#fuck yeah outlast
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Saw a poll that was not good that had fucking PH on it so I made my own. Defined a Stalker Enemy as an enemy that walks around a game world either in a small area or the whole game and primarily seeks out the player, they cannot be killed outside of scripted events (such as a boss fight) the player may be able to hide, run from, or attack the pursuer.
Please vote for the one you think is the BEST, the scariest, the hardest to deal with, the one that pissed you off the most etc etc
#entries#resident evil#silent hill#outlast#clock tower#haunting ground#remothered tormented fathers#amnesia the dark descent#SOMA#i chose these based on 1 per game and the one i feel is most prevalant in said game/ is one youd actually recognize and is a good stalker#not counting og re2 mr x bc hes not a Stalker#psrt of me wanted to put ghost head on here bc it would be funny but i love soma too much#i was also gonna put slenderman from the 8 pages on here bc funny but then everyone would vote for him so#but yeah ph doesnt count at fucking all hes only in one non scripeted area and he doesnt even look for you he just stabs ya if he see ya
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Can you draw Eddie Gluskin and Waylon Park, please :}
SORRY WAYLON KJHGFDDF
#i really said ''yeah ethan can have a nice evil bf but fuck waylon''#waylon park#eddie gluskin#weddie#outlast whistleblower#outlast#my art#fanart#answered#doodles
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we got a new set of headphones and the audio quality is noticeably better than in our previous pair (which we've had since before I showed up in the system) and an unexpected side effect of this is that our auditory-tactile synaesthesia has been way more noticeable while listening to music through them
#personal#thoughts#🍬 post#the old ones lasted impressively long and do still work but they're like... physically falling apart and keep glitching out a bunch#we're gonna keep using them as a spare set for stuff where wireless headphones are more practical until they finally give out#watch them fucking outlast the new ones or some shit lmao#anyway yeah I didn't realise the different audio quality would affect our synaesthesia that much#and that's wild because like I'm used to a certain amount of being able to feel sounds#and then suddenly it's like... oh boy okay I didn't realise I could feel that sound until now but I sure can apparently#we're used to tuning it out in day to day life because sometimes it can get overwhelming#but being able to feel music is generally pretty fun and it's interesting seeing what different songs feel like#we can also sometimes give ourselves ASMR if we focus enough on the sensations from the synaesthesia which is cool#but I tend to forget we can do that until I do it by accident
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listen you could call me anything. any name. any insult. any word under the sun. and i wouldn't much give a shit.
however
you call me Darling, and i will kill you with my mind and several sharp objects.
#/NEG BY THE WAY#i need more outlast mutuals#bc you guys#you would understand why i say this#word that i fucking hate#word that should be in the ground#word i want dead#im not kidding when i tell you i hear this word in the wild and fucking JUMP#anyway yeah#some people get it-#outlast#outlast: whistleblower
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The most real thing abt outlast whistleblower is that the main horror event is some man called "the groom" with a history of extreme violence against women is chasing you, and caught many others, attempting to turn you into something you're not by tearing you apart in order to be "worthy" of being his bride and bearing his children. To fully illustrate how terrifying this is to the male player base, the groom straight up attempts to chop your dick off and cut you open. 🙂
#lindsay speaks#outlast game#idc abt anything they were so real for that#just hearing the others sing ''here comes the bride'' & seeing the messages like ''there's no place like home'' &#ESP THE WEDDING DRESS YOU RUN PAST OH MY GOD all of that was enough to freak me the fuck out but not any male players#no. not until they watched some guy be cut open & his dick chopped off that OHHH they realized THIS IS FUCKING HORRIFYING#LIKE YEAH IT FUCKING IS ISN'T IT.......
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We're playing spooky games and we both screamed very loudly at a jump scare. So our puppy gave my bf kisses and then decided what would calm me down is a bite to the face
#I love her so much but owiee#Playing outlast 2 and my religious trauma is SHOWINGG#If you like cults it's really good#Lots of fucked up shit though#But that's how cults be#Trigger warning for rape#Harming women specificallg#And child death and abuse#It's a lot ngl#And I feel kind of fucked up when I list it all out like that#But so far it's been very tasteful#Evidence of what has happened to these people is there#But we don't expirience it first hand which helps#No one wants to see things like that#But yeah it's fucking spooky scary#So far the scariest parts are actually these flashbacks the mc has to his old elementary school#Which is a huge contrast to the main settin#But it's freaking me the fuck out cus i went to schools like that#outlast#outlast 2#text#textpost#videos games#videogame#video game#games#spooky#spooky games
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Watched the new Sandman show. I liked a lot of what they did in terms of casting choices EXCEPT you mean to tell me that in a world in which there are 1.4 billion Chinese people alone, not to mention other East Asians, South-East Asians, South Asians and Pacific Islanders there would not be a SINGLE Asian dream? Admittedly I mostly was looking for East Asian representation but I do not recall seeing that many South Asians either. Everyone is going on about how the show has great LGBT+ representation, which admittedly it does and I’m happy about it, you’re telling me that in a story about an entity that spans human consciousness and takes part in the States and London (which I don’t think anyone is going to argue with me on how diverse the populations of those geographies are) there is only One East-Asian presenting character of any significance and she’s portrayed as a Dragon Lady????? Congrats to everyone who’s happy to see themselves represented on screen in the shows they love. Unfortunately, some of us are still left out in the cold
#not to shit on the show#I genuinely liked it#but I'm tired of having to go through every single show I like feeling like people who look like me don't exist#yeah there are some shows that do pretty well#but they tend to cater specifically to the Asian demographic#while mainstream shows either has one character that looks East Asian with none of the cultural habits and bleedthroughs that happen#in multicultural or immigrant households#(basically a white person in all but face)#that inevitably dies (in the better shows they manage to outlast some of the other cast members but often not)#like the new War of the WOrlds tv adaptation in Canada that came out a couple of years ago#like the apocalypse somehow always manages to wipe out everyone of Asian descent#leaving everyone else to play nice#so sick and tired and angry#DO BETTER#a middle ground between ALL ASIAN CAST and ONE ASIAN CHARACTER exists#fucking find it#Sandman#Sandman netflix#my post
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simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror)
tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.
It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.
He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.
Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.
Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.
He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.
"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.
"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."
Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"
"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.
"Well, he must be soft in th'head."
She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."
"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."
"Hm?"
"His loss is my gain."
"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"
And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.
Instead–
"Could be."
"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"
"Tha' obvious?"
"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"
"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"
She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?
"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."
And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."
It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.
"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.
"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."
Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.
He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.
(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!
I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)
Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.
And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.
When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.
But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.
So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.
(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)
"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "
"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."
Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.
But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.
"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.
"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."
He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.
Just wanna be fucked.
Daft, silly girl.
She should've chosen anyone else.
It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.
"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."
And he means it.
It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.
Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.
Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.
The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.
"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.
"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.
(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)
His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.
"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."
Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.
What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.
"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.
"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."
"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.
"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."
Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that
Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you.
Johnny: I don't believe you.
Johnny: Pick up my calls.
Johnny: SIMON.
#should've made this a proper fic#it's longer than i expected it to be#anyway.#simon 'ghost' riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon 'ghost' riley#simon riley#ghost#x female reader#call of duty#fanfiction
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So I just finished DanganRonpa. It was the only thing I was speaking about for a second there.
Honestly? Kind of fell apart at the end. Not entirely, I still had a lot of fun, but I began to fall off with it and the final Class Trial was a bit of a slog.
I'm really glad I didn't steamroll through to the end last night, because I was already beginning to hit a brick wall (and bc I was called in to work 2 hours early the next day, which ended up being like hellishly menial) and the way the game infodumps at the end was really exhausting. I was having trouble staying invested even after giving it a reasonable break.
I really enjoyed the game, and I'll be looking forward to the rest of the games and the anime. Probably gonna spoil the gaiden game for myself rather than play it. But it'll have to be after a long break, because that last trial broke my brain with the amount of exposition it had and how long the entire thing went.
It's a strong 7/10 - liked it a lot, but for how much it stands out, I don't think it's up there in my top 25 games or anything like that.
#DanganRonpa#on one hand I felt like I was picking up on a lot of what the game was putting down and it was exciting to be drawing those conclusions#on the other hand by the last two cases I felt like the game was weirdly easy. like the second to last one seemed super easy#and the last case... was suspenseful and stuff - but I also got a bunch of stuff right way before it became relevant#partially because - spoiler - people turned a vital part of the plot into a meme. or at least blew a certain character out of#proportion in a way that made the end of the game less impactful#the first two cases are really fucking hard to stomach for two different reasons. but they made me really sad#but as the game went on the cases felt more like formalities. I wanted to get to more of the story#(and I wanted everyone to survive which I know is unrealistic)#the game is very stylish and fun#and the style and excess of the game has aged very well#other parts of the game very much HAVEN'T aged all that well. I had to sit down and unpack some shit at one point#and I feel like it was due to a very kitschy and not very tasteful character choice on the part of spike chunsoft#and the ending dragged. like it just did#overall though I really did enjoy danganronpa a boatload. i had a great time. even got pretty good at the rhythm game part#so yeah. strong 7/10. I'll check out school mode but I dont think I can take much more of this one#only just outlasted its welcome. only just
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.... ////
#/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////#yk just saying if arlen has so much stamina and all...#wouldn't it be lovely? having him ride me until his legs give out?#wouldn't be enough to satisfy him i bet...#maybe he'd start begging for more... crying... frustrated... desperate...#tiredness only pushing him further into subspace#tease him for how pathetic he looks; and still begging to get fucked#ehehe... he'd sound so pretty...#(<- has been floating around in the brain for the past few hours)#anyways yeah he gives off high stamina switch vibes#more convenient for him to top... i don't think even i could outlast him ;;;;#notthati'dmindoranything
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I'm sorry for dumping all this to you, you can not read it, this is not a question but Arrin has been my Roman Empire since Christmas. This is my first time writing just for the sake of it (much less NSFW) so yeah... (you can ignore this)
Ok, so imagine that one day, Darling is feeling really fucking horny. I am not talking about "Arrin's pheromones strikes again", "Usual Needy Darling", or even "Somehow A/B/O exists in this era and Darling got all the omega-ness". I'm talking talking H O R M Y. So you decide to also test out your beloved mate's stamina and see if you can outlast him in bed
It wasn't that bad at the beginning of the day. Arrin wakes up first. Cuddles your sleeping form. Spoons you or if he still has his cock inside you (you were bouncing on him last night and you just slept on top of him), maybe grind into you slowly (soft enough to not wake you up), maybe a kiss or two or ten on the face. When you wake up, one of you cooks breakfast (if you guys won't do some morning fun times before that), and you guys feed each other (mostly him feeding you). Maybe a cuddle before you both leave for the day
At first, you were just nuzzling into him. You cling his arm or torso whenever he's not doing anything and when you guys get some down time, you sit on his lap, nuzzling you face into the crook of his neck while he wraps his arms around you. By the afternoon, you're sucking him off and nibbling his neck. He is now grinding into you but you, for some reason, won't let him get you off. Your clinginess and horny levels are skyrocketing (due to the lack of release), by the end of the day and when you guys are at home, you pounce onto him. Kissing him and begging him to please BREED YOU. You guys go at it for R O U N D S. Arrin is a bit surprised at how eager you are today. You guys always want each other but this is different somehow. After 10+ rounds of you guys cumming, you are still very needy and are now on top of him after doing so many positions. Your stomach now bulging at little bit due to the amount of cum in you that there are puddles on the bed and other areas of the bedroom. Arrin is beginning to be a little bit tired and you are beginning to get overstimulated in a slightly painful way but you still want more.
Despite loving the fucked out expressions on your face and how your chubby tummy bulges due to his cum making you look pregnant (does wonders to his breeding kink fr fr ngl), he is starting to get worried for you but couldn't do anything due to how much you've been pawing at him, whimpering to not stop, begging him to kiss you and mark you, staring at him with that needy doe eyes and how even though you are now laying on his chest on top of him, you are still bouncing on him like his purpose in life is to breed you (maybe it is)
You cum on him for the nth time, your needy dripping hole also milking his cock, filling you up with once again with his cum. You ride out your orgasm which, combined with the feeling of his fresh warm cum inside of you, just makes you cum again on top of him on top of the previous orgasm. Pleasure blinding you that you pass out from it all.
Arrin waits for a minute to collect himself and to check on you (seeing as you sometimes pass out for 30 seconds or go to sleep immediately after your sessions). It's been 3 minutes, he's been tapping your face and you're still limp and not waking up. So he decides to just go to sleep and maybe you'll be fi--
10 minutes later, an entire floor of the local hospital has been destroyed due to the Chief's rampage and was only stopped when you woke up
After all that mess is over, he did not touch you in a sexual way nor did he grant his darling mate's wish for breeding in fear of the same incident happening again. He turned into a fucking celibate monk that was somehow not swayed by his sexy mate's pleas and whines, not even when they're nuzzling into him and pawing at him and giving him that puppy dog eyes. You're the Beggiest Beggar in All of Begdom and he's still not budging. After all, being Chief requires strong will and sacrifice for the greater good and you, my dear, are the greatest good he's ever had and he's not gonna lose you
Well maybe it wouldn't hurt to do it, if that means you're going to stop giving him that sad teary face
You're getting only three rounds and a full body massage though ... You still need to rest
Sorry for that, I just really wanted to write a joke about Darling Reader fainting due to excessive cumming with the very very slightest touch of Cum Overdose and Arrin running to and destroying the hospital in worry... also I want feral Arrin, it can be very hot for a mostly chill and sane man plus or minus a little bit of kidnapping and neck snapping to go feral once in a while especially for our sake
The fact that someone wrote a whole fanfic about my work is extremely flattering.
Also if anyone else wants to write something like this, everyone is free to use my OCs and post their work as long as they note that it's fanfiction and link to the original fic or to my blog.
#Fanfiction#Fanfic#Fanfic of my OC#Yandere#terato#yandere teratophilia#yandere terato#yandere x reader#monster boyfriend#yandere monster#gender neutral reader#male yandere x gn reader#my ocs#My OC Arrin
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Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader
Mission Impossible (around MI3)
Word count: 6.6K
Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.
Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.
Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.
Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!
The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding.
“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip.
He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?”
Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened.
“That was fucking insane!” you burst.
“Are you ok?”
You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you.
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”
Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers.
You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back.
Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…
“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.”
His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.”
“A bullet graze!”
“It’s fine.”
You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”
“No promises,” he shrugged.
Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !”
“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics.
“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!
He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes.
You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him.
“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you.
“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah.”
Another silence, though less tense.
“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.
In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest.
“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso.
He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted.
“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–”
“No, (Y/N)–”
“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall.
Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast.
“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled.
In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?”
You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own.
“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–”
No one’s coming.
“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.”
He wasn’t looking at you anymore.
“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!”
In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear.
You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him.
You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should.
You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards.
You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed.
It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle.
You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back.
His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath.
You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you.
You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure.
“(Y/N).”
You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive.
He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own.
“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .
The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?”
“Yeah.”
“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”
There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…”
You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.”
He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know.
“For yelling at me?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–”
“All that matters. You said.”
You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle.
“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.”
The frown deepened. “Hm?”
“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real.
But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely.
He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.”
Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek.
The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up.
He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades.
“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore.
“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.
You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.”
“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his.
He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too.
Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition.
“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt.
You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything.
“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt.
“Huh?”
“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.
“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose.
“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?”
“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine.
He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind.
“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone.
“Yeah.”
“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?”
Again, “Yeah.”
You smiled. “What about me?”
“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.”
“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it.
“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity.
“What else?” you asked.
He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.”
Oh. Oh.
“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.
You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys.
“Can–”
“Yes,” you answered.
He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh.
“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.
“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair.
He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.”
You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.
“What you’d sound like.”
You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?”
“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.”
You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit.
“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders.
“Hm?”
“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.”
Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?”
You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face.
A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises.
“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–”
Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad.
“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–”
Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders.
He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again.
You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.
You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you.
“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail.
You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”
He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him.
“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification.
And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry.
“Say it again.”
“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?”
Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.”
“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Say it again.”
“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?”
You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”
This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again.
“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap.
His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand.
“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.”
“Yeah?”
You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.”
He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?”
You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”
“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?”
“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.”
His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–”
“Insane?”
“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?”
Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”
“Here?”
“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.”
“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again.
“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut.
“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.”
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin.
“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?”
He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other.
Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.”
“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined.
“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece.
“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.”
Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer.
“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.”
“Hm?”
“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?”
“(Y/N)–”
You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist.
“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you.
“Yeah? You gonna cum?”
“Yeah, fuck, where do I–”
“In me.”
“You sure?”
Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–”
That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter.
You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress.
“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed.
“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit.
“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned.
“What?” he asked.
“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?”
“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything.
“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?”
“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?”
He nodded.
“I still want to check them.”
“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.
You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.
“What?”
“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.”
You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.”
He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?”
“Yeah.”
His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”
“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.”
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.”
“Guess I’m just that special.”
“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.
#ethan hunt#ethan hunt x reader#mission impossible#shameless smut#smut#fanfiction#fanfic#fluff#tom cruise
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Head empty, just Bachira with a breeding kink😔
Acting so sweet with the neighbors’ children until the baby fever’s kicking in
Free me from this cage😩
no because you’re so right <3
do i want children? hell no; do i still read every fic with breeding kink in it? fuck yes
[f!reader]
tw: breeding kink (duh), mentions of pregnancy, pet names, use of mommy (once), cream pie, implied multiple orgasms
Bachira loves playing with the neighbours’ children, chasing them around the yard at gatherings and making them laugh with stupid tricks and jokes
He teaches all of them how to play soccer for sure and is so supportive, encouraging them to practice more on their own too
The kids love him and the parents do too, finally catching a break to catch up with one another while their children are distracted
Bachira always thought they were cute and thought about what it would be like to have his own with you but baby fever didn’t kick in until he saw you bounce a little kid on your hip, smiling as the little thing grabbed your thumb with surprising strength
After that sight, he was a changed man; he started noticing happy families everywhere and couldn’t tear his eyes of the teeny tiny shoes in shop displays
And naturally, you notice that something is up; it’s unlike your husband to be so distracted, normally giving you 100% of his attention
While he’s usually already incredibly handsy, the way his palms cup your stomach more often than anywhere else and trace the skin there isn’t lost on you
So you confront him about it
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Bachira murmured into the heated skin of your neck, lavishing it in kisses and attention as his hips rocked into you, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “My gorgeous wife… you want me to give you a baby, hmm? Make you a mommy?”
By now, only half of what your husband said registered in your mind as you tried to keep up with him. His stamina already outlasted yours by a long shot on normal days but tonight Bachira showed no signs of ever wanting to stop whatsoever.
How many times had it been already? How often had he already stuffed you full since you admitted to wanting a child as well? You couldn’t recall but if the fullness you felt and the mess between your legs was anything to go by…
“Meguru—,” you panted, resisting the urge to close your eyes as you felt a familiar knot curl in your stomach. Instead you blinked up into bright pools of amber and found unmatched passion and determination staring back at you. The way his bangs were sticking to his forehead and single drops of sweat rolled of his chest had you gripping onto his hands intertwined with yours tighter.
“Shit, honey, you’re so good—,” Bachira cut himself off with a deep groan as you clenched around his cock when his pelvis grazed your puffy clit. “So good for me… Can‘t wait to see you all round with my child…”
You whined as his hands left yours but he sweetly shushed you with a kiss to your temple. Not that you had much time to think about it too hard with the way he pushed your legs towards your chest and his thrusts felt just so much deeper.
There was no way he could fit another load in there, not when he already sat so snugly against your walls. But you knew it wouldn’t stop your husband from trying either way. His weight pressing you down further into the sheets had your eyes rolling into the back of your head as his form towered over you.
“I— Meguru—“
Apparently your incoherent babbling made sense to him because he grinned down at you, finally slightly out of breath himself as he neared another orgasm. “Cum for me baby. Just let go, yeah? I got you.”
And with a sob you did, arms looping around Bachira’s neck to hold on to him. Your hips squirmed around to get away from the sinful pleasure but firm hands kept you in place as a familiar warmth filled you up once again, paired with a drawn-out groan into your neck.
After catching your breath, you tried rolling your husband off of you, his cock still nestled deep inside of you, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead you felt more kisses pressed against your shoulder. Even an airy call of his name only got you a distracted hum in response.
“Gotta… Gotta make sure it takes,” he mumbled. The deep tone of his voice in combination with the unwavering resolution of his words made your heart beat quicken again. That’s when you noticed how his cock twitched against your walls, still hard as it pressed against all the right spots.
“Now that I think about it,” Bachira purred right against your ear, “I should give you another one. Just to make sure…”
#˗ˏˋ– signed by holly#jshhsh nonnie#i think about this so much#i’m so *head in hands*#minors dni#blue lock#blue lock smut#bllk smut#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#bachira x reader#bachira smut#blue lock x you#bllk x you#bachira x you#blue lock bachira
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✨ multiplying like rabbits isn't a phrase for no reason
Could i make an NSFW request of Lute trying to keep up with her bunny girlfriend during mating season? And lute surprisingly outlasts reader's stamina (being a lieutenant must mean you have some good stamina is all I'm saying 🤷).
Basically them just going at it like rabbits (pun, see what I did there? haha- ok I'll stop) until reader gets tired and overstimulated.
G!p lute again- I'm on a one single mind for smut for her- if that makes sense
There is a skip in the fic- I literally couldn't figure out what to write
Warning(s): gp! Lute, smut. More smut then usual brief riding(VERY short)- unprotected sex, Mating season- lute is mean(she mocks/teases you), talks of safe word, not much of a plot just smut
Lute x Bunny!f!reader: do it like bunnys~
Lute is tired.
She doesn't know why you- her beloved bunny girlfriend- her mate. Has been even more clingy and cuddly lately- she doesn't mind no. Not at all. But- she doesn't understand why you have-
How you've been kissing her nonstop all day- on her lap- humming, she pulled her phone out after you wandered off after yet again another make-out session. Typing in her phone she smirks.
Mating season~
That explains it. Why you have been behaving like this. Closing her phone, she followed you "Bunny ~?" She purred, waiting for you to turn to her."may I have another kiss~?" Didn't even hesitate- nor take long for you to be all up on her kissing her. Smirking, she knelt down, moaning into your mouth, easily picking you up nipping at your lips she hummed wings flapping as she carried you to your shared room
"you know~"
Looking up at her curiously, she smirked, kissing you deeply, sitting on the bed. "If you wanted some... help with your season~ I wouldn't mind helping" grinding up against you making you feel her tent
Nodding "fuck~ Please Lute ~ i.. I need you~" smirking unzipping her pants pulling her cock out
"come on then~" she smirked, growling. "sit~ take me, yeah?" Rubbing her tip on your entrance watching you eagerly grind against her whining loudly tearfully
Pushing her cock into you all the way didn't take long for you to eagerly bounce on her wrapping your arms around her neck as you rode her- desperately "God acting like I haven't fucked you in your season before~" she moaned holding your waist panting softly pounding up into you "God just like that baby~ doing so good~" watching you ride her eagerly- desperately
"Lute~ baby~, please~" you begged tearfully, kissing her deeply, aching despite being stuffed with her cock. Being bred- but you wanted it in another way- and she knew it. So she waited. Until you broke. Which didn't take long at all. "Fuck me~? Take me~?"
Smirking, flipping you onto your back, moving into you groaning "yeah~?" Purring out hands on your waist pounding her cock roughly into you panting heavily "just wanting to be fucked that bad huh? My good girl wanna be filled~?" Seeing you nod in agreement mewling under her loudly made her eyes blown.
-
After the many rounds, you slumped under her content, grinning up at her happily, making her hum rubbing your sides gently. "My good girl doing ok~?" Lute purred out watching you nod before she hum softly leaning to kiss your ear gently
"Wh- wait! Hold on -" you yelped, moaning tearfully, feeling her move inside you again, making you groan panting under her "too much!"
"Hold on?" Lute huffed out pounding deeper into you not caring how you gushed of the many rounds of cum she spilled into you- making you milk her completely dry "oh no no~ it's mating season. So that's what I'm doing. Mating my mate~ my lover. Ensuring you take all my cum~ my seed~" she groaned, holding your waist, panting heavily groaning moving to kiss you deeply swallowing your weak protests
Wrapping your legs around her waist, smirking, feeling them shake, "Can't handle a single season~? A love making ~?" She teased groaning out flushed before slowing down humming "if you truly wanna stop." She starred, making you look at back at her
"Say your safe word"
You flushed, looking up at her - knowing even if she was rock hard. Inside you still- even despite her urges to help you on your mating season. If you said it- she'd stop no matter what. Would take care of you. No matter what, putting you and your comfort above hers.
Shows how much of a good mate she is
Shaking your head up at her, your ears twitching wrapping your arms around her neck, kissing her deeply, making her smirk, "let me take care of you one last time~? Then.. I'll stop for the night ~?" Slowly moving into you, she hummed Grunting, seeing you nod she smirked.
Holding the bed roughly pounding into you moaning out, not even breaking a sweat. "Guess my training came in handling in other places, huh?" She joked smirking at how fucked out you were
Laughing softly pounding faster into you smirking "fuck your just gushing of me aren't you~?" She purred seeing you nod sobbing out clinging to thr sheets under you both ignoring how the bed cracked more then before
"Really gonna f-fuck me hard enough to break another bed?" You choked out making her nod panting wildly humping against you eagerly making you cum around her cock calling out her name loudly flushed arching your back against the bed
"Cumming that fast?' She teased groaning heavily shoving herself deep inside you releasing inside you. Making you milk her completely dry as she painting your walls white. "Not surpised~" she panted softly "just can't help but be sensitive huh?" Rubbing your waist gently frowning seeing how you whined tearfully
"N-no more~"
Humming, she nodded, pulling out. "No more, baby~ lets rest ok~?" Watching how you gushed of her release inside you.
So out of it you didn't even notice her cleaning you up until she curled around you, praising you
Gently practically purring against you "rest my bunny~ gonna keep at this all season long~" she smirked watching how you turned red
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin lute#lute x reader#hazbin hotel lute#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel x you#MONSTER AU
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Throw Him Off His Rhythm: Mirage x Reader
Fandom: Transformers Rotb
Summary: After getting caught and subsequently losing a bet he made to his human, Mirage now finds himself having to follow through with his end of the deal.
Words: 1,517
Warnings: Masturbating, handjobs, Sub/Dom, orgasm denial
A/N: The reader is written as gender-neutral. I did indeed spend a little time today figuring out an average size estimate for how big a cybertrionians spike would be (more specifically Mirages) relative to them and their humans because I needed something to like visualise or something. Can’t lie I may be on my way to making a table of transformers and how big their spikes are, if you by primus wanna see that let me know XD
Enjoy the fic.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." The string of curses leaves Mirage's vocaliser as he awkwardly shimmied down the narrow alleyway.
"Why'd the perfect spot have to be so fragging, hard to get to." Mindful of his finish he carefully squeezes out of the alley into the outdoor courtyard.
Sure it wasn't the nicest looking or biggest of hiding spots, but it was private and quiet. Panelling sliding open as he sits on the ground, leaning back against the brick wall he sighs in relief as his burning spike pressurises already dripping transfluid.
"Frag finally, for a second thought I was going to burst a line." Servo quickly dives down to wrap around his spike and he bites back a moan as his servo begins to stroke at a fast pace, aching to relieve the burning pressure.
"You couldn't wait until after the meeting?" Helm hitting the wall behind him as he groans, of course it couldn’t and you knew that all too well otherwise you wouldn’t have followed him out here.
Although amusing at the time making, a bet to see who could go the longest without needing to fuck or masturbate wasn’t his most brilliant idea. In his defence he thought humans weren’t capable of going more than a day let alone a week without having to self-service themselves, all but certain he’d have the win in the bag.
It didn’t help him that you’d poke and provoke his imagination, you’d butter him up with your sweet words which had done more than just stroke at his ego. Not-so-subtle innuendos had on more than one occasion almost had his interface panels sliding back, it’s a miracle he had managed to last this long.
“Obviously not.” Servo still stroking his spike as he speaks optics looking everywhere but your eyes, he doesn’t need need to look at your face to see the grin that spreads across it.
“I can see that but aren’t you forgetting something?” Your words tease him as a huff of annoyance leaves his intake, slowly making your way over to him you lean against the wall next to him.
“Fine. Fine. You win. You a human can outlast me a cybertronian. Happy now? Cuz I could really use some help.” Continues to stroke his spike as other servo reaches out to grab you, when you quickly dart out of his reach a whined gasp leaves him.
"W-what? Come on you can’t be serious.” You chuckle at his needy response no doubt in your mind that if your roles were reversed he would have teased you.
“But didn’t you say the winner could order the looser around for an entire week?” Smugness dripped off your words as you watched his frame slump forward, a defeated sigh leaving him.
“Yeah, but I thought you’d just wanna be on top or something. Not like. Not like leave me hanging.” Sending the best puppy dog eyes he could muster your way, hoping you’d cave into his needs.
“Mirage. You wouldn’t be trying to go back on your word, would you?” A fake look of disappointment briefly covers your face as carefully move around his legs coming to a stop by his pedes.
“What!? Of course not! I mean, after so long I figured that you'd. You know, wanna fool around." Servos still as he watches you contemplate and tries to stop his legs from bouncing impatiently as he waits for your response. A devious look spreads across your eyes as you walk between his legs, hand coming up to trace between the seams as you move closer.
"I suppose, a little fun now wouldn't hurt. If you promise to stand by your word and do exactly as I say." Missing the dark edge of your words as he moans out a string of yes. Now standing in front of his leaking spike you give him a playful smile as you tap the servo that had slowly resumed its stroking.
"Servos by your side's big boy and no matter what. You don't touch me or your spike." Words are spoken as if you're sending him into battle, your hands gently caressing the metal and seams around his heated array.
"Sir yes sir!~" The chuckle he lets out after his own words are cut off by a soft moan and his servos drop-down like rocks off a bridge, digits grip the ground as your breath fans over his spike.
"Good." You hum as one hand trails up to his spike while the other continues to tease the wires between his seams.
Your eyes watch his faceplate like a predator, his optics offlining and scrunching up when your hand delicately runs up his spike. Shifting your gaze back down to his spike, your fingers briefly graze over the tip blue biolights pulse at the touch and a gaspe escape his intake. Fingers move back down as your hand begins to slowly stoke easily gliding thanks to all the pre-leaked transfluid.
"Frag." A moaned whisper breaks from him as his hips twitch and he desperately holds back from thrusting them into your hand.
A chuckle escapes you, eyes moving back to his faceplate as they keenly watch him bite his derma as his helm hits the wall behind it. Digits dig into the ground below them, frame shifting uncomfortably as you barely increase the speed of your hand and a whine slips out and his optics online.
"Please baby. Frag you're killing me here." Optics looking down at you and he groans as a smirk briefly returns to your face.
"Aww, I'm sorry." A fake pout spreads over your face as your hand begins to stroke a little faster, eyes never leaving him as your mouth moves in closer to his spike.
"Would you like me to go a little faster?" The teasing words fan hot air over the sensitive tip of his spike and have his hips jolting up. Spike almost pushing into your mouth you move your head back with a chuckle and your hand speeds up.
"Yes! Please babes! Frag I wanna be inside you so bad!" Optics offlining as his words fall out along with his desperate moans as your mouth moves away.
Your other hand finally leaves the cluster of wires it had been teasing to wander to his spike, your thumb firmly runs over the tip and he gasps out. Frame shaking you can see the strain in his servos as he desperately keeps them from reaching out to grab you. Hand stroking faster as your fingers tease around his leaking tip, whined moans leave his vocaliser as he approaches his overloaded and you bite your lip holding back your own moan.
"Frag babes I'm so close! Frag yes. Yes." The words fall freely from him as his spike throbs, biolights pulsing quicker as he almost reaches the tipping point of his pleasure and just like that your hands pull away.
"What?! Frag babes you ok? I'm almost there." The desperation, confusion and slight concern are evident in his voice as his optics look down to identify the reason for your sudden lack of touch.
When his optics catch the devious smile spread across your face as your hands link behind your back, the realisation of your motives slowly comes to his lust-filled processor.
"No please! You can't! Babes come on. Just a little more! Don't leave me like this! I-I'm almost done then- you can ride my face place however long you want after! Please." Panicked and pleading for you to tip him over the edge, his legs shake and servos hit the ground in frustration but never make any move towards you or his spike.
The pleasure that surges throughout your body as you watch him in such a state of need and want, you almost want to jump on his spike then and there. Unlike your partner, you have a lot more self-restraint.
"I said I'd have a little fun. Nothing about letting you overload." You hum out enjoying the look of needy frustration that covers his faceplate.
"Come one. Babe's I've been good! I-I didn't touch-." His babbling words are cut off by your own stern ones.
"Good and you'll keep it that way." Smirk dissipates into your normal loving smile as you shift from between his legs.
"What no!" Shifting to his knees as you continue to walk into the small alley. "You can't leave me like this!"
"I think I will." You muse out as you wave your hand for him to follow.
"Perhaps I'll change my mind a little later. Until then we've gotta get back to the others." You call out from the end of the alley, not missing the small sob and whine that comes from him as you make your way back into the building.
"This is going to be so much fun if he can keep his servos away from his spike." You think to yourself as apologize to the others for your brief absence, trying to hide your smirk when a rather tense and twitchy Mirage tries to sneak his way back into the building.
#transformers#x reader#smut#reader insert#transformers mirage x reader#transformers mirage#mirage x reader#rotb mirage#mirage x human reader#mirage#rise of the beasts#mirage rotb#tf rotb#tf mirage#transformers rotb#oneshot#transformer drabbles#drabble
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Seong Taehoon x Reader: Swim
G/N. Fluff. Missed this menace.
Finally. After all the time.
There's a sport that Taehoon doesn't excel at.
That he looks sorta pathetic doing. A fish out of water, except... Literally. Or maybe literally the opposite.
Seong Taehoon is a pretty atrocious swimmer. Sure he can swim, but he's neither fast nor skilled. Which is surprising considering his height and his long limbs; his strong shoulders and wide back and legs no one wants to be on the receiving end of.
You outlasted him after lengths and lengths of the pool with breast stroke. You're far quicker at front crawl and somehow he doesn't float particularly well for backstroke.
(Neither of you can do butterfly for shit, but that's a stroke for the weirdos or the gifted, likely both, so you ignore that.)
It's hilarious, and his silent outrage at his un-athleticness makes it all the funnier. Mood growing surlier as your swimming session goes on, only staying due to competitiveness and denial.
You do nothing to help. Taunting and teasing, mocking and provoking. So much so, that even you in your swimwear doesn't uplift him anymore.
Taehoon's saving grace is, he's a pretty comma atrocious swimmer.
And heavens, is pretty an understatement.
He's distracting enough when you're out and about together, fully clothed. Strip him of his jeans and jackets and even the absurdly tight shirts; put him in a pool and in swim trunks... Well.
There is hard muscle as far as the eye can see and legs that go on for miles. Rivulets running down his chest and highlighting his abs. Skin tantalising, flushed with exertion and cheeks tinged pink.
Even the stupid mullet that you at first tolerated, then grown fond, is slicked back. His hair, maybe for the first time ever, is hot. Oh so pretty features on full display and you know everyone here has given Taehoon at least a glance.
If you weren’t so obviously better than him, consistently beating him in the water, you would have no doubt had trouble keeping your hands off him.
"Let's go," he says, interrupting your ogling and shoving you towards the ladder.
"Taehoon~" you whine, trying to plant yourself to no avail, and he gives you a look, "Don't you wanna swim a bit more?"
"I've had enough of your gloating, you lil asshole," he gives you another push, "and enough of people staring."
"You're too pretty for your own good," you scoff, "Cry me a river."
Taehoon exhales, short and sharp to signal he's at the end of his patience with you. It takes a good while longer to get there than for other people, yet he gets there nonetheless.
"I mean at you, dumbass."
"Oh," You notice him practically snarling at a group of boys nearby who have been looking for a moment too long.
"Yeah oh,” he mimics, “Now let's get the fuck out of here."
"Like you care," Taehoon might be right, but why give up the chance to poke the bear one last time? "You're only saying that because you're a sore loser."
He narrows his eyes, displaying full well his annoyance. "You want me to beat your ass?"
"Only if you can catch me!" You kick off the side and start swimming away at speed.
Taehoon shouts, swallowing a mouthful of water as he ungracefully cuts through the water.
"You fuck-!" Cough, sputter. "Get back here!"
#taehoon seong#seong taehun#taehoon seong x reader#seong taehun x reader#how to fight#seong taehoon x reader#seong taehoon#taehoon x reader#how to fight x reader#how to fight headcanons#how to fight manhwa#viral hit headcanons#viral hit manhwa#viral hit x reader#viral hit taehoon#viral hit#wannaeatramyeon
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