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lovebugism · 3 months

Note

shy! reader request: eddie & reader having their first sleepover? reader bein all cautious about her actions and if it’s ok and eddie seeing this just lifts up the blankets to the bed to welcome her in to snuggle :)

love love love this request! hope you enjoy :D — eddie tries to make his shy!gf feel at home in his trailer (fluff, new relationship hijinks, 2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Despite what people say, Eddie Munson does not drive like a maniac.

Correction— Eddie Munson doesn’t drive like a maniac when there’s a pretty girl in his van.

Even though you’re pretty much the first girl to be in his van period (and even though you wouldn’t consider yourself all that pretty), you’re glad to be an exception to the rule. Your panoply of anxieties couldn’t have handled anything more than the passably steady car ride from Benny’s Burgers to Forest Hills.

You don’t mean to let out a sigh of relief when he parks in his driveway.

Eddie grins and unlatches his seatbelt with a soft click at the same time you do. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks with eyes just as wild as his hair.

You shake your head with your lips pursed to the side, then peer at him from beneath your lashes. “After everything Steve said, I was expecting a lot worse,” you confess. And even though you duck away from him, Eddie can still see the small smile on your petaled mouth. Just as quiet as you are.

“Well, one, don’t listen to anything Steve says, okay? Like, ever,” Eddie cajoles lightheartedly. “And two, I don’t drive crazy when I have precious cargo sitting next to me, alright? Stevie’s just jealous ‘cause I think you’re prettier than he is.”

Your nose scrunches as you try to worm your way out of his compliment. “So you think Steve’s pretty?” you tease, already knowing the answer.

He scoffs. “Totally! Just not pretty like you. And don’t tell him I said that either— It’ll just go to his hair.”

The incorrect turn of phrase makes you giggle.

He turns his knees towards the door and curls his fingers around the latch. “Wait for me a second, will ya?” you hear him mumble before he hops to the ground. He slams the door shut behind him and rounds the hood on his way to you — sneakers crunching against the gravel, momentarily aglow with yellow headlights.

He’d done this before at the diner. You wait patiently for his arrival like you did then, even though you feel a bit silly doing so. You’re more than capable of getting out yourself, but Eddie always insists.

He opens the passenger side door for you with a tightlipped, lopsided grin and holds his free hand out towards you. His fingers are larger and much warmer than yours as they wrap around your palm to guide you out.

The van isn’t that high up off the ground, really. He just likes to hold your hand.

You don’t mind it, though. You’ll take any opportunity to hold him back.

He leads you up the driveway and inside the trailer with his hand entwined with yours. “Wayne’s not here?” you murmur when you’re finally inside, noticing how quiet and empty the place is.

Though maybe empty’s not the right word. The place is filled with stuff — old furniture, a collection of mugs, and various other necessities. Not a mess, just an organized chaos of miscellaneous clutter. It feels like a home. Like a place that’s been lived in.

“No. He’s at work. Graveyard shift,” Eddie answers, tossing his keys onto the coffee table with a high-pitched clack.

He starts to shrug off his leather jacket and notices how squirrelly you seem, all skittish with your face twisted with a distant worry. Your neck twitches softly, head tilting once to the side and back up again. Your quiet concern becomes his own.

His brows raise, hidden beneath his curly bangs, as he slides the fabric down his tattooed arms. “Is that okay?” he wonders, eyes wide and twinkling with apprehension.

“Yeah!” you answer, louder and quicker than you mean to. You’re obviously overcompensating, but you shrug it off anyway. You smile sweetly at him, even though it wavers at the edges, and tilt your cheek to your shoulder. “I was just— It was just a question.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t wanna stay the night,” Eddie assures you, giving you an out so you don’t have to make one yourself. “It’s whatever, you know? Give me the word, and I’ll take you back home. I’ll just spend the night all alone… In an empty trailer… In bed all by myself…”

His quiet smirk widens to a broader beam when he nears you. His pale hands curl around your arms, the faded bats below his thumb sitting neatly outside your elbow.

He’s joking, of course. Well, not about the taking you home part, but about all the rest of it.

He thinks he’d die if he ever made you feel anything less than totally safe. Dying would feel easier, at least. He’d never make you feel bad about being anxious, or coerce you into hiding your feelings for his sake. He cares about you far too much for any of that.

So his tense heart rests a bit when you smile.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, quiet but still sincere.

The boy brightens all at once. Excited in such an innocent, boyish way. “So I get to kiss you all night long?” he wonders in a disbelieving murmur.

“Only if you want,” you answer with burning cheeks and clammy hands.

“Well, I do want… I want very much…”

He kisses you then, until your lungs run out of air. Standing together in the middle of his living room, lit by so many yellow lamps, with the croaking of frogs and the chittering of crickets sounding in the navy blue night.

He pulls away sometime after. Maybe a second. Maybe an eon or more. He recovers from being so ardently kissed much quicker than you do and guides you down the short hallway to the single bedroom. You still feel the imprint of his mouth against yours, like he’s still there.

Your lips tingle with longing, grieving the lack of him.

You still make him turn around before you change, though.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he teases from the very center of his mattress, right before turning onto his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.

“It’s different,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you slide the sleeves of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric falls to the carpeted floor in a puddle at your feet. You make quick work of redressing, as though there were some kinda time limit to what you had asked of him.

“I know,” he replies, muffled into the cushion his cheek is smushed against. “You’re still pretty, though.”

“You can’t even see me,” you argue and slide a pair of frilly sleep shorts over your thighs.

“I’d still think you were pretty even if I never saw you again.”

“Jeez,” you laugh, shoving your head through the neckline of a band-tee older than you are.

“…That sounded kinda morbid, huh?”

You giggle again. This time because his voice is still smothered into the pillow, stifled and utterly faint. “Just a little,” you answer.

“Well, it was supposed to be a compliment.”

“I know. You can turn around now.”

Eddie lifts his wild head and peeks at you over his shoulder, one eye squinted shut just in case he heard you wrong.

You’re less dressed up than before, but still as pretty as you were ten minutes ago.

The subtle domesticity of seeing you in pajamas makes his chest ache. It’s like doing laundry or making a shopping list — something so utterly mundane that’s so strikingly tender.

“Pretty,” Eddie mumbles some moments later, when his brain forgets every word but that one.

“Shut up.”

Your hands wring together as you idle at his bedside, like you need some kinda invitation to come closer. Your head tilts again, a gentle swaying of your head that seems almost involuntary.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Eddie wonders with a soft pink, inquisitive grin.

‘Cause this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. You did it earlier, when you first walked in, and a couple times at the dinner. Like when you catch him staring or after he’s complimented you. It’s almost like you have some genuine aversion to his affection.

“Doing what?” you murmur, all innocent.

Eddie swings his legs off the side of the mattress, socked feet melting into the carpet. His parted thighs are enough of an invitation as you settle intently between them.

“That thing with your neck,” he answers when he’s fully upright. “The uh…” He replicates it for you, drops his cheek to his shoulder and brings it back up again. He doubts he looks nearly as cute as you do doing it.

You get so self-aware that your stomach starts to ache. “I don’t know,” you answer through the frog in your throat. “I do that sometimes, I guess— When I get nervous. I can’t really help it.”

“Nervous?” Eddie echoes, face twisted with sudden anguish. His hands reach for your wringing ones. He musters a shaking smile up at you. “Babe— Why are you nervous?”

You dig your bare feet into the carpet, shifting your weight and ducking your gaze like a nervous child. “‘Cause I haven’t slept over before. And I don’t really know what to… do. Like, what if I snore really loud? Or drool a lot? What if I accidentally punch you in my sleep or something?”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh in the face of your genuine worries, but it spills out before he can stop it. It’s so like you to stress yourself sick over something that’s about as likely to happen as getting struck by lightning.

“I’d probably like you more, honestly,” he answers, giving your clammy hands a gentle squeeze. His nose scrunches until the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re too perfect. You need something to humble you.”

“Don’t be nice to me, I’m being serious.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can sleep on the couch. Or on the floor or something—”

“It’s your house, Eds.”

“Well, I’m not making you sleep on the couch, and especially not on the floor. Even if I was that big of an asshole, I think Uncle Wayne would kill me.” He grows suddenly serious a second later. Still smiling, but with something more earnest in his eyes. “But… I do think we’d be more comfortable, you know, in a bed. Together.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it. Not because you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as him, but because you’re too anxious to let yourself enjoy a good thing.

“I’m just bad at sleepovers, I think,” you confess in a tiny voice, like that fact isn’t utterly obvious now. “Like, one time, I was at a friend’s house in middle school, and I used a poster as a blanket ‘cause I was too scared to ask for a real one.”

Eddie’s smile widens. The rose petal expression blooms so large it makes his cheeks hurt.

“Of course, you did,” the boy says with a shake of his head, frizzy curls swaying around the outsides of his jaw. “You’re so damn cute, you know that?”

You make a vague, grumbly noise of disdain right before Eddie wraps you in his arms. He pulls you softly down until you’re sitting on his jean-clad thighs, then buries his face into your shoulder. You smell like the soap you showered with and the burgers you ate and the perfume you put on just for him.

Eddie presses his lips there, to your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt has dipped slightly down. He lingers there for a moment, then pulls away with a soft smack.

“I promise to make this the best damn sleepover you’ve ever had in your life,” he promises, muffled from where his nose is smushed into your neck.

“Yeah?” you mumble into the curls tickling your chin.

He nods, still pressed against you. “And I promise to tuck you in before bed so you don’t have to go using my posters as blankets, either.”

You push him away with a half-hearted hand. His boyish laughter paints the tiny bedroom golden. He pulls you back a second later, and you melt into him without thinking twice.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

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kitkatscabinet · 6 months

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Whumptober - 05: Buried Alive

Simon Riley x gn! reader

A/N: Laptop finally fixed but now I'm sick!! Motivation at zero too but I hope y'all enjoy.

You woke gasping for air, coughing as your lungs filled with dust particulate. Taste was the first of your senses to return, an unpleasant mix of ash and plaster stuck to the linings of your mouth.

Your head aches something fierce and though your vision is still slightly blurry you can still see the blood that covers your fingers from after you’d touched your hairline. The ringing in your ears is almost unbearable and it makes your head ache even more.

Your memories are even hazier than your vision and it takes more than a few minutes before you remember where you are. You remember Gaz’s voice, far more frantic than was typical of the usually cool man, as he’d yelled at you to get out of the building.

You think you’d only made it about halfway down from the top before the bomb went off. In hindsight, it’s probably the reason you’re still alive and not completely buried under five floors' worth of building materials.

Some might call it lucky that you hadn’t been outright crushed or even blown up in the initial blast. But as you lay there in pain unable to do anything but slowly die you can’t find it in yourself to agree.

Though you’d probably die soon, whether from blood loss or lack of oxygen, there’s a sudden groan from the structure surrounding you and for a brief moment you think you might just get crushed after all.

Tears slip from your eyes both from the pain and despair. You don’t want to die, not like this, cold and alone buried beneath tonnes of cement, but you know you will.

The little movement you have in your neck is used to try and orient yourself to your surroundings, the darkness and dust greatly hindering your efforts. Any more attempts to move are instantly thwarted by a mix of sharp pain and weight bearing down on your body. Specifically your left leg, it’s too dark to see all that well but you can tell your leg is pinned by a slab of what used to be the wall. Or maybe the ceiling.

It was so painful that you quickly gave up, not wanting your last moments to be spent in that much pain. All in all, you were fucked.

As you lay dying you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your lieutenant. You wondered how he’d react to your untimely death. As terrible and selfish as it was for you to even consider, you hoped he’d mourn at least a little.

Simon Riley had wormed his way into your heart and you doubted he’d ever leave. You just wish you could have told him, told him that to you, he was the sun.

There’s a slight crackle and through the ringing in your ears, you hear what you think is Price’s baritone echoing around the space. Somehow your radio has survived the blast, but as you try and pinpoint its location it quickly becomes clear you won’t be able to reach it to respond.

You almost don’t even try, it’s not until you hear Simon yelling that an ounce of your energy returns. Maybe if you could just reach the radio… then you could tell him how you felt.

Reaching out, you stretch your fingertips through the darkness, your muscles straining and shaking in protest. There’s a concerning creak and more dust and gravel sprinkles over you in another shower as your movements unsettle the collapsed pile surrounding you.

Still, you refuse to stop and eventually, your fingertips clasp over their target and you pull it close, even as something in your pinned knee cracks and you let out a shriek of pain. Dragging the radio towards you shakily you manage to form two words before the pain catches up once more.

“East stairwell.” Instantly there's chaos over the coms once more, hardly anything you can make out over Price barking orders and Soap’s colourful swearing. Black dots are splotching in your vision and your lungs work in overtime to collect air once more.

The pain is blinding and you want so badly to just pass out and be free from it all but your traitorous body won’t let you.

Above you, Simon is digging through the rubble furiously, blood roaring in his ears as he screams at his teammates to help him. His throat is raw and his fingers are bloody but he refuses to give up, continuing to speak through the comms, to let you know that he was coming for you.

Simon has had a lot of shitty, earth-shattering moments in his life but as he sifts through cement and rubble in a desperate search for you he thinks this might be the worst. From the moment it had become clear you hadn’t made it out in time it was like the earth had been pulled from beneath his feet.

His face is wet, and it’s not until Soap and Price collectively manhandle him away from the rubble that he realises he’s crying. He’s screaming at the both of them, words he can’t even hear and Soap’s right eye is already starting to blacken from where Simon had socked him.

They’re trying to talk him down, getting him to sit and breathe but Simon doesn’t even feel like he’s in his own body anymore. He can’t hear anything through the ringing and pounding, can’t see anything except the image his brain conjures of you lying dead or dying and so alone.

He wonders if you’d called for him. You always did, even if nobody else realised. Whenever you were overwhelmed, stressed or in danger it was his name that came to you first, and he always answered. Always.

He’s standing once more, trying to push past his captain and Soap who are still trying to corral him away from the site. He didn’t understand why they were preventing him from helping you. Simon would always come when you called, he needed you to know that he’d come to save you. He needed-

Gaz is shouting something and it takes the two men holding him back by enough surprise that Simon manages to muscle his way through. He doesn’t hear what Gaz said, but as he gets closer he realises it doesn’t matter because he can see you.

Bruised, bloodied and covered in dust and ash but he can see you.

He drops to his knees by your side, ignoring the sting of whatever sharp object he’d landed on and cups your face with shaky hands. Gloved fingers run delicately over your skin as he wipes away the grime. He’s begging you to open those pretty eyes, to let him see that you’re ok.

You don’t hear or answer his pleas, and Simon remains rooted to the spot, desperately taking in every last inch of your face and committing it to memory, even as your blood stains his pants and gloves.

#x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader #whumptober #simon riley #cod ghost

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highwayorgantrade · 7 months

Text

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks.

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area.

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound.

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next.

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind.

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began.

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath.

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.”

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.”

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed.

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was.

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted.

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime.

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap.

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.”

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.”

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

#mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader

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honeylover · 2 years

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WHAT SHOULD I GET TATTOOED FOR FREE HELP

it can be something really stupid <3 he just needs practice. Like I was thinking a succession quote bc idc + whatever :3

#HELP HELP #or a worm maybe?#gravel #succession

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spiderispunk · 1 year

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Insatiable

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut (18+). Oral Sex (f!receiving). So Many Pet Names. Praise Kink. Dirty Talk. A little smidge of domesticity.

A/N: I blame this one completely on @ussgallifrey reblogging that stupid gif of Glen Powell flipping that goddamn toothpick over and over again until I combusted. Thanks for all the inspiration, my friend. This one’s for you!

If it were up to Hangman, he’d stay between your legs forever.

It was no secret he loved going down on you. Jake loved the way you tasted. Loved the way you felt under his tongue, and all the pretty, wanton sounds you made when he got his mouth on you. He lived for the shake and sigh of your body, and how you pressed your thighs against the sides of his head to hold him in place (not that he was going anywhere anyways).

You were his favorite meal. He wanted you anytime, anywhere.

On the kitchen counter in the morning, when you were still bleary eyed and moved like warm syrup. On the couch during a particularly lazy afternoon, while an innocuous TV show or movie played in the background, long forgotten. After a long day or an operation– though nowadays it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between the two.

Once he’d even pushed you up against the door of the Hard Deck’s bathroom and hastily shoved your dress up your legs. That was fun. You think back on that night often.

His whispered apologies: I know. I know you’re working, honey, and it’s a bad time. But you look so damn good in that dress and I just have to have you now. Think you can forgive me? The way his green eyes glimmered in the dim light, lips pulled into a smirk, because he knew there was no way you’d tell him no. Not by then, when you could feel the warmth of his breaths against your damp panties. He’d drawn your attention, and your desire, the moment he walked into the door with his friends.

Yeah, Jake “Hangman” Seresin was an insatiable man, but really, you weren’t complaining.

So you’re not surprised to find yourself tossed haphazardly onto the bed, with Jake worming his way between your legs the moment he gets home.

“Jake,” you giggle. “Slow down.”

He grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “Can’t, honey. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“It’s been 9 days,” you gasp, sliding down the bed.

Jake lifts your leg and kisses your calf. “It’s been too long,” he repeats, a smirk on his face, and a hunger in his eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes.

Mischievous eyes lock with yours, lips still dragging up the skin of your leg. “You wound me, baby.” He bites the bend of your inner knee. “Can’t a man miss his wife?”

“Miss his wife, or miss something else?” You lift your eyebrows.

Jake chuckles. “Little bit of both.” He rubs his hands down your thighs. “That a bad thing?”

“‘M not complaining.” You let your legs fall open.

Jake’s gaze darkens. He trails his hand up your inner thigh, fingers hooking into the front of your small sleep shorts.

“Y’know how much I love these things,” he mumbles, his voice all gravel. “Did you wear them for me?”

“Maybe,” you say coyly.

You had. It was quite a gamble on the timing though. You had a ballpark range for how long the operation was supposed to take, but not an exact return date. Thankfully he had come back tonight, because you’d nearly gone through your entire wardrobe of shorts.

Jake runs his fingers up your calf, fingers rubbing circles on your bare skin. “God, I missed ya,” he mumbles under his breath.

Jake looks at you like he’s trying to decide where to start. Slowly, meticulously taking his time. You imagine it was how he got when planning out an operation.

A thousand scenarios play out in his head, and they all end the same, with you coming apart on his cock. Sometimes you’re on your stomach, sometimes you’re on your side. Sometimes you’re a drooling mess, sometimes you come with a whimper. It all ends the same. But how he gets to that point, well, there lies the fun of it all.

He takes you in, gaze roaming your body like fire. His eyes slide down your body, snagging on your shirt bunched up under your breasts, dragged there when he tugged you towards the edge of the bed. His mouth waters at the bare skin of your stomach and hips. With a little luck, in a few minutes you’ll sport twin bruises on your hip bones from his teeth.

His lust-blown gaze lingers on your shorts, and the prize that lies beneath them. He tugs at the waistband of your shorts again, with a thoughtful expression that makes something hot twist inside your core.

“You just gonna stare at me all day?” You bite your bottom lip.

Jake chuckles. “Oh no, honey. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.”

“How about like this?” You twist your fingers into the bottom of his shirt and pull him down on top of you.

He leans over you, supporting his weight on his elbows. “Like this?” His fingertips stroke your cheek.

Your eyes flit down to his lips, mouth going dry. “Uh huh.”

Jake closes the distance, brushing his lips over yours. What starts as an innocent kiss quickly turns hungry when he slips his tongue past the seam of your lips. You can taste the faintest hint of the spearmint gum he chews, and the coffee he must have drunk to stay awake on the drive home.

He gently lays the rest of his weight on top of you, molding his body to yours. You arch into the solid mass of his warm chest, feeling anchored there when his arms snake around you. On instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist, using the leverage to grind your hips against his.

Jake sucks in a breath. One of his hands slides down your back to grasp at your ass, sealing you to him as you slide into a clumsy rhythm. Your lips part, and your warm, dewy breaths fan over Jake’s face. Your soft whimpers, and Jake’s hungry grunts fill the room. It’s desperate and messy, and Jake thinks he might come in his pants then and there like a goddamn teenager.

With great effort, he unlocks your thighs from his waist, and puts a little space between the two of you.

Your kiss-swollen lips twist into a pout.

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Wouldn’t want this to be over too soon, now would we?”

Before you can dwell on the loss of friction, Jake’s lips are on the move, tracing a searing path across your jaw and down your neck. His teeth nip at your pulse, tongue laving afterwards to soothe the sting. A breathy whine falls from your lips when he stretches the collar of your shirt to kiss your chest.

He continues his downward trek, pausing only for a moment to leave wet kisses on each of your peaked nipples. Your stomach receives his attention next– gentle kisses and bites that make it flutter. Hangman reaches your hips, and makes good on his mental promise to leave marks. By the time he pulls away to survey his handiwork, you’re a whimpering, sticky mess.

Two perfect bruises in the crescent shape of his teeth. He kisses them gently, and tugs down your shorts.

You are embarrassingly aware of how turned on you are. Your panties stick to the damp folds of your cunt. They literally peel away under his touch.

“Goddamn,” Jake mutters, total reverence in his voice. “All this for me?” He asks, running the tip of his finger over your dripping cunt.

“Y-yes.” You nod.

He sucks his finger into his mouth. “Attagirl.” His eyes flutter shut, and when they open again, they’re nearly black.

The way he watches you is obscene. It makes your skin hot, and your cunt somehow wetter. It’s too much, this desire that grows within you. And all Jake is doing is watching, as if he wants to goad you into action.

You close your legs, rubbing your thighs together for some friction, and Jake shakes his head sharply.

“No.” He clicks his tongue. “None of that.” He kneels in front of you and throws your legs over his shoulder. “Let me look at ya, honey. Just wanna appreciate ya, is all. God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Look at you just dripping for me.” There’s an edge of admiration in his tone.

Jake keeps you on edge with teasing touches. The skate of his fingertips up your inner thigh. The brush of his lips against the bend of your knee. Over and over again, until you can’t take it anymore.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks, with a shiteating smirk on his face. “Talk to me.”

“You know.”

“I do.” Jake tips you a wink. “I just wanna hear you say it.”

You glare at him petulantly.

“C’mon, baby. Use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me what you want.” He leans forward and kisses the crux of your inner thigh.

“Iwantyourmouth.” You whisper, the words running together until they’re barely recognizable.

Jake tilts his head to the side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.”

You roll your eyes. “You heard me.”

“I’m afraid not, pretty girl. Must be all the time I spend around those jet engines.”

“I said–” The words nearly come out in a whine. “I want your mouth.”

“There we go. That wasn’t so bad,” Jake praises. His lips resume their pilgrimage up your inner thigh, tongue sweeping out to taste your skin.

When his mouth finally touches your clit, you jump. It’s heaven. The warmth of his lips wrap around you. He slurps at you messily, spit and slick mixing in a shine that covers his chin. He savors the taste of you, the one that drives him wild, the one he dreams about when he’s away. He can’t get enough of you. His tongue swirls over you feverishly, hungrily, determined not to let a bit of you go to waste.

Above him, you shudder and shake. Hips lifting to meet his frenzied mouth. His name, among other expletives, falls from your lips. You’re really just babbling at this point, speaking just to speak. Mixing praises with pleas. The sensations feel too good to put into words.

Jake pushes your legs back, nearly folding you in half. Holding you still as his mouth works you over. One of his hands travels up your body, and two fingers prod at your lips. You suck them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits.

His lips pop off your clit just for a moment to say “Good girl.” You clench around nothing and gush all over his chin.

You don’t stay empty for long. Those two long fingers leave your lips and fill your cunt. Slowly at first, and then build into a steady rhythm. The curl of his fingers inside you has you seeing stars, reaching places you can’t even hope to find on your own. Each thrust brings another wave of pleasure, throwing you closer and closer to the edge. Your toes curl, your heart hammers your breath stutters, and Jake continues consistent through it all.

“Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart.” Jake groans. “Feel so fucking good wrapped around my fingers. Squeezing ‘em so tight. Can’t wait to fuck you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. That bright beautiful thing builds inside you, and you lurch towards it hungrily, eagerly. Pleading for it to overtake you in its all-consuming glory.

He knows you’re close. Call it intuition, call it the knowledge that comes with prolonged intimacy. Whatever it is, he knows, and he wants it.

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, drunk on you.

You nod. “Uh huh.”

“That’s it. Come, baby. Whenever you’re ready,” he coaxes. “Wanna taste you. Want to so bad.”

Jake doubles down on his efforts. Fingers and tongue never stopping their glorious assault. Your body seizes under his touch, ratcheting tighter and tighter until you break. You gasp for air, chest heaving as the dam breaks.

You’re vaguely aware that you’re sobbing Jake’s name. At least you think you are– you’re so far gone that you could be saying anything. The broken syllables shatter off of the walls, each one going straight to Jake’s cock.

“There’s my girl, there she is.”

“Jake.”

“I know, baby, I know. Give it to me. That’s a good girl. Fuck you’re so beautiful.”

Though your body goes limp, Jake stays in place. That insatiable urge within him driving him to lick you clean. He gladly takes everything you offer and then some. Even after your consciousness finally slams back into your body, and you’re able to suck down a lungful of sweet air. Even after you try to wiggle away from him. Even after you whimper with sensitivity. Even after he somehow manages to pull a second, albeit smaller, orgasm from you.

A last sharp tug to his hair and a shudder has him pulling away with a sated smile. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand. You notice his eyes are back to their usual green. The beast must have finally been tamed.

Jake crawls his way up your body, settling on top of you once more.

You roll your head to the side and fix him with a grin.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired on me,” he mumbles, kissing the sensitive skin of your throat. “We’re just getting started.”

“Whose fault is it for wearing me out?” You twist your fingers through his hair and scratch at his scalp.

Jake hums, leaning into your touch. “Gotta build up your endurance again.”

“How are you planning to do that?” You raise an eyebrow.

Jake meets your eyes, that signature glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ve got a few ideas,” he mumbles, kissing along your jaw.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” His lips tickle your skin as he whispers his salacious plan in your ear.

Let’s just say you were in for a very long, very pleasurable, night.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin fanfic #hangman fanfic #top gun maverick #i literally wrote this like a person possessed holy shit

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bethanythebogwitch · 2 months

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Wet Beast Wednesday: alligator snapping turtle

This will be a shorter WBW than usual, as I forgot to prep a post in advance and am writing this on short notice. Today's topic is the alligator snapping turtle, a beast from the bayou almost looks like a dinosaur. Macrochelys temminckii is the only member of its genus and, along with the three members of the genus Chelydra, is one of the four living snapping turtle species. Some scientists suggest splitting it into three species, but this is still a matter of debate. Snapping turtles are large, predatory turtles known for their very sharp beaks, extreme bite forces, and alleged aggressiveness.

(Image ID: an alligator snapping turtle sitting on gravel. It is a large, brown turtle. Its shall has three spiked ridged running down it. The head is large and angular, with a very sharp beak. It has small, brown eyes. Its mouth is open in a threat display. End ID)

The alligator snapping turtle is one of the largest freshwater turtles in the world, surpassed only by a few species of rare Asian softshells. The alligator snapping turtle can be distinguished from the common snapping turtle, whose range overlaps with that of the alligator snapping turtle, by the three spiky ridges going down its shell. These ridges, along with its powerful jaws, are often compared to those of an alligator, hence the common name. The turtles grow through their entire lives and can reach truly huge sizes. In the wild, adult males (who are larger than females) range between 35 and 80.8 cm (13.8 to 31.8 in) in caprapace (top shell) length and weigh between 8.4 and 80 kg (19 to 176 lbs). Sometimes, a true giant will be found, usually an old male. Reported weights of giant males include 113, 107, and 135 kg (249, 236, 298 lbs). The tail is longer and thicker than in most turtles. The head is large and thick and can deliver bites with a force averaging 159 newtons. This is less than the bite force of the common snapping turtle, but still enough to bite someone's finger off. The inside of the mouth is brownish and the tongue has an appendage that looks like a worm on it. Unlike most turtles, the alligator snapping turtle cannot withdraw into its shell. The plastron (lower shell) covers less of the body than in most species and cannot cover retracted limbs, heads, or tails.

(Image ID: a close-up of the head of an alligator snapping turtle with its mouth open. The tongue is visible, which has a pink, fleshy appendage that looks like a worm. End ID)

Alligator snapping turtles live in the southeast USA in rovers, streams, and lakes, preferably with deep water. They spend most of their lives in the water, only leaving if in search of a new home or when laying eggs. They are nocturnal, but may still hunt during the day. The turtles are passive ambush predators who sit perfectly still with their mouths open and tongues exposed. The worm-like appendage on the tongue is used to attract prey, which the turtle will bite down on quickly and with extreme force. This is a form of aggressive mimicry. You may be wondering what they eat and the answer is just about anything. Fish, amphibians, and snails appear to be the most common prey, but they will also feed on crayfish, insects, snakes, worms, birds, small mammals, other turtles, and even small alligators. Basically if it can fit in the turtle's mouth, it will be eaten. While not active predators, they will dig up burrows in search of food. They also feed on carrion and will sometimes eat aquatic plants. A turtle can go 50 minutes between breaths and they sit still so much that most individuals will have a thick layer of algae growing on their shells. The algae helps them camouflage as rocks when not moving. Fishermen tales often say that alligator snapping turtles can depopulate all of the fish in a body of water, but this does not appear to be true. Adult alligator snapping turtles have no natural predators while juveniles are eaten by fish, birds, raccoons, and other snapping turtles.

(Image ID: an alligator snapping turtle underwater in an aquarium. Picture from the Smithsonian's National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. End ID)

Mating takes place in spring, earlier in the season in more southern climates. Laying takes place around two months later. The females will leave the water and travel around 50 meters inland. The distance is to prevent the eggs from being flooded, which would kill them. She will build a nest in sandy soil and bury the eggs. No further care is provided. Clutches consist of between 8 and 60 eggs at a time. After 100-140 days, the eggs hatch. The hatchlings are fully independent and must make their own way in life. The sex of the hatchlings is determined by the temperature of the soil they are incubated in. Soil of 29-30 degrees C (84.2 to 86 F) results in primarily females, 25 to 27 C (77 to 80.6 F), results in primarily males, and anything in between results in a mix. Individuals become sexually mature after about 11-12 years. The maximum lifespan of wild turtles is unknown, but individuals in captivity can live over a century.

(Image ID: two baby alligator snapping turtles held in a person's hand. They are smaller than the person's palm, but otherwise look no different than the adults. One is on its back, displaying the small plastron. End ID)

(Image ID: alligator snapping turtles hatching in captivity. The eggs are small white spheres that look like ping-pong balls. The number 19 has been written on them in what appears to be sharpie. Several of the eggs have already hatched. In the middle of the picture, a turtle is pertially emerged from its egg. End ID

Alligator snapping turtles are classified as vulnerable by the IUCN. Their primary threat is habitat loss as wetlands are drained and dammed. They are also hunted and used as food by humans. This is common enough that some states have had to pass laws protecting the turtles. Despite being characterized as aggressive, alligator snapping turtles rarely attack humans and only in self-defense. Because they cannot retract into their shells, the turtles defend themselves by facing a potential threat with their mouths open as a warning. This has furthered its reputation as an aggressive animal. Because the turtles take so long to reproduce, restoring populations is a very slow process. Alligator snapping turtles are sometimes used as pets, though they need expert care due to their sheer size and the potential danger of handling them. Use in the pet trade has resulted in the turtles being introduced outside of their native range. They have become an invasive species on some places, notably in southern Africa.

(Image ID: an alligator snapping turtle next to a human man. The human is holding it up by the front of the shell to show its size. End ID)

#wet beast wednesday #alligator snapping turtle #snapping turtle #turtle #freshwater biology #biology #ecology #zoology #reptile #animal facts

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