, as his hand clawed at his thigh and dug in deep enough to leave bruises, that he could just reach out and touch you.

He jumps when you click your fingers in front of his crossing eyes. 'Zoro, are you even listening?'

He shrugged. 'Kinda. I don't know much about this stuff. If I can't hit it, I don't care.'

'You should! One day, when I become the greatest sword fighter in the world, I'm going to sail into those stars and discover all the secrets this world has to offer.' You flopped your free hand over your stomach with a content sigh, the spiralling glow of the heavens raining down and coating your face with sparks of silver.

He snorted. 'That sounds stupid. You can't sail into the sky.'

'You're just jealous because you're not invited.'

'Good. Who said I wanted to come.'

Zoro may be an idiot, but he's also a man who learns from his mistakes.

He doesn't know what overtakes him. Adrenaline? Rage? An overwhelming surge of fondness? The thought pounding in his head that if he doesn't do this now, he'll spend forever locked away in this cage? His fingers itch across the grass. His whole body squirms, the heat rolling through his body making the perspiration bead on his forehead, but still he keeps going. It's only when he feels your hand jolt back as his pinkie bumps against the side of your wrist that he begins to feel stupid.

Growing self-restraint be damned, as soon as you recover from the shock and shyly place your hand back down by your side, he pounces. Initially, the squeeze of his fingers as they wrap around your cool palm almost breaks bone, but all you do is rub your thumb over the edge of his knuckles.

You know its his way of telling you he loves you, even if he is too young and stubborn and proud to say it.

You both knew that one day you would leave him for the stars. When the time comes, and you leave Shimotsuki Village, to stop the sinews of his heart from completely scorching away with every knot of your ship, the demon suffocates any thought of you.

When he meets you again that fateful day: tied up to a Marine post in a dusty courtyard, tired, frustrated, solemn, for the first time in his life he begins to feel his judgement sway. When your face popped around the yard gates on your way out from meeting Axehand Morgan, your feet skid so comically across the ground the cloud of smoke it raised was so huge it even made Zoro sneeze. With a hand on your hip, and eyes widened in disbelief, you stepped out into the sunlight to survey the man bowed before you.

'I always knew I'd see you tied up one day', you smirked, shoving the handful of berries you had earnt from trading in your last bounty into the satchel by your hip before wandering over to untie him. 'Just thought it would be me doing the tying.'

'Y/n?', he asks incredulously, trying his best to dart his eyes nonchalantly up and down your body despite how fervently his voice was trying to waver. He sneered, tipping his head in the other direction and staring at the ground as you tug on the rather tight knots around his wrist. 'What the hell are you doing here.'

When you finally manage to tug him loose off the boards, his knees sag so quickly beneath him that the swordsman nearly goes collapsing headfirst onto the ground. With reflexes so quick they could only be rivalled by your own sparring buddy himself, a firm hand slaps against his sternum. A quick tug pulls him back, Zoro's knees dirtying with beige as he kneels back against you.

'Same as you, oh great swordsman', you laugh against his ear. 'I always told you you'd have competition. And from the looks of it, I'm winning.'

For a second you're concerned you've overstepped: the familiarity, the fondness you thought everlasting between you both a figment of your imagination when Zoro tilts his head back slightly to glare at you from the corners of his eyes. Placing a hand on his knee he braces himself, and steps up. For a moment, you're even more terrified he's about to kick you to the ground - or even worse, turn his back and walk off, ignoring you completely. But then he surprises you. The corners of his lips twitch in what - no way- could only be the beginnings of a smile?! before you're lifted off the ground and crushed in a hug so unyielding between his solid chest and taut arms that you can't help but bury your head into his shoulder blade and laugh.

It wasn't very hard to convince Luffy to let you join his crew - I mean, when you took down three Marines with just one punch, and he saw the powerhouse you and Zoro were as you fought back to back with Axehand Morgan, you were coming, and that was that. No buts. No excuses. Don't argue with your Captain.

I mean, bless his heart, Zoro is still a dumbass though, as perceptive as he is. And he's still sore. It takes a little bit of work to climb through the trellises of his grave heart. But little by little, he begins to open up to you again. He starts to grumble less when you climb up to join him during his late nights on watch up in the Crow's Nest. At first, as he burrows his back into the planks and crosses his arms in front of his chest, the steady breathing of his stoic body makes your job seem even harder. Undeterred, you rocked back on your heels and clucked your tongue in nervousness. But you should have known: even with his eyes closed, concentration edged into the furrows of his face, he's far too perspicacious for his own good. Even though he's doing his best to look brooding and bored, his foot shoots out and kicks his sword out of the way - launching it back across your heels and barring you from tumbling back down and falling down the hatch.

Every time you drag yourself up in the middle of the night to join him, you can tell his full concentration is centred on you, even if his eyes never even move behind their lids. He's pointedly listening out for your move, your every breath, your every heartbeat - which comes in very handy for darting out and catching in his massive palm the warm cups of cider you had precariously tried to carry up. Eventually, after a full week of you sitting up there Zoro finally relents his pride; even with Luffy's vest and Usopp's jacket wrapped around you, you clutch at the lapels of Sanji's suit jacket that your friends had very kindly lent you to try and stop shivering from the cold. Zoro doesn't even speak, just raises his elbow a little bit, and you don't need a second invitation to come clambering into the warmth of his side.

God, if he hadn't spent every moment of every day since he was thirteen years old dreaming of holding you in his arms. You pretend, for his sake, that you can't feel his heart thrumming wildly against your ear.

You catch the former bounty hunter staring at you from across the Lounge’s breakfast table most mornings. The intensity of his unwavering eye would be strong enough to make you blush, if you hadn't turned your attention back to stabbing at Luffy's grabby hands with the prongs of your fork. It's only when Sanji clasps his hands to his cheek, and in a faux sugary sweet sing-song voice professes 'how romantic mosshead can be! What person wouldn't love being stared at like roadkill!', that all hell breaks loose. Luffy's too busy munching on your pancake to truly register you and Nami nearly flying leapfrog over Zoro's back to try and stop him from throwing the poor cook through the window.

Although you succeed, Sanji does have to spend the rest of the morning sulkily smoking out of the corner of his mouth while wringing orange juice out of his hair.

Zoro is extremely, extremely protective over you. Even though you know how much he hates talking, he draws all the attention to himself away from Cabaji, even while tied up to Buggy' circus wheel. When the knives start whizzing past his head, he doesn't even flinch: safe in the knowledge that no matter what happens, you're safe from these buffoons. When Nami finally manages to pick her cage's lock and help free the two of you, you offer Zoro your hand as you cautiously steady him on the ground again. He jolts, and for a moment you're worried one of the knives actually did hit him; while you flip his palm trying to find any sign of a scratch, Zoro's eyes focus on you in wild shock. He feels fifteen again as he gently rubs your searching fingers between his coarse pointer finger and thumb, sobbing into his bed and holding the hilt of his sword, pretending it was your hand. Your warmth. And here you were, come back to him, offering it freely. He felt like falling to his knees, a pliant supplicant to your unwarranted mercy.

One time he nearly made you bust out laughing: since Zoro spends most of his day napping in such random intervals, during a rogue storm aboard the Going Merry one cloudy evening the swordsman was still awake. It was during your struggle to stop yourself pitching right off your bed and slamming into the wall, and planting yourself firmly from sliding to the left and body slamming a very irritated looking Nami, whose head was covered by one of her bunched up pillows, that you spotted a shadow flitting across the porthole on your door. Zoro's tall, awkward outline hesitantly moved as if he were about to rap at the door, before the sound of him yelling at himself under his breath made you snort aloud.

His head rises at the sound, and before he can take a step backward to try and abort his masterplan of sneaking into your room under the guise of checking if you were alright with the storm battering the rocking ship, you had slammed open the door and nearly flung Zoro into your hammock like a ragdoll. For a moment, Zoro lies there like a statue, unsure of where to put his hands or if it's alright that the sway of the ship means that he can't unsquish his cheek from against the side of your eyebrow. When his hand hesitantly begins to fall over your back and fold you tightly against his pecs with a squeeze, you know that's his trepid way of trying to let you know he still loved you.

Not to mention when you wake up and he's lying with his nose nearly indented into yours, his sleepy eyes looking so peaceful for once... just admiring you with the warm glow of the sun dousing him in holiness.

One time he got really lost trying to find you and Luffy after the two of you had the very sensible idea of setting off to the nearest island on a search for hidden treasure. After he had spent hours wading through muddy creeks and tearing some tangled thorns away from his face, out you come wandering from behind a tree. Thinking you were some kind of wild animal, Zoro has you pinned against the bark of the nearest tree before you even have time to blink.

Not one to be defeated, you kick out at his legs with a delighted laugh, knocking the man nearly ass over head onto his back. You grin, victorious, as you crawl between his legs like a ravenous tiger, knocking the hilt of his blade far out of reach of his clenching fingers. As your knee presses against the inner seam of his muscled thigh, you can tell by the forced gulp of his bobbing throat how hard he's struggling. When you dig your fingernails deeply enough into his wrists to elicit a throaty hum of approval, when his abdomen keeps bucking ever so slightly off the reeds to try and shake you off, you just know the man's imagined this scenario a lot of times, in a lot of different ways over the years.

(I mean this man could throw you off easily let's be real.)

When the Straw Hat Crew meet Kaya, this man - istg - he nearly goes weak at the knees when you come down the stairs in your brand new borrowed outfit. His breathless inhale earned him a distasteful glare from Klahadore, but he didn't even care that he was showing such careless, unmeasured adoration. It took Luffy nearly slapping him across the face with the shrimp he was waving in front of his nose to draw him back to some sense of reality.

'I know!', the Captain had smiled. 'The food here is so good, I was daydreaming about it too!'

Having the good fortune to uh *definitely by chance and not because you snuck into the dining hall earlier to switch the place cards* - to sit next to Zoro offers him the opportunity to make his feelings more plain, in a subtle way. Perfect timing! As soon as Luffy clambers up onto the table and draws the wrath of the strangely severe butler, Zoro's hand latches across yours under the tablecloth and squeezes. He blinks languidly, his face as unreadable as ever as he takes a sip out of his champagne flute and clears his throat, but you notice. You know every part of him: every idiosyncrasy, every bob of his Adam's Apple, the tensed pull of his jaw muscle as he clenches his teeth, the warm flush rising up his cheeks, you know them all. As if they were so innate, so interwoven with your own being, that you weren't sure of a time when your hearts hadn't been devoured by each other's. Each the predator. Each the prey.

He leaves his hand on your knee for the rest of the dinner, and you refuse to remove his latched fingers and let him go.

You kiss him for the first time that night: just a sweet little tease of lingering lips against the pure radiance of his cheek.

As he walks you down the 'confusing' corridors that are 'definitely a trap' by Zoro's own declaration, you unlink yourself from his arm to straighten the collar of his silk shirt. 'You look nice', you say sincerely, eyebrows furrowing as you trace the outline of his bare collar between the open buttons. 'Even though swords are more your style, you look good in a suit. You look good in everything.'

'Uh... thanks', he balks, his head emptying as his entire being instead focuses on the feeling of your fingertip scratching of his chest. 'You- your eyes look nice', he bluntly replies. 'Like two rice balls.'

Bless him, he meant well.

And then you kiss him with a raise of your tippy toes and final clutch of your hands against his shoulders, before retreating back into your room and leaving him extinguished within the shadows. He spends the next few hours almost deliriously wandering the corridors, trying to temper the tight ball growling in his belly. To try and find a sense of clarity, some kind of retinence. Looking past the billowing blue curtains and out through the slats of the casement windows lining the ornate, ostentatious glass cases, a warning pangs in Zoro's heart. How could he? How could he find restraint, when you had spent all these years driving his thoughts wild? How could he keep you safe, when he could focus on nothing but the wetness still lingering against his cheek? How could he fulfil his dreams, when all he wants right there. Just past the clear moonlight drifting silver into his eyelids, there your stars lay.

He wasn't about to let you sail away from him this time, to alight only in his memories: to pulse through the hollow beats of his hear and cool his charred veins like a cruel reminder of a salvation he had never deserved.

He wasn’t going to lose you to his callow cowardice. Not ever again.

When he comes knocking on your door, you don't expect the demon bounty hunter to blurt out a fevered 'I love you!', before turning and stamping off. But I suppose, as you ran after to him to drag him back into your room by the scuff of his neck and slam the wide expanse of his back against the door to shut it, he wasn't expecting to spend the night filling poor Kaya's house with unbridled moans.

[weltato]

No, YOU'RE THE COOLEST!

Your writing is also fan-flipping-tastic <3 I hope you enjoy this, it was fever dream writing again. I have an assignment to write but the plot bunnies said NO-

HEY WHAT

EXCUSE ME WHAT

I'M SORRY WHAATTT

@weltato you are actually the coolest, i'm so excited! your work is incredible <33

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Lord of Dunholm

Fictober Day 8

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Warnings: sub/dom dynamics, restraining, bondage, spanking, pure SMUT 18+, dom!Sihtric

Word Count: 1,9K

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

“Relax, my sweet girl,” Sihtric’s warm breath caresses your skin, his voice a smooth, low whisper that wraps around your senses like silk. There’s a softness to his words, yet they hold an undeniable power, coaxing your body to ease. 

His fingers glide up your arms, slow and deliberate, making you squirm beneath his touch. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice a low murmur as his fingers gently check the fabric securing your wrists, making sure it holds you firmly but not uncomfortably. Your arms are bound above your head, and the sensation leaves you vulnerable, yet there’s an odd comfort in the care he takes with each knot.

His hands move to the scarf around your eyes, adjusting it to ensure it covers them completely, sealing you in darkness. Without your sight, every sense sharpens—the warmth of his breath against your skin, the brush of his fingers along your collarbone, the expectation humming in the space between you. The complete darkness enveloping you is somehow both scary and thrilling, every touch a surprise and the anticipation only heightens your pulse.

“Are you ready?” His lips barely graze the curve of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yes, my Lord,” you breathe, your voice thick with arousal and anticipation. 

Sihtric’s hand grasps your jaw, gently tilting it upward, his thumb brushing against your lips. He doesn’t need to say a word—your lips part instinctively, as if responding to a silent command. His thumb slips inside, and you begin to suck, your tongue swirling around it in slow, deliberate movements.

You moan softly as his other hand cups your breast, followed by his lips, closing in on your hardened nub and sucking hard, teeth grazing your sensitive flesh.

“You know you can stop me anytime you want,” he nearly purrs, and a soft whine escapes your lips as he pulls his thumb from your mouth. "All you have to do is to say the special word."

“Do you trust me?” he breathes, his voice softer now, filled with both reassurance and a promise. 

You nod. “I do, I trust you, my Lord.” 

A low growl rumbles through Sihtric’s chest at your words, it’s as if they go straight to his cock, making him impossibly, painfully hard. He despises that title—just hearing it stirs painful memories, the fear always lurking behind it. He’s tried to banish it, but no matter how much he hates it, he can never escape who he is now—the Lord of Dunholm.

But the way you say it is different. There’s no fear, only love, care, and unwavering devotion. Since the moment you stepped into his life, he hasn’t stopped thanking the gods for you—for giving him someone who embraces every part of him, even the darkest corners of his damaged soul, showing him that love and trust are not just empty words

Before you can react, he smoothly flips you onto your belly, drawing a surprised yelp from you. You yelp again as he pulls you up to your knees with your ass up and spreads your legs. His movements are harsh, almost rough, his fingers digging into your skin with bruising force, making you feel like a ragdoll in his grasp. 

You feel Sihtric’s palm landing on your lower back, holding you in place. Breath withhold you freeze as your alerted senses perceive a swung in the air and his large palm slaps down on your arse, leaving a sharp sting in its wake. 

You cry out, surprise lacing your voice, but at the same time you can’t stop the breathless moan that follows, slipping from your parted lips completely out of your control. 

Before you even manage to brace yourself you hear another swing of his arm and the sound of his palm colliding with your bottom explodes in your ears. You suck in a deep, quivering breath followed by a loud gasp. 

Torn between begging him to stop and the strange thrill burning inside you, you bury your face in the sheets, trying to muffle the whine that threatens to spill from your lips at the fiery sensation. 

“Who’s been a bad girl today?” Sihtric’s raspy voice growls just behind your ear, the thick, heavy sound of it sending a jolt straight to your core, starting to clench around nothing. "You think I didn't see those lustful glances you were casting at that stable boy today?"

“I... I'm sorry, my Lord,” you beg softly, your breath trembling.

You dare not move, your breathing heavy with anticipation. The hand rises and comes down with a sharp smack against your ass, the sound echoing through the room. You moan loudly, and your fingers grab the sheets as you try to ground yourself. The sound of Sihtric’s throaty, panting breath adds to the heat taking over your body as you feel your wetness slowly dripping down your thigh. 

A whimper of relief slips out as Sihtric’s hand gently rubs over the heated flesh, soothing the sting with tender strokes, before you hear it rising again. Smack.

The anticipation thrums in your veins, each second stretched taut like a bowstring, ready to snap. You can’t see him, but you can feel his presence—every shift of his body, every controlled breath. The heat from your punished skin pulses, the sting a steady reminder of his control over you.

Sihtric’s hand rises again, and for a heartbeat, you think the next blow is imminent. But instead, his fingers slip between your legs, gliding along the slickness there. A ragged groan escapes him as his thumb finds your swollen, aching clit, pressing just enough to send waves of pleasure through your body.

“You’re soaking wet,” he growls, almost in disbelief, his thumb circling slowly. “You enjoy this far too much, don’t you?”

Your breath catches, your lips parting in a gasp. “Y-Yes, my Lord.”

He rewards your confession with a soft, teasing stroke. “Good girl."

His praise sends a shiver of warmth down your spine. His fingers continue their slow, deliberate torment, coaxing moans from deep in your throat, but just as your hips start to roll against his hand, chasing more, he pulls away.

A whimper of frustration escapes your lips. You can hear him moving behind you, feel the heat of his body close, the brush of his skin against yours as he shifts. Without warning, his hand is at the back of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair, tugging your head back, while his other hand finds your ass once more.

“You look so perfect like this,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper. “On your knees, waiting, completely at my mercy.”

You whimper. His words ignite something deep inside you, a need that’s both primal and vulnerable. His hand in your hair tightens, keeping you still as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me what you want,” he commands, his breath hot and tantalising. “I need to hear you say it.”

A rush of heat surges through you, and your voice trembles as you speak. “I want you, my Lord. I want you inside me.”

There’s a brief pause, the air thick with tension, before Sihtric releases a low, guttural sound, almost a growl. He lets go of your hair, the mattress dips slightly under his weight. You feel his hands grip your hips, pulling you back toward him, aligning your bodies.

A gasp escapes you as you feel the tip of his cock, hard and throbbing, brushing against your wet folds, teasing but not entering. He drags it slowly along your entrance, coating himself in your slickness.

“Is this what you want?” His voice is dark and seductive, the question hanging in the air like a tantalising promise.

You nod frantically, breathless. “Yes, my Lord. Please.”

Without another word, he thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. A cry of pleasure tears from your lips as he stretches you, your body trembling at the overwhelming sensation of him.

He doesn’t move at first, holding you in place, savouring the feeling of your tightness around him. Then, slowly, he pulls back, only to slam into you again, harder this time, and then again and again, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. His grip on your hips is firm, his control absolute, as he sets a punishing rhythm.

Your thoughts are scattered by the fullness of him, your body trembling beneath the weight of his desire. Every thrust, every pull and push sends ripples of heat through your core, and all you can do is to hold onto the sheets with your bound hands, gasping for breath.

The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his deep, guttural groans, mingling with the slap of skin against skin. The intensity of his thrusts drives you closer and closer to the edge, your body tightening, coiling, ready to break.

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice strained, thick with desire. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“Y-You, my Lord,” you cry out, barely able to form the words as he drives into you, deeper and harder. “I belong to you.”

A growl rumbles in his chest, and his pace quickens even more, his movements growing more desperate, more primal. Each thrust sends you spiralling further into bliss, the pressure building until you feel like you’re going to shatter.

Sihtric’s hands move, one sliding from your hip to your back, pressing you down as he thrusts harder. His other hand sneaks between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling it with a maddeningly light touch. The sensations crash together—his cock pounding mercilessly into you from behind, the delicate friction of his fingers against your most sensitive spot—and it sends you spiralling toward the edge faster than you could have anticipated.

You moan, the sound desperate, needy. “My Lord, I—”

“I know,” he grunts, his own control beginning to slip. “Let go, cum for your Lord, cum for me.”

His words are all you need. The tension inside you snaps, and your body shudders violently as your orgasm rips through you, every nerve alight with pleasure. You cry out, your voice muffled against the sheets, your legs trembling as the waves of release crash over you, leaving you trembling and breathless, your body convulsing around him.

Sihtric doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your climax, his thrusts rough, demanding, until his grip tightens, as he buries himself deep inside you. His body stills, and you feel the heat of him spilling inside you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips and low guttural growls leaving his lips.

For a moment, neither of you move, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths. Slowly, Sihtric pulls out of you, his hands so gentle as he eases you back down onto the bed, untying your wrists and removing the scarf from your eyes.

He lies down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “You did so well,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So perfect.”

You smile, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all. 

The room feels softer now, the tension replaced with a warm, intimate stillness. Sihtric pulls you into his arms, your body curling into his chest, your face nestled against his skin. He strokes your hair gently. 

Sihtric’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing softly against your temple. “Sleep, my sweet girl,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep you safe.”

A small, satisfied smile tugs at your lips as you close your eyes, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful calm. “Thank you, my Lord,” you whisper, your voice drowsy and content.

With his warmth surrounding you, you let yourself drift, your body still tingling with the remnants of pleasure, your mind sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep.