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ghoulphile · 3 days

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in the middle of the night | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 852 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, man-handling, drabble, masturbation (m), free use (ig??), handjob, somnophilia ➥ summary | "Cooper watching you sleep. Its a quiet night. nothing but bugs passing by. Cooper keeps watching, and his mind wanders. cut to him "borrowing" your soft and smooth hand, pulling it from under your makeshift blanket and wrapping it on his dick, jacking himself with your hand bc he's bored/trying to pass the time/stay awake" ➥ notes | forgive me this was written in a sleep deprived haze im gonna go die in bed now masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

"Hh-mm?"

A sleep soft murmur escapes, your mind a hazy flood of sensation as your senses struggle to adjust. Night stretches out before you, the sky a deep velvet - the fine stardust glitter of faraway celestial bodies peeking through wispy clouds. It’s midsummer in the desert; a balmy breeze shifting through the sands and tugging at the coyote hide wrapped tight around you.

Beside you, the low crackle and glow of a banked campfire warms your face, its shadows playing with your blurry eyes. Something feels… off. What, you’re not entirely sure as nothing seems to be out of place.

The threadbare padding of your sleeping mat shields you from the sand - albeit only slightly - and there’s a sharp twinge in your side from a piece of rubble lodging itself against your ribs. One of your feet’s gone numb and prickly from the awkward position you’ve curled up in.

Dogmeat’s snoozing a little ways away with her face tucked into her tail.

Same as usual.

And the Ghoul’s…

What.

Strong leather wrapped fingers shackle around your limp wrist, grip firm and unyielding. A buzzing electricity dances along your palm, bottled lightning, as you’re made to grip something long and hard.

The heavy weight of flesh; rugged edges and whorls of texture biting into the softness of your skin. Slick friction as it glides through the loose circle of your fingers.

Is that his -- ohmygod, what the fuck.

Shock sizzles, melts like dripping candle wax into a bloom of warmth that punches the air from your lungs. Oozes down to curl between your thighs in a sticky rush as static warmth ripples from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes.

The Ghoul grunts out a low curse, a quiet hiss of breath escaping through his teeth.

Your thighs clench, the plush fat compressing as you shift.

Oh, that’s… Mm.

Pre-cum trickles down your knuckles as his cock throbs once, twice, his hips bucking forward to sheath himself to the hilt in your tender grip.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters from somewhere above your head, his shoulders bowing in. “Always feels s’good.”

Always --

Your head snaps back, wide eyes darting up.

Immediately, you meet his gaze.

Dark, foreboding; the hooded eyes of a predator staring back at you from beneath a heavy brow like a hand to the nape of the neck. Corralling, claiming. His lips crack open and he smirks - a gash of teeth that threaten to snap.

“Well, hello there, darlin’ - was wonderin’ when you’d wake up.”

“W-What the hell!”

He snorts, the flash of his tongue taunting as he flicks it out across his lower lip

“As if you don’t know. C’mon, now. I know you’re smarter than that.”

To punctuate his words, he inches forward in a grind, dragging your palm along the length of his cock nice and slow. A low groan punches itself out of his chest.

“Tch. Me doth think the lady protests too much. Acting like I can’t smell how wet you are.”

“I-I’m not…”

“Bullshit. You can’t lie ta me, darlin’. I know just how wet that pretty pussy of yours is getting. If you ask real nice like, I might be inclined ta show you what you’re missing.”

Your clit throbs, humiliation burning bright as you duck your head. Avert your eyes to the stray thread of your shirt fluttering in the breeze. It rankles how correct he is, how well he can read you with that vulture sharp gaze.

You wish you could prove him wrong if only for the principle of the matter.

As it is, there’s nothing you can do - especially when your fingers tighten up around his cock to hear him grunt and your cunt throbs in time with your heartbeat.

Slick wets the seat of your panties and clings to your inner thighs as everything in you cries out for some friction, some stimulation.

To get this man inside of you as quick as possible, stretch you wide and fuck you full.

He chuckles. “That’s more like it,” he says. “Now, are you gonna help me out or not? If so, grip a lil harder otherwise I ain’t gonna feel shit.”

So with a gulp, you do as he says: pop up onto your knees and tighten your fist.

Elongate the strokes so they work up the ragged shaft at a sedate pace, feel every pit and curve. Like you’ve got all the time in the world as you roll your wrist and use your thumb to gather the pre-cum from his weeping slit, smearing it around the thick crown of his cockhead.

All the while his head tips back, the long line of his throat catching your attention as he swallows.

“Phew, that’s just what the doctor ordered.” His eyes glitter cruelly when he looks down at you. “Should’a started doing this when you was awake a long time ago.”

How long he’s been using you like this, you don’t know.

And you’re not sure you care if the needy clench of your pussy is any indication.

“S’all right. Now you can make up for all that I’ve been missin’.”

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut

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transmutationisms · 11 months

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thots on astrology? related, thoughts on mbti?

k i like that you guys just pop in my inbox from time to time and invite me to run my mouth about topics and concepts. like truly what else is this website for.

anyway astrology (& sorry, most of what i know here pertains specifically to europe in the middle ages onward) is genuinely such a bizarro historical case of a science whose core epistemological presupposition (a geocentrist and specifically anthropocentrist cosmology) has completely fallen out of favour in both popular and professional discourse, and i don't think most people appreciate how weird it is for astrology to continue existing with this degree of popular and mainstream participation lol. like most fringe science actually bothers to have some semblence of its own reactionary epistemology to fall back on; astrology just doesn't seem to care. it would be like if the medical guilds fully endorsed the position that blood is circulated in the human body by the heart, but then also recommended as treatments for clotting disorders medical practices that only make sense on the supposition that the liver is the origin of all blood and is continuously creating more of it. like no other science that i can think of tries to have it both ways to the extent astrology does. like, one reason phrenology and eugenics are bad comparison points here is because they're very much copacetic with post-enlightenment naturalism and evolutionary transpositions in the social sciences. astrology, like, intellectually is not and yet here it is anyway. ideology innit.

anyhow i assume the reason you asked about this in conjunction with mbti is because today's astrology is largely purporting to provide psychological analysis and is therefore more similar to a system like mbti than to the historical use of star-reading as a predictive science. obviously both astrology and mbti are deeply reactionary in this respect and belong to a larger trend toward attempting to categorise, measure, and taxonomise the psyche, tho an important difference here is that mbti has hereditarian elements, which no form of astrology that i know of does. i think astrology's shift in the personal-psychological direction has to do with a few different factors, including medical astrological practice (orthodox in the european middle ages, then varying degrees of heterodox from the early modern period onward) and self-help movements in the 20th century.

but in any case it, mbti, and similar attempts at psychometry are, like, staggeringly essentialist in conception and practice, and i do think their current popularity reflects some deeply reactionary tendencies amongst people who often (not always) consider themselves otherwise progressive or leftist. it's honestly kind of worrisome how many people will jump on a project that explicitly aims to define static and immutable human 'types' as long as it's dressed in quasi-spiritual or psy-scientific terminology. like i do think we all need to pause and think about the ideological ends and consequences of how we talk about each other and our bodies, minds, and birth circumstances 😵‍💫

#astrology

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lunarw0rks · 7 months

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Rachel!!

the way you wrote "Interruptions" 🤟🏼😪-

I've seen what you've done for other people and I want that too.

Please sir can I have more Alejandro x f!reader thots and feelings.

Make it nasty only the way you do.

a/n: sorry, this has been sitting in my inbox for weeks. hope you enjoy what i decided to write! I had a plus-sized reader in mind for this, but it's not a major part of it. the language is still inclusive!

PACIFY | ALEJANDRO VARGAS

⊹。°˖➴ Synopsis: Hooking up with your ex means you're still separated, doesn't it?

⊹。°˖➴ Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!reader

⊹。°˖➴ Warning(s): nsfw (18+), exes to lovers, ex!husband!Alejandro, mild angst, smut, oral sex (r.), p/v (unsafe) sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, breeding, kinda??/talk of pregnancy, tension w/ happy ending | W.C: 2.6k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ ALEJANDRO MASTERLIST ──── ☆ read "Interruptions" here!

You tried your best not to think about him.

Not because of ill-treatment or the bickering. Your wounds were still too fresh. His schedule was too unpredictable, more than the gamble he took every time he left home. At first, you were convinced you could handle that life — wondering if your husband would come home in a body bag every time he ships off.

It was easier this way. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the breakup was mutual. The phone call he got in the middle of the goodbye was ironic enough; yet another relationship milestone interrupted by his tireless career.

The low heels you wore clicked against the pavement; your brows furrowed as you reviewed an important email. The expression of disdain had become a permanent picture on your face ever since you two split.

You'd never admit it out loud, but you missed being taken care of.

Being alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be. And, because of your own stubbornness, you were reluctant to accept any more of his financial help. That meant rent and a search for better employment, which was no easy task.

But you got lucky today. An offer for a decent job; one you could budget properly with. With a chew of your lip, you pressed send and opened your car door, awaiting his reply.

You: Need to pick up my laptop.

The text was simple enough, but nothing ever was, was it? Instead of a message chime, your phone vibrated. His name flashed on the screen underneath 'incoming' and you could feel your eyes roll before you told them to.

Raising it to your ear, you huffed. Before you could get a word in, he spoke first. "It's nice to hear you breathe." Alejandro's voice comes through the static, reminding you of how audible your attitude had been. You didn't mean to be, but a text reply would have done the trick.

"Did you see my text?" You ignore his snide humor, tapping your fingers along your car window.

"Of course, I did. It's against the law to call my wife?" He chuckles and you feel as though he's with you; the mornings lying beside one another, his worlds tickling your eardrum.

Ex-wife, not wife. It wasn't official yet, but that was a habit you were still determined he break. "Do you know where my laptop is, or am I wasting my time, Alejandro?" You ask, shifting with impatience.

"Always so eager," he clicked his tongue, "it's in your old office. See? No need for dramatics." You rolled your eyes again, this time voluntarily.

As if he wasn't the mascot for melodrama.

You were completely dreading this short trip. For now, all you could rely on was the little voice assuring you you'd be 'in and out' of there within minutes.

It was only when you stood on the porch, that you realized you forgot to take the doormat as well. You urged yourself to remember that when you were out of here in five minutes. A petty realization, but a realization, nonetheless.

The oversized front door swings open, and there he is. "You don't need to dress up for me, amor. You hate me, remember?" He let out a tsk, shamelessly looking you up and down.

With a wave of your hand, you stepped inside without waiting for him to move. "I don't hate you, and you shouldn't joke about that, Ale." It was true; you didn't hate him, not even a little bit. His facetious humor was only amusing when it didn't inspire guilt.

Ignoring the pang in your chest, you said, "I had a job interview, hence the outfit." You glance at the living space, still familiar despite its void of all your belongings. "That's why I need my computer; then I'll be out of your hair."

His hair did look nice. Still silky and trimmed from a recent barber visit, you'd assume. His essence smacked you in the face, the suave cologne and aftershave — as if he'd cleaned up purely to tempt you.

Never would you give him the courtesy of admitting his success. Not verbally.

You walk toward the hall in the way of the office, but his arm stops you. Hovering over your abdomen, it's then you realize how close he'd gotten. "I put it on the table. Saves you the trip, no?" Another sarcastic comment. Big surprise.

"Ah, my savior, saving me the fifteen steps into the office," you match his tone, indeed spotting the laptop and charger left on the breakfast table.

It's not a bad favor, these heels couldn't have been less comfortable. He chuckles a bit, as if dismissing you, but never removes his arm. It lingers there, eventually giving your hip a squeeze. Not possessively, not carnally — it's an attention-grab.

"Forgive me, cariño, I know I've been..." He cuts himself off early, regathering his scrambled thoughts. "You look good. Today and— and always. I'm happy for you."

You raise a brow subtly, instinctively mellowing your voice. "For what? The job?"

"Something like that," Alejandro replies with a shield of vagueness, rubbing the flesh he'd squeezed. You hadn't moved despite how close he was. And it was more than the position you'd taken; so much more.

You open your mouth to retort again but fall short. "Listen, Alejandro..." He continued fondling your hip, slowing to a stop when you began speaking, tilting his head.

The rest of your words refuse to come out under the scrutiny of his warmth, and he knows it. You shift around a bit, feeling vulnerable the longer you stare at one another — how many words are being said with one abiding look.

His lips ghosted over your temple, the tip of his nose against your hair. Alejandro breathed in the scent of your shampoo, getting remnants of your perfume. Two smells he missed, more than he'd care to admit out loud.

By night two of you were gone your pillow was void of it. Right now, it was like savoring your scent all over again — while you were looking your best.

Your tense shoulders relaxed, falling into old habits when your head leaned against him. "I should be going," you breathed your words, a slight hitch in your breathing from the contact. It wasn't like the feelings and desires faded the moment you split; they were as fresh as the wounds.

A hushed dismissal enters your ear in a purr, sending chills across your body. His breath roams down the side of your face, wrapping around until it reaches your lips. “Do it for me.”

It’s akin to the first time you hooked up. His lips swallow yours, a moan escaping you when his tongue swirls around. You turn to face him fully and cup his cheeks, “we shouldn’t be doing this.” Despite your protests, you don’t fight another kiss.

“It’s our house, isn’t it?” You only nod into his shoulder, rocking your hips under his touch. Alejandro’s palms run down your shoulder blades to your tailbone, giving your rear a squeeze. “Answer me, cariño.”

"Yes." You whisper, pressing your lips against his jaw, urging his roaming hands to end their pause.

Caring about right and wrong fleeted to the back of your mind, while he moved to the front of it — consuming every passing thought you'd had of him for months.

His hands resumed after a hum of approval, while yours worked at unbuttoning the stuffy shirt you were wearing. Eventually, you gave them a yank, not paying any mind to the fabric fraying. The warmth from your skin could practically be felt, feeling free once you were left in a bra.

Through the kiss, he took steps backward while you followed at his mercy. He backed through the doorway of the master bedroom, keeping you connected by the lips.

The bedroom welcomed you, as did the bed you were being pushed into. Once sleek and cornered, now wrinkled sheets beneath you as you squirmed. “Missed seeing you like this,” his lips caressed your navel, traveling south as he pulled off your bottoms, rolling them down your legs.

He lay between them, giving glances through his lashes. His arms hooked around your thighs, keeping the squirms to a minimum. You reached down and ran your fingers over his hand, “Alejandro.” You weren’t sure why you said it either; he hadn’t even gotten started. It was more of a declaration than a gripe.

His stubble tickled along your inner thighs, hot breath on your core the closer he leaned in. “Do you want me to stop?” He sneered after you’d whined his name again, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. The answer was no, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that; it was like he had you under his spell all over again.

You despised being so weak for him, but that’s just how you liked it. Your body told the story, quivering and wet from the mere ghost of his breath on your heat.

“No, I don’t want you to stop. But, we—” You declared with the remainder of your willpower, and that was all he needed to hear. With the rustling of some sheets and a dizzying spin, you were on your stomach. Even after all this time, he managed to leave you stunned and needing more than what you were given.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties and tugs at them, making you twitch from the intensity. After his direction, you’re on your hands and knees, gazing down at the familiar sheets. The hands redirecting you aren’t rough or mean; they’re salacious.

“The thorn in my side.” His chuckle is a mock, cut off a lick on your core. “If only she could see herself now.” Your reaction, as small as a shudder, did more than enough to prove his point. You squeeze the silky sheets, suddenly feeling the intensity of his mouth on your pussy. He angled himself underneath you, tilting his head to swirl around your sensitive clit.

You jolted forward, instinctively clenching your thighs shut. Alejandro’s buff hands worked quickly, prying them open once more so he could enter you with his tongue.

His head bobbed in a fluid motion, the messy slurps growing louder throughout the room. You couldn’t leave it at this; if you were going to be pathetic, you were dragging him down with you. Your attempt was risible when you said his name again — attempting to sound firm, despite ripping at the seams from only his foreplay.

A pitiful plea is muttered from your lips, halting his feral tongue. “Hm? You’re making demands now?” His tongue clicks and they are obvious jeers, daring you to roll over and slip your pants back on. But, of course, you didn’t. You were no match for his natural charm; the reason you were in this damn situation at all.

The stars must have been aligned that night because his banter didn’t worsen. His ferocious mouth ceased entirely, and several seconds passed with some shuffling around. For a moment, you were expecting to flip around and find him fleeing from his own bedroom.

Until his palm collided with your ass, a ceaseless sting radiating off the pricked flesh. Before you could do so much as a jolt, Alejandro clutched your hip to hold you in place. “You may boss me around out there, cariño—” his other hand gripped the base of his cock, abruptly filling you with every inch, “—but not here.”

If it weren’t for his fingertips digging like daggers, you would’ve fallen face-first into the mattress. His thrusts were sharp and paced, messily lubricated by his saliva that he hadn’t bothered to lap up.

You wanted to scowl at his cockiness. But he was right. If there were a mirror, you’d see how craven he turned you.

His hips clashed with your backside, a constant slap echoing throughout the room — and surely the rest of the abode. You mewled beneath him, figuring it was better to savor the pleasure while you still had it. There were few things that went right in your marriage; intimacy was one of them, no denying it.

Your body knew it, and deep down so did your mind. Though, even when he was deep inside you it was tempting to bicker, you knew you wouldn’t get much of a sentence out. Alejandro knew all of your sweet spots, which ones to caress and which ones to exploit.

When your back tensed into an arch, his length hit even deeper. “Ángel, what’s wrong? Can’t relax when I’m inside you?” He leaned forward, chest against your curved back to ensure his words resonated deep within your ears.

As much as you cursed yourself, you nodded weakly. The warmth of his breath on your ear disappeared. Following, his palm rested between your shoulder blades, nudging you forward until only your hips were raised; a position that left you an undeniably gladded mess.

He quickened his pace but continued to bottom out inside you, slinking an arm around to stimulate your clit. His fingers spread you apart, matching the whirlpool motion to the intensity of his thrusts. “You’re close, nena.” It nearly sounded like a warning; could have been, if you weren’t clenching around him so tight.

Considering he hadn’t hooked up with anyone in months, you were actively draining his restraint. His stamina prevailed — but his willpower? Not so much. Alejandro’s ab muscles constricted tight, burning from the strain of rutting into you. And you, currently enduring the clutter of an approaching climax; that coil tightening, the rough pads of his digits, his deep fill of you.

It all hit you at once, your fists balled into the sheets as you felt the sensations overtake you. Your walls quivered around him, propelling him into his own climax. As your ears buzzed, you faintly heard his raspy ramblings that he pumped through. His thrusts slowed but remained deep as you milked him dry.

Alejandro muttered a curse and pulled out of you, pressing a kiss to your jawline. Some things never change. As the pleasure fizzled, you recognized the tepid sensation of his raw finish. The repercussions of him finishing inside you should’ve been more daunting, but they weren’t.

You attempted to flip over but he’d quickly settled beside you, caging you with his chest against your back. “Was that okay?” He mumbled against your warm skin as wet lips pecked your shoulder a few times.

His voice alone nearly drew a shiver, growing especially hoarse during pillow talk. “Which part?” You breathed, instinctively tracing your fingers along his scarred arms. Your words were half sarcasm, while the other part of you was still catching up.

“Very funny,” you could feel his smile against your flesh, followed by the slight nip of his front teeth. “You know what I mean. This. Wouldn’t be so bad, hm? A family?”

Part of you wished a wave of regret would wash over you, with waves thick enough to thrash some sense into you. They never came. Something felt right about being tangled in bed again; foreign but right.

“No,” you murmured, catching the last of your breath. “It wouldn’t be. But, I thought you hated being bossed around? You think our baby wouldn’t do the same?”

Alejandro snickered and massaged the hip flesh he left slightly bruised, “Only by you.” You gave his bicep a light knock, and he physically saw the spark return to your eyes. The one you had before all the petty resentment and venom.

Whether or not parenthood was a fix meant little; there was no denying your chemistry.

If anything, tonight was a breakthrough — despite its unconventional beginning. Through all the new unknowns, there was one thing you knew for sure. You weren’t going anywhere.

₊˚⊹♡ ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ divider cred. - cafekitsune

#mw2 #call of duty #mw2 fanfic #mw2 alejandro #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro cod #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas smut #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas x you #alejandro x reader #los vaqueros #task force 141

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eupheme · 2 months

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— all I want is you

alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: pfyt request, jealous and possessive!alfred, light angst, copious amts of tooth-rotting fluff, split pov, semi-clothed semi-public sex, return of the daddy kink (light), marking, creampie

a/n: inspired by this lovely thot by @csboz 💖 references part ii and vii of penny for your thoughts but not required to enjoy

When a gala brings you face-to-face with your ex, Alfred realizes that seeing something in a photo is a lot different than seeing it in person.

Alfred had never considered himself a jealous man.

Maybe life had been simpler, then. He had known his place, where he fit in. A perfectly-made mould, sculpted just for him.

Solider. Bodyguard. Lover.

The lines of each were neatly set. Not just drawn in sand, but etched into stone.

Rules and regulations only blurring in the evening, behind closed doors. In the same slow way that evening bleeds into night - red to orange to deep indigo. Only to right itself the next morning, with the clear coming of dawn.

As man of routine, it had been easy to follow. He had never given it much thought, this throbbing ache in his chest. Fingers that itch to reach out, and take. The poison that pulls at his brow - the permanent furrow above narrowed, watchful eyes.

It’s uncomfortably new, and unwelcome.

And now, small part of him wonders if it’s because he never had anything that was really - truly - his.

Not the way that you are.

As much his and he is yours. The band on your finger, that promise, had felt like enough when he had sunk to a knee before you.

Now, he’s resisting the urge to drape you in jewels. To whisk you away. To give you anything you want.

It had been different, seeing that photo. Static, splashed across the screen in black and white.

Another insecurity had dug its claw into his mind then, convincing himself that he wasn’t good enough. Acutely aware of just how undeserving he was.

You had set him straight. It’s a night he still remembers, one he cherishes deeply.

The night you told him, even if it had taken him a while to return those words to you.

He had thought he knew better. That such emotion had no hold over him.

But a photo doesn’t move. A photo doesn’t have roving eyes, doesn’t give a look that he doesn’t much care for.

You looked beautiful, of that he had no doubt.

An hour ago it had been almost all he could think about. The thoughts of the Gala and those he must meet with Bruce severing - splitting down the middle, as you had modeled your dresses for him.

Asking his opinion, twisting and twirling in front of the mirror. Letting him undress you after each one, his lips against your spine as he worked the zipper. Black and bronze and silver, all wrapping around you, until you had picked a favorite.

Wanting to get things right. No longer just the messenger girl, but now seen often at Bruce’s side. Someone that was recognized, that was sought after.

He’s always seen you. Then and now and in the bedroom, tucked away, he had been so proud.

And when you had slipped your arm in his in the Tower, neatly curving your hand into the crook of his arm, he had thought it would be a long night.

Eager to end up right back here, to strip the fabric from you, one final time.

But now… it feels like an eternity.

There’s an uneasy flip in your stomach, when you see him.

It’s lessened over the months since that first meeting. You’ve run into Harvey a few times since the Parliament, though you haven’t stepped foot in the building since. Those days were long behind you, buried deep.

Your path with the newly-elected DA would continue to cross, as long as Bruce was working with him to improve Gotham. It was something you had thought about, had decided to bear. Another thing from the past, that you were convinced would no longer take up a worried residence in your mind.

And it was different, this time.

This time, Alfred is with you.

Not physically with you at the moment, but the comfort still lingers. He had just stepped away - offering to get you a drink while the guests work their way into the banquet hall, after the silent auction.

Leaving you next to the ornate seating chart - trying to pick your name out of the hundreds of small groupings.

And it seemed like Harvey Dent had the same idea.

“Thought I would see you here, doll.” The handshake he offers turns into a hug, his hand pressing against your shoulder. You own giving a half-hearted pat against his back.

“And I figured you would be too. To see Bruce, I mean.” You smile tightly before your eyes are drifting back to the list, “Is Gilda with you?”

His arm brushes yours as he moves to your left, to look for his own name, “Not tonight. She’s getting ready for a show next month.”

His fiancée. The girl he dated after you - the girl he was set to marry, once his position was settled.

There’s no twinge in your stomach this time. No weird, lingering feelings that you hadn’t been able to process.

Just a sense of pity, that he had to come alone. Thinking back - you can’t remember the last event she’s been to.

You never minded going to these things. Half the time it was your job. But it was always better when Alfred came with you.

“What about you? You here with anyone?” He’s asking, nodding towards the cane tucked under your arm - but then you hear your name. The press of a warm hand to the small of your back, as you are gently moved to the side.

“There you are, darling.” Alfred coos, as you grin - making room for him. The flute passed over from where he stands between you and Harvey, before he’s turning.

“Mr. Dent,” His left hand extends, “Pleasure.”

Harvey’s eyes flick down for the briefest of moments. Following the path of the arm that curls around you. To where you lift the glass to drink, the glitter that reflects off one of your fingers.

He smiles, as he takes the offered hand. You miss the way Alfred’s knuckles whiten, for the briefest of moments. The slightest wince in reply, before they’re letting go and Harvey is pivoting to face both of you.

“Heard about the accident. I didn’t think you’d be out and about just yet.”

The reminder almost makes you flinch. It’s been months, but you still have nightmares - racing down endless bleached-white halls, trying to find him. Panic flaring when a siren wails down the street, your eyes automatically leaping to the sky.

“It would take more than an amateur to get rid of me, I’m afraid. Much less Master Bruce.” Alfred’s knuckle graze along your back, soothing. A small smile sent your way, “Besides, I had the finest care you could ask for.”

There’s a presence at your elbow then, the feeling of a heavy shadow.

“Table Twelve.” Bruce tells you in greeting, after a quick glance at the chart - before he’s turning to Harvey, “I heard you’re working on the Nashton case.”

“Not much of one,” Harvey grins, a hand smacking Bruce’s shoulder before he sends you a wink. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I’ll make sure that freak stays in Arkham.”

There's a tightness in Alfred’s jaw, his hand staying firmly in place. A tell-tale tap of annoyance of the cane you’ve handed back, against the marble floor.

You're certain that you're the only one who notices, besides Bruce - the briefest flicker of a look before he's lassoed back into the conversation.

There's a shuffle, when you sit for dinner soon after. Your arrangement differs from what's been noted on the namecards, as Alfred pulls out the seat to his right, instead of left. You take it, without much thought - fitting yourself between him and Bruce.

The conversation from before trickling into dinner, silted by the way Bruce has to lean past both of you - an elbow digging into the table - to talk to Harvey.

Your mind has drifted elsewhere. That unease of seeing him again disappearing completely with Alfred's arrival at your elbow. With his touch now - the hand that slips beneath the tablecloth. The breadth of his palm as it presses down, high above your knee.

Curving the silky fabric of your dress against your thigh. His touch firm enough that you can feel the slow drag of his fingers, circling strokes that press into your skin.

Reminding you of his touch, somewhere else.

Distracting you terribly, thoughts drifting back to the stolen moments as you dressed. Barely able to manage not to squirm in your seat, as the food is served.

He’s attentive as you eat - his voice low and smooth in your ear, as he points out people you should make note of. His gaze always on yours - the grip of his hand tightening each time he leans, sometimes slipping higher for the briefest moment.

A welcome distraction, as the courses are served.

The first of the notes are plucked from the big band on the stage when dinner is cleared - a modern cover played in an old jazz style, the notes drawn out and bright.

Harvey’s arm slings across the back of his chair, as he leans to catch your attention.

“I nearly forgot about them,” He gestures with a smile, a two fingers tipping towards the stage, “Bristol County Club, do you remember?

You did.

It had been before you were together, back when you were just friends - a senior banquet, right before graduation. Month spent on a fundraiser that pulled out all the stops.

Catered food, black-tie, a hired band. Compared to now it felt so small - but back then, it was the most extravagant night you could imagine.

The memory makes you smile, and just as your lips part to answer there’s a touch to your arm - a voice cutting through.

“Would you like to join me, dove?”

Alfred’s hand extends in front of you - waiting, his seat already pushing back. His cane tucked against his chair, to be retrieved after.

“Excuse me,” You manage to tell Harvey - before your hand is pressing into his, and he’s guiding you away.

Winding in between the other tables, joining the couples that spill from their own, onto the dance floor.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all night.” Alfred tells you, as the dance floor slowly fills, “You look beautiful. Have I told you that already?”

It makes your cheeks heat, “Maybe once or twice.”

There’s couples swirling around you, each caught up in the endless flutes of champagne, the energy from the live band on the stage.

You stay close, though. A slow, sway - the movement familiar, even if the details are different this time.

How the hand that should cup yours, now entwines - fingers lacing together.

How the palm that guides you slips lower on your back. Not so far that it’s improper, but you can feel the warmth and pressure on the curve of your ass, inside of your spine.

It sends up a spark that follows the path his lips took earlier. A soft press of his lips as the zipper lowered, each time.

You had wanted him, then. The only thing that kept you in check was knowing how he’d never give in, if it made you both late.

Leaving the memory sizzling under your skin.

Stoked by these slow moments of change. Because you’re starting to put things together now - all those little details perhaps imperceptible to an acquaintance.

But not to you.

It takes you another two songs to figure things out fully. The circling steps taking you into the middle of the floor, and then out to the opposite side. Far away from the shared table.

You haven’t really seen him quite like this before. If you didn’t love him so much, perhaps you’d want to laugh.

And you think that maybe - maybe, you should do something about it.

His fingers slip higher on your back, but it’s only to press you just a little bit closer. Your lips brush against the peppered-grey scruff on his beard, just before you press a kiss against his cheekbone.

Keeping your fingers clasped as you step away, back towards the edge of the dance floor.

“Come with me.” You coax, but you don’t have to.

He follows - would follow - you anywhere, a hand in yours until the dark corners of the room surround you, the music fading as you slip with him down a corridor.

It’s near-deserted - a thick ornate rug running down the hall. Small groupings of those discussing business, paying you no mind as you wind down one more hallway.

Your name is a whispered question as you try the handle - the room you open is not in use, like you knew it would be. Year-old memories of helping Hazel set up in these halls are still fresh in your mind.

Perhaps at one point, it had been set up for meetings, or a small, private party. The wallpaper pretty and patterned, but at least a decade old. Matching furniture pushed around - heavy wooden tables shoved to one side. Stacked rows of chairs in another corner.

A dim and dusty table lamp that you click on, as he shuts the door behind you.

“You look like you could use a minute.” You tell him, with a knowing tilt of your head.

The corner of his lips twitch, “Am I that obvious, dove?”

“Maybe just to me,” You smile, hands finding his, as you walk backward. As he follows, again.

Another glance around the room, before you’re adding, “Feels a little familiar, hm?"

His stern look softens, as he remembers.

Your second meeting, that flurry of feelings. Him, thinking might have changed your mind. Your own anxiety, thinking he wasn't going to call.

Leading his hands to your hips, as you lean against a table that bumps up against the wall. A second, before you’re pushing yourself up, to perch on the edge.

"I think I loved you, even then." Your admission is soft. Cheeks burning in the darkness, even after all this time, "Well, I knew when we danced together in your kitchen. But, I mean... even that early, I knew you would be important to me."

He laughs - a short, rough thing. It startles you, a little frown as your chin tips up.

"I'm sorry, darling. I just-” He sounds almost breathless, in the dim room, “That night... for me, too."

Your smile is bright, blinding. If asked, you’d say it was impossible to love him more, but with his answer comes a surge of affection, a little flip of your heart.

His own lips curve, when you meet them. Hair shorn short and velvet against your fingers as your hand slips against his neck. Sighing into his mouth as he leans into your touch, into the kiss.

Pressing himself snug against the table, as your thighs have to inch wider. Your knees digging into his hips, as his hands find your waist.

Possessive, in the way he grips onto you. Fingers pressing into the fabric, your skin. The smallest tug to bring you forward, closing those last few inches of space.

His confession finally coming in the breaths between your mouths meeting - quiet, in the dark room.

“I don’t like the way he was looking at you,” It’s almost a growl, as your lips press against his cheek, “Like he was reconsidering things.”

You do laugh then, but not at him. The sound low in your throat, bitten back, “You know, it would have to go both ways, right? That I would want to want that, too?”

Before your voice lowers, “You know that you’re the one I’m going home with.”

His eyes seem to darken at that, his voice a low rasp, “I know.”

“Then you realize you’re being silly?” You press, gently.

Alfred does smile, then - a small, rueful thing.

“I’m well aware.” An inhale of breath, then, “I haven’t felt this way before, but then again I’ve never-”

His words break off, as his eyes drag down you for just a moment. Admiring, but it’s more than that. The same feeling that was stirred with his greedy touch, the delicious shiver at the growling rasp his voice.

It does something to you - your pulse quickening, something hungry awakening in your belly.

“Do you need me to show you, again?” You offer sweetly, learning forward to let your lips brush his again.

His answer comes as a ragged sigh, “Just once more, love.”

Expecting words, perhaps another soft press of your mouth, before you return to the party.

Not the way that the soft layers of your skirt gather in a hand, bundled near your hip. How your other catches his palm, guiding his fingers beneath.

Cupping you. Where you’re so warm and where the thin fabric clings to you - worked up from before, and during, and now.

He sucks in a breath as you bite back your own sigh. Your hand still on his wrist as your lips press against his throat, to the hollow under his ear.

A bitten-back groan as your teeth graze his earlobe, just before you croon.

“You could take me in here, you know that?”

The hand on your waist tightens, just as his fingers begin to move. The tips of two fingers crooking against the fabric, slipping up to circle against you.

“That’s what you want, right? To send me back out there, full of you?”

Alfred wouldn’t ask it of you, you’re sure. Too proper to suggest it, himself… but to have it offered so prettily and openly.

But he is only human, after all.

You can feel his groan against your lips, the flex of his muscles as he swallows.

“Yes.” He rasps.

The fingers that circle halt, but only enough so he can slip them beneath your panties. His eyes dark in the dim light of the room, fixed on yours as his touch teases you. Drifting along your slit, before dipping lower.

A rough curse growled out as the tip one fits inside you easily. You’re slick, the fabric damp and sticking to your skin, coating the fingers that presses deep, before he’s working in another.

“Oh fuck,” You sigh, thighs nudging wider. Hands wandering, fingers hooking around his belt and tugging him closer, “Please, Alfred-”

“I will.” He promise, before his mouth is pressing against yours. Fingers working you open, as you tug at his zipper, trying to slip your fingers beneath.

Finding him more than half-hard from your words, thickening with the touch of your hand on bare skin, as you work him free. His other hand rises - cupping the back of your neck, just as his fingers press deep and curl.

His desire thrills you. Not often does he give into your whims when you’re out like this. Preferring to make you wait, make you suffer until he’s got you alone again.

More than once you’ve ridden him in his car, but that was an extension of his space. Fingers have drifted during dances, during long dinners.

A promise for later, but not now.

You’d be worried if he hadn’t already admitted just how self-aware he was.

But he needs this.

You can sense it - the tick in his jaw, the not-so-subtle flex of his hips into your fist. The way his fingers pound, as if trying to rip the orgasm from you.

It has you clenching down hard, whining. Your other hand drifting - across his chest, tugging on his tie to keep him close. Parting your lips with the soft brush of his tongue, so he can taste you as his hand slips free.

Working it over his aching cock twice - marking himself fully with you, until it’s slick with your need.

“Come here.” He reaches for you, his other hand guiding your hips to edge of the table, “I’ll give you what you want dove, but you need to be quiet.”

Nudging your thighs wider with his hip, your legs rising to hook around his waist, opening yourself up more. One of your hands bracing behind you, flattened across the tabletop.

He’s so broad like this. The shadowed light cutting across his features, his strong shoulders. The loosened tie, the clinking belt the only pieces out of place.

The velvet soft length rubs against you, as he steps closer. Your eyes drop to watch the slow twist of his fist as he rubs the tip against your folds.

“As much as I want everyone to hear you’re mine, I’m not too keen on sharing.”

It makes you throb, the edge in his tone. How aware you both are of the unlocked door. The hundreds of people just outside, the muted music that crashes against the walls.

Too far gone to stop, as eyes narrow - letting himself look, now. To where you’re exposed and open - so needy for him that it makes him ache.

He won’t leave you waiting.

With the next roll of his hips, he’s splitting you open. Not with the slow tease of home - fitting just the tip, making you earn every inch. No, this makes you cry out - the feeling of his cock making a home for himself in your warm cunt.

He swallows the sound, his own groan rough in his throat.

“Christ, I missed you.” Alfred rasps, as if it had been weeks instead of hours. Eyes fixed on your own, how they go half-lidded with the drag of his cock, as he begins to move.

“Missed you too,” You whine, as you start to lean back, your dress still fisted around your waist.

Thinking he’d like to watch - see where you stretch around his cock, where he fucks you open. How he gleams with your desire, with each sharp rut of his hips.

Instead, Alfred catches your wrist. Holding it against his chest as he tugs you back up.

“No,” It’s close to an order, except for the way he sighs with need, “Stay close darling, just for a moment. Please.”

Your legs hook around him, instead. Doing as you’re told, as your hands drop your dress - sliding across his shoulders instead, fingers entwining behind his neck.

The “good girl” he murmurs shoots straight to your cunt, a shared look that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His thrusts grow harder, deeper. A steady pound that will leave both of you aching tonight, not that either of you mind.

In this moment it’s just you and him, everything else fades into soft shades of nothing. Your focus caught on the spots where you’re connected. Eyes, hands, mouth. His cock, pressed deep - dragging against a spot that sends a rolling wave of pleasure to lap low in your belly.

And when his hand leaves your wrist to drift down, circling against you once again, you feel as if you’re about to break.

His name is garbled, another soft plea. Your hips rocking into the perfect pressure of his touch - further proof of his devotion. Every detail tucked away so carefully, keep safe in a mind that never forgets.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop-” You whine, forgetting about your promise. Each breath short and harsh as your nails sink into fabric, desperate to cling to this moment.

Alfred’s forgotten too, his growl lower than the low murmur of before.

“Never.” He rasps, “Come on, darling. Let me feel you-”

Everything winds tight, your breath held. And then - it snaps, fracturing and splintering. The music fading out to white noise.

You come with him wrapped around you. Caged in - an arm wrapping around, hand pressed between your shoulder blades. The other steady and unmerciful against your clit, drawing your pleasure out. He groans with the tight pulse of your orgasm, pressing himself deep, so he can feel each throb.

“There it is, that’s my girl.” It’s murmured into your sweat-dewed skin, as he mouths at your neck.

This is what he’s been craving. His mind a seismograph - those jittery waves of emotions now slipping flat and smooth. A reminder that he’s the only one that makes you feel this way.

Loose-limbed in his arms. Your grin lazy as you squirm against him, trying to catch the fingers that push you towards too much.

You feel a low laugh against your skin, as bristle of his beard tickles your cheek. Then, against the soft column of your throat. His lips following, as he starts to fuck you again.

Just as teeth scrape and then pinch the curve where shoulder meets neck. A rough groan against your skin, just before his lips close - sucking hard against the same spot.

You’re sure it will leave a mark. High above the strap of your dress. Near impossible to hide, and you find yourself thinking that he did that on purpose.

Tongue trapped between your teeth as you smile, going soft. Letting your hands drift now, smoothing over the soft fabric of his shirt. Slipping beneath his open jacket to hook your fingers into the hem of his pants.

Urging him to a quicker pace, as you tell him what he needs to hear.

“Yours.”

Finger pinch at your hips, angling them so he can drive deeper. You can just barely hear the wet suck with each thrust, again and again and again.

“Mine.” He echos, teeth gritting.

This time when you lean back, he lets you. A heave of his chest as your fingers drift down, until they slowly circle your clit.

Pleasure throbs but your touch is more for show, for him, letting him watch as your fingers split - framing where he sinks into you. That steady thrust starting to stutter, the only unsteady thing about him.

“Tell me you want it.” That harsh, pleading tone is back.

“God, I want it.” Your teeth sinking into your lip, before you sigh sweetly, “Please, daddy.”

It catches him off guard like you knew it would, his eyes darkening. How you offer up a piece of yourself like a tempting piece of fruit - how you would burst so sweetly on his tongue if he were to sink his teeth in.

“Only me, yeah?”

Only him.

He knew it was true. A hushed confession in the late night hour - a warmth in your cheeks as your face rested against his bare chest. Rising and falling with his steady breath, tender feelings betrayed by the flutter of his heart beneath your ear.

“I haven’t called anyone that before. Only you.”

“Only me, hm? Then perhaps you should let me hear it again.”

“Yes, daddy. Always-” One of your hands slips from the table, entwining with his, “I want you to come in me. I want to feel you, too-”

He comes with you begging for it.

A rough grunt paired with the rutting of his hips, until they press flush against you. Little shallow thrusts, keeping himself buried deep as he spills inside you - the last dregs of his jealousy swept along with the sharp burst of pleasure.

Leaving Alfred feeling foolish, a throbbing ache in his chest that matches the galloping of his heart.

You’re always so good to him. Thighs tightening against his hips, keeping him inside until you’re sure he’s been milked dry - until the throbbing twitch of his cock has ebbed.

He pants a breath, fingers still wrapped in yours. Wrinkling the fabric as his hips press flush with yours, keeping himself buried in you for another long moment.

Your mind always runs away with you.

Imagining slipping your panties down your thighs. Thinking how pretty they would look as a pocket-square - or tucked beneath, right against his heart.

Instead, he groans as he slips from you. A slow smile, as his lips brush yours, as you slump back fully against the tabletop.

You’re sure you look debauched - the dim light leaving you glowing, after your orgasm.

The straps of your dress slipping from your shoulders, skirts hiked up to where he has your panties still pushed to the side.

His fingers drifting across where you still gape from him, for just a moment. A look crossing his face that is almost smug, if he could be - before he’s tucking the lacy hem carefully back into place, tugging it snug against your cunt.

“Better?” You ask, breathless. Pushing yourself up, reluctantly starting to out yourself back together.

Relishing in the stolen moment, but knowing the night was not quite over. That it would be a little while longer before you were home - already dreaming about the hands that would wander beneath the warm water of a shared bath.

His fingers press down as he cups you. Grazing against the fabric, where it’s damp with him. Dripping from you and sticking to your skin, now that his cock no longer keeps it inside.

Alfred smiles, as he answers.

“Yes.”

(and then the table was purchased for a sizable donation as part of the “auction” and kept as a beloved souvenir 😌)

thank you so much for reading!! and for giving me an excuse to dive back into them again, it has been missed 💖

#thank you for letting me dive back into them again 💖#please mind the tags!#alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth x you #alfred pennyworth smut #tw: daddy kink

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magpiepills · 8 days

Text

A Rite

Rating: EXPLICIT! 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB reader

Word count: 900

Summary: just a beej, no biggie.

Warnings: oral (m receiving) dirty talk, din thinks he’s the dom, cum eating, facial, helmet is on, gloves are on, mild hair pulling. I think that’s it? She’s not specified, only physical description is that readers hair can be grabbed. No use of y/n.

A word for the author: I don't know why I did this. I had a thot and I got carried away thinking about sucking his dick and licking cum off beskar. Please don’t flay me alive if I’ve gotten integral Mando terminology wrong. I tried to watch the mandalorian but there were just too many muppets. I’ve never written for Din before and I probably won’t ever again. But who knows. I had some dark ideas for this but I got tired of writing so maybe one day there will be a dark version of this blowie.

The lights are dim, the faint buzz of electricity and the beep of some automated control made a soothing background noise to your own sounds. The squeak of leather against metal, the smack of metal against skin, the groan on the captain’s chair, and your own gagging as Din holds your hair tight in his fist, guiding you up and down on his cock.

He was a man of few words, a solid wall of silence most days, changing the energy of the air around him with the pivot of his shoulders. He could give you a chill that tingled your spine with the minute tilt of his helmet, stiffening your nipples against the coarse weave of your tunic.

It was disorienting how quickly he snapped from cold and quiet to hot and direct. Urging you onto your knees before him, nodding to you, a silent command to tug open his pants and take his heavy cock in your hand. Thick and leaking, the sight made your mouth water. “Open your mouth and suck it.” His voice crackled from somewhere under the emotionless mask of his helmet, cool, even, and deep. It sounded raspy, maybe but that could be the modulator.

The next sound from him was a soft grunt as you wet the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling and licking at his slit, greedily lapping up the leaking pre cum that beaded there as your hand slid and twisted up and down along his turgid member.

“You can take more.” His tone left no room for disagreement, so you opened your already aching jaw wider, letting the end of him push and slide against the soft skin inside your cheek.

“More.”

You squeezed your thighs together, aching for his touch that would never come as he demanded more of your throat. Your eyes watered and you reminded yourself to breathe through your nose.

Another half inch more and you heard him groan again. “Like that. Keep going.” His shaky exhale sounded like static, but you knew better, and it egged you on. Giving him this kind of attention and care was a thrill, it made you want to please him, give him something special, be good for him.

His grip loosened enough to let you pull off quickly, your hand working to stroke the entire length of him while you adjusted your kneeling stance. You took a deep breath and licked over his top again before quickly taking him deeper than before. Your eyes were squeezed shut and the sound of his cock in your throat was obscene. Carefully covering your teeth with your lips, you began sucking in earnest, hollowing your cheeks, saliva dripping down his cock and over his balls, wetting the fabric of his pants, opened and tugged below them just enough to allow only the necessary amount of skin to show.

Once again you focused on your breath, on relaxing the muscles of your jaw, your neck, your arm, on giving him everything you could. He wanted more, though.

“Deeper. Don’t tease- all the way.” His heavy gloves hand was at the base of your skull, and you thought he might feel himself there, deep as he was. Your nose and swollen top lip pushed into the coarse dark hair at the base of his wet cock, you swallowed carefully, slowly, lips, tongue, and tonsils working together to overwhelm his senses.

Could he see anything in that helmet? Could he hear your muffled moans, or did he just sense that you wished you could swallow him whole? Your count throbbed when you imagined how his mouth must taste. You wanted it to taste like you. Being the center of his sensory experience, the maker and creator of his pleasure, the only thing he could feel that wasn’t transmitted through a filter was a powerful drug. He had nothing of the world outside his helmet, his metal, his leather except your mouth.

His hand on your head didn’t matter. You relished how your throat ached at the intrusion of his cock, but he didn’t need to know. Let him revel in his control as long as he can. His breath was heavy but controlled through the voice modulator while you gagged and hummed, sending vibrations straight through him. When his hand slid around to feel the front of your throat, you pulled back enough to fit your hand around his cock again, stroking in in a way that might be called loving as you peered up into your own reflection in his visor, admiring how your lips looked around him. It was while you looked up where his eyes must be that you felt his thigh twitch, a telltale sign that his release was not far off. His breath hitched just slightly and you took your mouth from him, leaving you connected by a short string on saliva while ropes of his cum laced over your cheek, his glove, and the steel covering his thigh.

You watched in awe, touched your wet cheek, bringing his cum to your mouth where it belonged.

“You made a mess, clean it up.” Came a voice that sounded less steady than it did twenty minutes ago. You wanted to smirk, but instead you just nodded, dipping your head to run your tongue over the cool, smooth metal of his beskar, lapping up his cum and peering up at him. “Get it all.”

#din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #star wars smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters #bat writes #no muppets #smut

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runa-falls · 2 years

Text

high and dry

summary: lloyd doesn't take shit from anyone, including you

pairing: lloyd hansen x reader

rating: explicit 18+ (DNI if you’re under 18 -.-)

warnings: SMUT [18+], fingering, hickies/bruises, short tempered!lloyd, mild choking, dumbification, unsatisfying ending

wc: 540

a/n: okok this gif---the fact Lloyd literally doesn't put up with any shit and casually takes out a guy bc he's making a fuss-- damn, it's so thot-provoking.

masterlist

-=+=-=+=-=+=-

A firm hand forces your hips down as he rapidly thrusts his perfectly ringed fingers into your sopping cunt, filling the room with lusciously wet sounds as you drip around him, forced to take everything he’s giving you.

Your eyes roll back as he rams right against your soft spot, body convulsing with every thrust. If your mind weren’t so fucked out, you’d find it cute how his tongue peeks out from between his lips, ‘stache twitching, as he focuses on defiling you.

All thoughts are glazed over by a lecherous fog, every neuron numbed. You squeeze a handful of the bedsheets trying to ground yourself, the bed quaking under you.

He catches you off guard, pushing your legs to your chest, hitting you impossibly deeper from this angle. Your foot involuntarily jerks against his body, pushing against him from the intense pleasure.

It only takes a second for you to realize that you’ve made the wrong move.

He abruptly pauses his actions, fingertips static in your warmth, slick still dripping down his wrist. You whine out, attempting to rock your pinned down body into his, desperate for your orgasm. His jaw is clenched in irritation, eyes still trained on the way you leak onto the bed sheet.

“What did I just fucking say?” Even though he’s talking to you, he refuses to meet your sheepish gaze, knowing it would only make him more pissed off. “Hm?” You remain dead silent, afraid to make another move as a dangerous tension rolls off him.

He finally turns to you, digging his fingers into your skin as he firmly grasps your throat. You squirm under his hand, blood pounding in your ears.

“Hello? Are you fucking deaf?” You look delectable when you’re scared shitless, always so obedient, so pathetic.

“N-no moving.” You squeak out, voice struggling against his harsh grip.

“Hm? What was that?” He leans closer, grip letting up so you can speak louder. You wet your lips at the condescension in his voice, reveling in Lloyd’s cruelty.

You delicately clear your throat, “No moving, or I can’t cum.”

“That’s right, bunny.” His fingers relax, languidly brushing down the newly purpled skin to your sternum. “You’re so lucky I’m such an understanding man. I should just shove your dumbass back into your cage, but you’ve been a good girl all week, haven’t you?” You nod eagerly, feeling his other hand rub over the spot you need him most, pressing delectably against your clit.

“Let’s try again, hm?”

—

Lloyd’s mustache drags down your throat as he nips and sucks the velvet skin into his mouth, marking you in every blank space he can find. You’re so close, barely hanging on by a thread as he pushes you toward the edge.

You moan out as his expertly tailored polo brushes against your pert sensitive nipples, fingers fiercely locked around the duvet. You arch your back with a sob, craving the contact, so desperate to finally cum.

Lloyd freezes above you, only giving you a second to realize what’s happening before he rips his hands away.

He shoves himself off of you, immediately walking out of the room as you watch from the bed, hair mussed all around you, laying in shock.

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen smut #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #the gray man #lloyd thots #lloyd hours

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heliopauseentertainments · 1 year

Text

From The Claws Of Death

I saw an idea and, uh, this happened.

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Tarantulas/Prowl

Characters: Prowl & Tarantulas

Warnings: Necromancy, canon divergence, death mention

Summary: In which Prowl remembers dying, but almost nothing else.

Note: Inspired by @decepti-thots's post here.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth

Fic below cut

An explosion.

When Prowl died, he remembered an explosion.

Or rather, he remembered the sound of an explosion.

He hadn’t felt anything, not anything beyond the icy, agonizing burn of static simultaneously overwhelming all his sensors.

One of the last thoughts through his processor had been thinking how similar dying had felt to being born, onlining in a factory when every circuit fired up for the first time, confused and overcharged.

Every circuit flicking off again for the last time was identical.

Then came peace.

Relief.

Darkness.

An empty void.

A feeling of his formless consciousness being rushed off somewhere unknowable.

As his spark was conveyed through the void, up ahead voices, indistinct but familiar. Comrades, long dead. He knew them, instinctively.

Although this was, for now, a lonely journey, but there was a place of solace at the end of it. Even his own cynicism could only muster a weak argument. It was probably just final, illogical hallucinations of his processor shutting down.

Was that really so bad though?

Time no longer mattered. He had been here for seconds. He had been here for millions of years. It didn’t matter. It all felt the same in this nothingness between life and death.

Even that final explosion no longer mattered.

Lights, flashing and brilliant, beckoned as his spark approached the source of the voices.

The Afterspark.

He was nearly there, and then he would finally rest—

The roar of dangerous volumes of current overtook his audio processing as his consciousness jolted, tumbling into awareness. The voices were drowned out, silenced.

In an instant the cold void vanished, replaced by bright lights overhead and the agony of burning, overstimulated circuits channeling electricity.

It was like dying all over again only no peace, no relief, no comforting void followed the suffering. The dead couldn’t die, could they?

Birth then.

This was birth.

Prowl screamed.

Every hydraulic tensed from both the pain and the horror of once more having a body with which to scream, with which to suffer.

“Prowl!”

A voice called to him from nearby. His optics, sensitive and still calibrating, took in only a bright, blinding light.

He continued to scream, wordlessly, as his circuits slowly acclimated to the burden of being alive.

“Prowl, you’re back!”

A weight was thrown onto his chest, a chest he shouldn’t have even had. The pressure ached as he struggled in vain to throw the weight off, his limbs struggling to obey.

Prowl shouted, indistinctly, at the weight. His vocalizer wouldn’t form words, only howls.

Overcompensating for his struggling senses and lack of control, he threw himself and the weight sideways, plummeting off the edge of some surface and cascading in a heap to what was most likely the ground.

There was no clatter of metal, only the sting of cables and tubes being forcefully disconnected from his neck and back by the fall.

Arms, rough and round pulled him towards the strangely soft weight he had landed on.

An embrace.

Prowl pushed, sticking his arms out in front against that soft, furry form that was so intent on clinging to him. His hands slipped and scrabbled, like the fingers were tipped with claws.

His vocalizer finally managed to cooperate, having at last booted up with a cheery noise in his HUD, now barely visible over the blinding white.

“No!”

His optics refused to calibrate, his processor pounding from the unrelenting glare. Perhaps they were defective…. What utter hack had repaired him?

“Prowl, you’re back!” The voice called again, right in front him this time as their limbs tangled on the floor.

His plating felt wrong. Leathery and covered in… some downy filaments, like mesh drapery.

“No!” He squirmed in his struggle to escape the embrace. “Let go!”

“Oh! Your eyes!” the voice said, like they were entirely unconcerned with his terror and more like they had forgotten an appliance was plugged in unattended somewhere.

He was released, the shape underneath him wriggling away.

A soft series of clicks reverberated as the being moved elsewhere, he could hear it so distinctly, but why? His head turned to track the sounds even though he couldn’t see, further around than he ought to have been able to do.

The voice was familiar. He knew this person, but from where?

Another click and it was dark again. No, merely darker. The pain in his processor began to subside and the world, an alien world he didn’t belong in, began to take form.

Tiled floors, a tiled ceiling. Metal walls. A medical slab next to him. All grungy with some… dried substance that had dripped before coagulating.

Someone had repaired him. No, he had died. One couldn’t repair death. Right?

“Better?”

Yes, but Prowl said nothing as he sat on his knees… staring down at his repaired body.

No, new.

This body was entirely new… and the floor beneath was wet with unknown smears.

Purple.

Energon maybe.

His? Someone else’s? Usually there was a distinctive smell—or was there? He couldn’t… remember—but he found that he could hardly smell anything at all.

Long and flexible filaments hung from his plating—skin. Feathers? Pale and warm. Splotches of whatever was on the floor, on the walls, on the medical slab clung to his… feathers.

Feathers.

Cybertronians didn’t have feathers. Did they? The more he tried to think, the more the past prior to his death began to slip away, no longer at the forefront of his consciousness.

Bringing up his arms to examine, he saw that they were indeed clawed, built-in weapons… like a beast.

Prowl tried to access his statistical and simulation programs to no avail. None of the software and programming that he had used before was there, nor were most of his memories. Gaping voids of corrupted and lost data mocked him as he trolled through the databanks.

Nothing made sense.

“Prowl, I….”

He whipped his head around to look at the voice, at long last.

A purple and green being, many limbs emerging from their back, stared at him, hooked hands clasped together in… glee? It was hard to read their face. So many unblinking eyes, no obvious mouth.

He knew them.

But he was drawing a blank.

His formerly impressive selection of dossiers was now empty, wiped either by his brain module’s destruction or by his death… or perhaps by his rebirth. He had no idea.

He barely knew himself.

An incomplete name (“Prowl of …”), general function (“investigator”), a few last memories (“conflict, explosion”), but so much else was a haze. Did it matter? Maybe it did. Maybe not.

The being stared at him, expression inscrutable. Prowl didn’t understand what he was looking at. The uncertainty gnawed at his processor.

“I died,” he said, taking the opportunity to fill the silence while the weird being over there, presumably his “creator,” hesitated.

For whatever good that protest would do to him.

Dying had hurt but it had stopped and promised no further suffering.

This promised him nothing.

“Prowl, I brought you back.” They sounded… hopeful. Somehow.

The being crept closer.

“I died,” he repeated, trying to get to his feet, unfamiliar taloned limbs slipping against soiled tiling. “I died!”

“Prowl, please—“ The being grabbed him around the middle before he could escape, pulling him upright. “Please, I almost can’t believe it! You’re here! You’re really here!”

They buried their many-opticed face into the pillow feathers of his new chest, hoisting him up around the middle like a new-build’s favorite toy. He kicked his feet in the air, a weak attempt to regain his freedom.

“Who—What are you doing?” He shouted the questions, digging the claws on his fingers into the soft fur of the monster’s unnaturally fleshy shoulders. “Unhand me!”

“I can’t believe it worked,” the being continued, undeterred by the assault. “It worked! First, I lose Ostaros and then I… I couldn’t lose you too. All these years and all these failures and… and….”

The being began to dissolve into uncomfortable, wet, sticky sobs. From somewhere. Certainly not from any of those disgusting eyes—Ostaros?

Ostaros.

His memory banks pulled up a few damaged recollections as he hung limp in his captor’s grasp, exhausted.

A mostly naked endoskeleton, half-built and waiting to given the blessing of his creators.

Creators.

Prowl knew them.

The memories said he was one of them.

Who was the other?

His processor was able to find another name, another face.

Mesothulas.

They had made Ostaros together, but he couldn’t remember why.

Meso—Wait. He did know the monstrosity desperately hugging him. Somehow.

“Meso… thulas?” Prowl mumbled. The name didn’t match the picture in his memory banks, but there were a few similarities.

“Oh, Prowl!” Mesothulas clung to him like he would never let go. “You do remember!”

“… No, I….” Perhaps it would be better if he pretended that he did. Perhaps Mesothulas would lead him to clues, to piece together what was missing. This lunatic was his only link to finding out what had happened before his death… and why he had been denied his eternal peace. “Yes, yes, I remember. Of course, I remember, Mesothulas. How could I forget?”

Mesothulas made pathetic cooing noises against his chest, whatever liquid he was expressing from somewhere on his face soaking into Prowl’s brand new feathers.

Disgusting.

“You’re here. You’re here and we can go find Ostaros… bring him back, bring our son back… and be a family again!”

“Family….” He wasn’t sure what a “family” was and “son” didn’t make sense, but he would do best to not argue, not yet. His databanks tried to offer suggestions, prompting a query that Mesothulas must be his “mate,” whatever that was. There was a lot to catch up on. “That’s right.”

“You don’t know what I’ve gone through to bring you back.”

No, no, he hadn’t the slightest clue, but he was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t optical lubricant getting into his feathers, but more energon… from somewhere. Purple and thick, long separated from the person who had been using it.

As he looked down, optical rings focusing to a fine detail he wasn’t sure he had before, he noticed that Mesothulas was covered in energon and other grime. His “flesh” was torn and scorched in places, in need of mending. Was that from Prowl’s claws? No, these looked… old, ignored.

“Prowl… I have so much to show you. I was so lost with you.”

Well, he was here now. Might as well play along, at least until he had more information.

“… Me too.” Hm. “How… did you do it, Mesothulas?”

#fic #one shot #taraprowl #maccadam #idw1 #sotw #prowl #tarantulas #mesothulas

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plzu · 2 years

Text

Salted Caramel Latte - (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!barista!Reader)

part four ☕️

posting quickly before i disappear into the night to have HOT POT.... so apologies for any typos or w/e alsdjfl i read and re-read as i write but i stay missing things 🤷🏽‍♀️

Summary: You kiss Adrian. You keep kissing him, even after he stresses to you that he's super never killed anyone before. Like, ever.

Warnings: no real obvious ones this time around???, brief mention of serial killers (Dahmer), no Y/N, horny thots, allusion to bad relationship with parents, sad reader ???, lmk if i missed any & i'll add to the last :]]], not explicit/18+ YET...

Word Count: 3.6k+

So. You kissed Adrian Chase.

You… initiated the kiss, even. In the cramped space of his Sebring, surrounded by the soft sound of rain and the quiet static of radio station chatter. Seat belt straps biting uncomfortably into your bodies. Hands roving lostly with shaky determination. It tasted a little bit desperate. You were sticky from work--stray splashes of syrup and burnt milk marked you like battle scars. Noses bumped and there was the definite collision of teeth from the hasty carelessness.

And it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very, very long time.

This scares you.

See, Evergreen is dull. Even with masked vigilantes running about (after all, it was no Metropolis, and definitely nowhere near as bad as Gotham, crime-wise). Since returning, it is this dullness that you rely on, the way it buzzes over your skin a much needed reminder that you have to get out of here as soon as you can. Save up enough money, move out of your parent’s house again, and at least get as far out as Seattle. Some of your friends from high school live there now, so at least you wouldn’t be alone.

But Adrian - he visits the cafe and brings with him a frenzied sort of vibrancy that can’t be ignored. His presence adds color to the otherwise dreary canvas of your life. It’s something you’ve found yourself looking forward to, daily, and you chastise yourself for it--after all, what’s the point in getting swept up in ephemeral happiness?

Sure, nursing a festering crush is one thing. Cradle it close to your chest and fondly imagine what it’d look like if you let it grow. But don’t ever let it see the light of the day. Especially when it’s only been, what? A week or so since he walked into your job and recognized you, and decided you were worth risking a caffeine addiction for.

And, yet..! You kissed him anyway. Caught up in the placid proximity. Gobsmacked by his forthright, unabashed confession-(“I really want to spend more time with you.”)-there was nothing in the world you wanted more in that moment than to kiss Adrian Chase on the mouth.

As discussed, he picks you up the following day, before both your shifts at your respective jobs. Last night’s rain has long since stopped, but is still evident from the splash of passing cars and cool, gray autumn air. In the short walk from your front door to Adrian’s car, you have to decide whether you want to brush off the kiss and pretend it never happened, or if you should just give in and run giggling into his open, waiting arms-

Wait-

“Adrian, what are you doing? Get back in the car,” you demandingly hiss, arms flailing in a shoo-ing motion.

He’s standing on the passenger side, as if ready and waiting to open the door for you. Upon noticing your frazzled and bewildered expression and animated hand gestures, the smile on his face turns crooked in confusion. He tilts his head. “What?”

“Before my parents see you! Don’t wait for me like this, all- all chivalrous, and gentlemanly, or whatever!”

Your expression turns pleading. Your neck is stiff with the effort it takes to not whip your head around to check over your shoulder, see if your mom or dad are peeking through the window. Someone doing you a favor to pick you up at your house is one thing- someone getting out of their car to wait for you? It sends a different message. One your family would easily interpret as intimate, pluck an assumption out of so they can nettle you with it later.

Something seems to click for Adrian, and his shoulders slump minutely in dejected understanding. You’re too distracted by your fretting brain to register the light dim from his eyes before he trudges around the front of the car back to the driver’s side. He did not open the door for you.

It’s only once you’ve heaped yourself into the passenger seat, door slammed shut, do you chance a peek back at the house. Seeing no movement at any of the windows, no subtle shifting of blinds, you exhale and fasten your seatbelt.

“Sorry about that,” you start as Adrian settles into the car. “That’s probably not the best way to greet you when you’re doing me such a huge favor.” Your laugh is sheepish, smile apologetic when you glance over at him.

He just kind of shrugs in response, putting the car in drive. “Yeah, I get it. You’re embarrassed by me.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Look, I totally understand. Gut was that way, too.”

Shame heats your face as you listen, wide-eyed, to Adrian talk resignedly about being the Embarrassing Other that people don’t enjoy associating themselves with. You hadn’t even considered that would be his takeaway, too caught up in your own feelings. It seems obvious though, now- the boy who grew up nearly friendless. The annoying younger brother. An ostracized afterthought, the skinny nerd with glasses too big for his face and voice too high-pitched to be taken seriously as puberty overlooked him to instead lend itself to his peers.

You scramble to interrupt. “Adrian, no, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.” He gives you a sideways glance, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he continues driving. “I… didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh,” he says. Like he doesn’t quite believe you yet.

“I just didn’t want my parents to see you and get the wrong impression.”

“What, that I’m more than just your Uber driver?” He smiles. Laughs, even, but something in his tone makes you flinch.

Truthfully, you didn’t think Adrian had it in him to put bite in his words. Not directed at you, at least. But maybe that was presumptuous of you. You probably deserved it. Even so, tears prick stupidly at your eyes (something that has been happening quite a lot since moving back to Evergreen). He’s the one that even offered to do this in the first place! So you clear your throat and try to explain:

“I spend more time at work than at home, okay? If my parents saw you, they’d think you’re the real reason, and that I’ve been lying about working overtime.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand. Can’t you just talk to them?”

“I don’t expect you to,” you mutter, attempting to curl in on yourself. “‘Sides, we don’t really… talk.”

With no further explanation provided, Adrian prods. “Okay, well then… why are you working so much OT?”

You absently pull your bottom lip between your teeth. The truth is that coming back home makes you feel like a burden. Since returning, shame has barely allowed you to make eye contact with your parents. If you stay out of sight, maybe they’ll forget you’re even there.

So you found a job at a cafe that needed an experienced barista to help manage their newly-opened store. You haggled for night shifts so that you’d have an excuse not to be home for dinner. Your bosses--a frugal, married couple that don’t want to spend too much on employees but still need to make sure they give people their due days off--reluctantly agreed to your terms but had to put their foot down and give you at least one day off a week.

You’re not about to unload all of that on Adrian, though; you tell him the partial truth instead.

“The quicker I make money, the faster I can move back out.”

“Oh.”

“This car thing is gonna set me back, though,” you grumble, more to yourself.

“Okay.” His voice is soft. Not entirely understanding, but soft. “Well, the drinks you make me are fucking delicious, so I’m sure you’ll get a raise in no time. Also, you’re so pretty so I bet the customers tip extra when you’re working. I see it happen at Fennel Fields all the time.”

This startles a laugh out of you. You had pieced together that Adrian has a habit of shamelessly saying whatever’s on his mind, filter be damned, but the outright compliment still surprises you.

You don’t quite take in the way his eyes kind of soften at the sound of your laugh.

“I let Ashe and the others take all the tips,” you say. “Besides, you may think I’m pretty, but I can be kind of… accidentally… rude, sometimes. To customers.”

“I mean, you did offer me cocaine that one time-”

“It was a suggestion, and I was joking, Adrian-”

“But still, I don’t think you’re rude! You’re nice to me.”

You snort. “I’m rude to you, like, all the time. But also, I like you, so you get special treatment.”

Adrian all but beams. His smile stretches across his face and it makes his cheeks glow, drawing your attention to his pink cheekbones beneath his frames. You watch him as he faces the road through the windshield. Gosh, you wish you got to see his face last night. It must have been flushed from the brief make-out session, and you didn’t even get a chance to enjoy it.

Enjoy it.

You hold your hands in your lap, rubbing soothing circles against the palm of one with the thumb of the other, and chew thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek, ruminating over how fucking miserable you’ve been. How isolating it’s been these past few weeks, in the self-imposed prison of your childhood bedroom. Well- teenhood, really. Getting only snatches of joy from making the perfect foam for cappuccinos, honing your latte art, and in visits from one cute bespectacled man.

Maybe it was time to stop wallowing. Maybe it was time to allow yourself some happiness on purpose.

When Adrian parks in front of The Evergreen Bean, you’re quick to undo your seatbelt. As he turns his head to face you, your palms cup his cheeks--you’re fully facing him, torso twisted, left leg mostly propped onto the seat and against the center console--and you search his pretty, startled green eyes (his face feels so soft and warm and nice)-

-and you pull him closer and press your lips to his and watch his eyes flutter shut, and yours follow suit, his posture relaxes and you both sigh into it-

And so you continue to kiss Adrian Chase.

********

The cafe is quiet today. There’s no line of customers, just a couple of people sitting in cafe with laptops or books or engaging in quiet chatter.

Adrian has time to kill before his shift starts, so he follows you into the cafe and is immediately lauded by the morning shift barista.

“Oh, Ashe, is this him? He is kind of cute, actually.”

“Matty, behave,” you reprimand, going behind the bar to clock in.

Matty is around Ashe’s age, one of the shift supervisors at The Everbean Green that was more than happy to take on a majority of the morning shifts while you closed up shop. A morning person in every sense of the word, his exuberant, sunshine-y demeanor balanced out your more quiet, reserved personality at work.

And currently, his and Ashe's attention are zeroed in on Adrian’s suspiciously swollen lips, which slowly break into a smile. “Wait, me? You think I’m cute?”

You bite back a smile as Ashe laughs and Matty affirms that yes, he finds Adrian cute, and you watch the compliment turn the tips of Adrian’s ears pink.

“Yeah, I’m loving the whole serial killer vibe,” Matty praises, resting heavily against the counter, chin propped up by his open palm.

Adrian’s smile slips, eyes widening in panic, and you briefly consider punching Matty in the throat. “What? No, I’m not- I don’t- I’m not a serial killer. Why would you say that?”

“I’m not saying you're a serial killer, babe, but the glasses? The neat, combed over hair? The endearingly hideous sweater? Very Dahmer. I’m into it.”

“Well, I’m not a serial killer. Or any kind of killer, for that matter. I’ve- I’ve never killed anyone before and wouldn’t- wouldn’t even know how to. I mean, sure-”

“Okay, alright-” you cut Adrian’s stumbling defense off, coming to his rescue. “Matty, you can’t say things like that to him. He’s, like, super against breaking the law. Freaks out at the idea of it.”

Matty’s shoulders slump. “Oh, ew, really? Boring.”

Losing interest, he returns his attention to shift supervising. Ashe teases him for his serial killer fetish. You drown them both out as you tie your apron behind your back.

Adrian looks- nervous? Shoulders tense, rigid. Like he still needs to justify that he’s not some kind of psycho killer. You try reeling him back in.

“Adrian, hey, it’s cool. Just ignore Matty. Let me make you something new today, yeah?”

He distractedly concedes, so you turn your back on him and get to prepping his drink. When you turn back around, he’s leaning towards you over the counter, softly calling your name.

“You don’t-” he pauses to clear his throat, lowers his voice, and continues, “you don’t think I’m a murderer, or anything, do you?”

Even for Adrian, it’s kind of weird he’s being so adamant about this. Still, though- you brush off the uneasy feeling tickling the back of your mind with a snort. “Please, Adrian. I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Oh, no, I’ve definitely killed flies before,” he corrects, voice returning to a normal volume. “And spiders. But it’s not- those are fine. Not illegal or anything. I checked.”

This makes you genuinely giggle, and Adrian visibly relaxes at the sight, a smile returning to his face. Like your laughs are a balm for his nerves. The very thought makes you sheepishly avert your gaze, and finish up his drink.

“Here,” you say, popping the lid onto his latte, smooshing down the whipped cream (you know you give him soy milk, but it’s just some whipped cream. You gotta try the drink with the whip!) “A seasonally appropriate salted caramel latte. Hope you like it.”

“Ooh, goody!” he exclaims, and promptly burns his tongue on the first sip. “That’s-ow-it’s hot-”

“Yeah, no shit, it’s hot. I steamed the milk. You saw me do it-”

“I’m just so used to the iced ones. You always make me iced ones.”

You keep squabbling like that until a couple more customers enter the store, at which point you start shooing Adrian away. He points at his mouth before backing up. “Tongue still hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “And?”

“You gotta kiss it better."

Heat spikes through you, and your mouth twitches in amusement. “Get out.”

********

The plan is to wait for Adrian’s shift to end so he can give you a ride back home. He was worried about how late you’d get home, but you waved it off as an unforeseen upside of the whole situation. It provides an excuse to get home later, after your parents have definitely fallen deep asleep.

Restlessness overtakes you, however. On any other night, with a car of your own and the freedom to leave when you want, you wouldn’t mind just chilling by yourself in the cafe after close. But waiting for Adrian makes you antsy, and maybe you can blame it on the four shots of espresso you decided to drink last minute, but impatience crackles beneath your skin and you just really want to make your way towards Adrian.

Impatience. Or the eagerness akin to a schoolgirl with a stupid little crush.

Adrian said Fennel Fields was just down the street, so you make sure the back and front doors are securely locked and venture out into the chilly October night.

Turns out “down the street” means trekking past some seedy bushes and weird shifting shadows and a small stretch of road that doesn’t feel very pedestrian-friendly. But you brave it anyway, because that’s what people with caffeine coursing through their nighttime veins do, right?

Maybe the PM coffee wasn’t that bright an idea, but, whatever.

You enter the restaurant, and the hostess that meets you at the front is nice and professional enough to ignore your labored breathing.

(You may or may not have jogged the last leg of the way upon hearing the terrifying snap of a twig.)

“Hi, how many?” she asks, giving you a once over. “Or, are you here to pick up an order, or..?”

“Oh, I’m not here to eat! I’m just waiting for Adrian.”

She tilts her head. “Who?”

You blink at her. “Adrian? Adrian… Chase? He works here..?” You scratch at your cheek, suddenly unsure. The sign outside was definitely a poorly-drawn graphic of a fork twirling a single strand of spaghetti, like Adrian said.

Luckily, you spot him carrying a tub of dirty dishes between the rows of tables, and wave him down. When he notices, his face lights up with surprise and, distracted, his steps stumble and you watch him struggle to keep from toppling over. He marches over to you once he finally rights himself, glasses partially askew.

The hostess looks between you both--her glances towards you a little disbelieving--before finally going, “ohh, right. Sorry about that.” She slinks off with a shrug once Adrian reaches you.

Adrian puts the tub of dishes down on the podium where the menus sit. “What are you doing here?”

“How does your co-worker not know your name?” you ask at the same time, scrunching your face distastefully in the direction she disappeared to.

“Did you take an Uber, or something?” Adrian peers behind you out the storefront windows into the night, ignoring your question.

“No. You’re my Uber, remember?”

Adrian adjusts his glasses with quirk, jerky movements so the frames sit pretty on his nose again. He gives you a wide-eyed, disapproving look. Is he… angry with you? Like, for real?

“Uh, hey, maybe let me know next time?”

Pfft. “Are you serious? It was just a short walk.” A short, mildly horrifying walk. “What’s your problem?”

He does that thing where he puts his hands on his hips in disapproval, and you’re having a hard time taking him seriously. He looks so cute in his work uniform.

“There are some real creeps out at night.”

“Pssht, please, no worries. Vigilante would save me.” You grin up at him, laughing off his worries.

Adrian gets flustered, raises his voice at you. “Yeah, well, he can’t be everywhere at once!”

Something in you falters. You reel in your enthusiasm, taking a quick glance around the remaining customers in the restaurant. People are looking.

“Okay, Adrian, chill out,” you soothe, voice soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ll send a text next time.”

Adrian nods, diffusing, taking a steadying breath that expands his chest beneath his tan-colored apron. To stop yourself from staring at the movement, you instead focus on the curls peeking from beneath his silly little work cap. An adoring smile graces your face as a result.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Your uniform’s cute, by the way.”

This melts whatever remaining worry was creasing Adrian’s brow. Replaces it with a smile. “Yeah? Thanks.” A pause. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

“Cross my heart.”

“That’s nice, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Hurry up and get out of work so I can kiss you again, dork.”

********

It’s a little past midnight when Adrian clocks out, and you drag him to the backseat of his Sebring. The parking lot is mostly empty. The lights from the streetlamps barely illuminate the space within, where you once again have Adrian’s lips pulled flush against yours.

It’s very easy to ignore the small, nagging part of your brain that’s worried this might be inappropriate, with your hands tangled in his messy hair and his hands grabbing feverishly where they can on your body. And his moans, God, he’s so noisy, appreciative sounds rumbling in his chest, filling the space between you.

This is fine, you tell yourself. This isn’t sex.

(The warm, syrupy feeling that pulses low in your abdomen kind of wants it to be sex, though.)

Your tongue slides eagerly against his lips, and he groans before breaking the kiss, his panting breaths earning themselves a sweet spot in your fluttering chest.

“Is this fine? Don’t I have to get you home? Your parents-”

“Please don’t bring up my parents when I’m trying to stick my tongue down your throat,” you say, lips skimming the skin of his cheek and trailing down against his jaw. He shivers against you.

“Sorry.”

Your lips skirt lower to the enticing expanse of his neck. He somehow keeps talking.

“It’s just- with what you said earlier.”

“Mm,” you hum against him. His hands tighten their hold on your back and waist in response.

“Now I really am the reason you’re not home.”

“Adrian,” you murmur, sighing into the warm space of his neck. “I’m kind of trying really hard not to think about all of that stuff right now. Hence, this makeout session.”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just, I kind of get the feeling that-hhhffuck-!”

You cut him off with a delicious scrape of your teeth on the side of his neck, latching your lips to suck at the skin there. Adrian tenses up against you, breath hitching, becoming trapped in his throat.

You pull away from him, search his eyes in the darkness. “I’m sorry, was that too much? I probably should’ve asked permission first..”

“Honestly, at this point, you can probably do whatever you want to me forever,” he replies, breathless.

You erupt into triumphant giggles, and he descends upon your mouth and swallows the bubbling laughter. Adrian licks into your parted lips. And everything that plagues you stops mattering so much.

#peacemaker #vigilante #adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #writing #fanfic #vigilante x reader #mine

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dirtychocolatechai · 2 years

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ok but an eddie thot i’ve had tumbling around my head is: it’s horror movie night, you’re cuddling on his shitty mattress mayb after sharing a joint, and life is good. only his hand - the one covered in rings - is stroking up and down your side and it’s kinda distracting.

you’re trying to get into the plot but it’s just not happening, especially as his fingertips creep closer and closer to the hem of your sleep shorts. you start squirming, pussy throbbing, thighs squeezing, and trying to stop yourself from jumping him by wrapping your fingers up into the fabric of his ratty black band tshirt.

someone’s getting killed on screen, red splashed angles and terrified shrieks, but you can’t spare a thought for them as he dips below the elastic of your panties, your walls twitching at the barest of brushes. you whimper and go to bury your face into his chest only for him to tsk, his voice a husky whisper as he ducks down to speak directly into your ear, his tongue tracing your lobe while his nail drags back the hood of your swollen clit, “mhm, nope. i want you to keep watching. think you can do that for me baby?” and then proceeds to absolutely wreck you, finger fucking you until his bed’s soaked, you’re sweaty and crying and your limbs are dead weight, the VHS switched to cracking static… yeah 💀

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #i am suffering tonite

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ghoulphile · 18 hours

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wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating warmth in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every inhale, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him too, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments. His gaze bouncing from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey —— hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been —— you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I’ve felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better. Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else could you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…”

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S’not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout smut #fallout fanfic

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obscureoperations · 2 years

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talk to Martin on the phone and end up having phone sex with him.📞💦

Annnddd thats what’s up 👀👀😂 I can get behind this thot. The scene with him on the phone right before the church bit. Yeah. He looked so good like fuck off!

The soft sigh over the static like has you clutching the receiver to your ear. The sound of Martin's labored breathing and Cuda's voice booming somewhere in the distance.

It was seven thirty in the evening, Martin was stopping by yours around ten. He really needed to see you, he actually couldn't wait. Dinner was in less than a half hour, but Martin found himself with a situation. You could tell he was in a way the moment you picked up the phone, the sound of your name sounded more like a moan.

"Martin.. what are you doing?"

"I-I just really need to see you." He whispered. The sincerity of his words causes you to blush. With anticipation coursing through your veins you prop yourself up on your elbow.

"I know..I miss you too sweetheart."

"N-no.. not just that.. I need." He pauses for a moment and you perk up. Was he really going to do that right before dinner. He would be mortified..barely able to make eye contact with anyone. The thought alone thrilled you to no end. The image of him sprawled out across the mattress, cock in hand sheets tangled at his feet. You clench your thighs together...resisting the urge to join him in his endeavour.

"What? What do you need darling?"

"Oh..." The moan sounded more like a question before he sighs. " I just need you so bad right now y/n.."

A wave of heat rushes to your face as you try to envision him. You have a clear painting in your mind. The black turtleneck lifted up to his chest..jeans bunched down past his hips. He knew better than to get completely undressed..he had a chair propped up against the bedroom door. Flushed and overheated, nipples hard as rocks as his hand moves reverently over his leaking cock.

"Why..Martin? You sound like you're taking care of yourself well enough. "

He sighs in frustration, but you faintly hear him chuckle. "No..y/n.. I need your mouth. "

You bite down on the insides of your cheeks, despite yourself you body begins to react. A rush of sensation between your legs as memories flash through your mind..you could almost feel him at the back of your throat. Going down on him had to be one of your top quilty pleasures. The boy was so highly responsive. Trembling as your tongue swirls at the tip of his cock, gently probing at the slit. The noises that always escape were nearly sinful, he often had to stiffel himself with the back of his hand. Folding in on himself once he starts to cum in an attempt to hold that glorious mouth in place.

"Where do you want my mouth Martin?" you smirk. The slight whimper causes you to lean forward.

"Oh.. o-n me..please..."

You can hear the sound of pots and pans clattering in the distance. Cuda's voice seems to grow louder. You knew he'd better finish up quickly, or he won't be leaving the house at all.

"Martin..you have to be specific.. use your words baby.."

Fuck..

" On my cock.. " The words sound rushed, you already knew he was blushing profusely. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn you could hear the sound of his hand over slickened flesh.

" Just there Martin?" You press

"Yesss.. wan-want you to blow on it.." Now we were getting somewhere.

"That could be arranged.. but where else?"

He gasps lightly over the receiver, fully aware of what you were implying. You didn't do it all the time. You just always managed to catch him after a shower. He thought you were mad but didn't protest in the least when you instructed him to remove the towel and lay on his stomach. Hands roaming down his back in a soothing caress..lower as you palm at the firm globes. He wanted to sink into the mattress and die of embarrassment as you move to spread him apart. " Y/n.. what are you.. ohh?"

“Only if you want to...”

Surprising a grin you sit forward. “ If your good then we can see. But I need you to cum for me Martin... can you do that for me baby?”

His breath begins to quicken the closer he gets to release. He knew that he had to hurry up. One of Cuda’s main rules was that he was never late to dinner. He was starting to think this was a bad idea. He had about five minutes and then another three to get presentable.. he could feel the familiar sensation coiling deep inside.

The sound of your voice was becoming a blur the closer he got to release.

You really wished you could see him right now.. trace your tongue over his parted lips. At times you wished you could take a picture as you work him over.. the expression on his face. He was absolutely beautiful.

“You’re doing so good baby.. Can you make some noise for me? Go on darling .. it’s alright.”

He actually whimpers, you want to kiss him silly.. the noises flow and you firmly grip the receiver. Breathy moans and whimpers turn to deep sighs and exhalation— groans of ecstasy and pure delight. For a moment you worry he’s becoming a bit too wrapped up but then he speaks.

“Oh.. ohh y/n itssoogoodd...”

“ I know baby.. keep going.”

He begins to babel unintelligibly.. variations of your name and how good your mouth feels. You needed to see him.

“ Oh.. ohh it’s coming..” he whimpers, your cheeks grow hot..and you clench you’re thighs together. You had planned to tidy up a bit before he got there but now you had more pressing concerns.

“ Y/n.. I’m gonna.. oh ohh don’t think I can wait..”

“ Do it Martin.. I want you to. Give it to me.. please??”

Your words finally send him over, the receiver falls to the bed with a soft thud. You can hear the sound of his labored breastifledled moans and grunts against the back of his hand. It’s eerily silent for a moment but soon enough you hear him reaching for the phone. Always so shy and pensive afterwards.

“Y/n ... I’m sorr—“

“ Don’t sweetheart, don’t even think it. I think you should go get cleaned up. I’ll see you in a bit.”

#martin 1977 #martin 1978 #martin mathias #martin/reader #martin/you #s p i c e #the dirty talk was lame.. I apologize 😂#you know I had to try and stick close to his phrasing bc lollll

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iman2 · 7 months

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the turntables? another robbery

uhh...she did it wrong and she'll never pull it off.

there are many ways to do it. depending on who you are. i'm not sure i know you. you might be cb the jock. or not. you might be a woman. but let's choose the former.

pbr/ jus lyke compton/ralph nader ... this should taste like the way i am. layer it however you like. i'm saying that but most likely, it'll be jus lyke compt0n's angry twin. maybe the type of angry that is too calm.

idk if you rep the W. HA! but honestly, you sound more like g@ngstarr's guru than anything. must haves: gotta be a story, babe. you're angry, people are villianizing you and you've GOT to accept it. can't change your narrative. must play along. try blowing the smoke out your nose in front a mirror, might see the dragon.

anyway, d0ja. she's delusional, she thinks she's me? anyway dummy bitch, i'm owned by a demon cult, r1hanna stole my aeonian and the rent is too damn high. w/e but here's the thing. i can't cum. well, not fully and it's cuz i can't be myself. but let's make it smaller: i wanna fuck r. kelly. i'm only a fetus but this is my desire. i'm 2, i'm in love with static maj0r. can't be with him, i'm 2. i'm 11, baby mike makes me wanna piss. can't do it for a million reasons.

anyway the favour: borrow the dragon, tell your story and end it

listen: we in the jeep, fogging windows up, in the... lol dress up like him. you're like r.k3lly, they say. CORRECT.

d0ja thot she was doing this? ma'am, here i am unfuckwittable. i'll say what y'all are afraid to. do what y'all are afraid to. everytime. anyhow, y'all like robert and y'all like bhristopha. y'all niggas are pretending. separate the art from the artist or shut up.

it's our climax, i think. we'll see. song 11. or not. whatever feels right.

#emok8 and cb the jock?#or not #do me a favour

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yarnshoes · 4 years

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Hi i jsut listemed to Mind Electric om loop fpr lile 5 hours.

#miracle musical #uts lile. no thots. static only.#tally hall

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its-really-dry · 2 years

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my glow stick 🌟

ok this is the first shot-thot ive ever written, and it might be the last, depending on the feedback on this on 💁‍♂️💀🏹

carol danvers x reader :)

bucky, steve, natasha, carol and wanda are sitting in the common room, in a deep conversation about an upcoming mission.

the door suddenly bursts open and y/n comes running in.

"carol!" they squeal as they speed over to their girlfriend, smile wide as ever.

carol looks up at them, amused and she tilts her head to the side slowly,

"what's going on pretty girl?" she asks and she pulls y/n down into her lap

y/n intertwines both of there's and carol hands together and brings them up between them both,

"do the thing!"

carol chuckles, squeezing their hands, she lets her powers warm up y/n's hands

y/n giggles at the feeling of electricity and the small pings of static that overtake their senses,

"better now?" carol asks when she lets go.

y/n nods quickly and carol gives them a soft peck, absolutely loving how cute they were being.

the small cough from wanda pulled them out of their moment and she smiled,

"could i have a try?" she asks, reaching her hands out but y/n instantly hits them away,

"my glow-stick." they huff

wanda furrows her eyebrows together and she looks to carol with a 'can i?' look in her eyes.

carol only shrugs, knowing her hands were tied in this situation,

"their glow-stick."

wanda rolls her eyes playfully deciding not to argue her case, already knowing there was no point in it because y/n would definitely win.

the rest of the guys just laugh as they watch y/n snuggle their face into carol's neck before they continued the conversation.

"my glow-stick."

#marvel incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #marvel #the avengers #the avengers x y/n #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #carol danvers #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #marvel fanfiction #carol danvers fluff #carol danvers fanfic

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honeytae · 3 years

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We both know naps are more romantic in the rain.

first and foremost, i’ve gotta thank @stayjimin for inspiring me to write this. she’s definitely got a little thot in her..and i love it. luna, hopefully this lives up to your expectations! i wouldn’t exactly call this filth..i tried to make it equally soft and dirty?? but i hope you all enjoy <3

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @jjlovr2015

genre: smut

warnings: making out, heavy petting, dry humping, face sitting, cunnilingus, jimin’s a Tease, brief descriptions of a handjob, mentions of cum, hints of condomless sex

word count: 3.0k

The muffled rain pattering against the roof was barely audible through your concentration on the words stretched across the pages of the novel resting in your hand, eyes diligently skimming the pieces of paper in your dimmed bedroom.

Your other hand was buried in Jimin’s hair, fingers threading through the soft tendrils as he rested his head on your stomach, subtly encouraging your touch as he leaned into your palm. His own hand rested over your ribcage, fingertips soothing over the material of your shirt with a content sigh escaping his lips every few minutes.

The house was calm. After all, it was a rainy Sunday afternoon, both of you off from work yet lethargic from your countless chores and errands this morning. Moments like these were rare during the week, so you appreciated the needed downtime with him.

Turning the page with a flick of your wrist, you continued soaking in the script in your hand, arm flinching slightly when you felt a sudden tickling sensation on your skin. Glancing down at the area, you were met with a grinning Jimin, leaning back down to continue pressing gentle kisses up your bicep before stopping at your shoulder.

“What’s that for?” You smiled, pushing his hair back from where it’d fallen from his hunched-over position.

“Just love you.” He answered, causing you to raise your eyebrows as you hummed in response.

“And?” You asked, waiting for him to continue with a knowing smile.

“I’m bored.” He informed you, your smile widening at his abruptness, stifling a chuckle as you hummed sympathetically.

“I’m sorry.” You said teasingly, causing him to roll his eyes before climbing further up your body, resting his face in the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms tighter around your body.

“Dove.” He whined, you laughing in response as your hand went to the back of his head, affectionately scratching at his scalp.

“What would you like to do about your boredom?” You asked, Jimin taking a moment to think before glancing up at you with a smirk.

“I can think of something we can do.” He said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, giggling when you scoffed at him.

“Gross.” You smiled anyway, the man humming in response before lifting his head up to look at you.

“I only meant we could take a nap, love. We both know naps are more romantic in the rain.” He said, comically widening his eyes to convince you of the innocence of his statement.

“And naps are meant to be romantic?” You chuckled, Jimin shrugging with a small grin as he let his hand trail underneath your shirt, fingers stroking the warm skin underneath your navel.

You sighed knowingly, placing your thumb underneath his earlobe to trace your finger over the sensitive skin.

“Is this the kind of nap where we sleep? Or the kind of nap that involves more activity?” You raised an eyebrow at the return of his smirk, dropping his head to your neck again to press his lips to your throat.

“Probably the latter.” He mumbled, you humming in response before guiding his head back up above yours to steal a kiss, laying back down below him as he smiled at you.

“I love you.” He said softly, brushing your hair back behind your ears with his fingers and gently swiping his thumb over your cheek.

“I love you too, Chim.”

Leaning down to join your mouths again, he went in with slightly more fervor, capturing your lips with his over and over again.

Letting your hands roam his chest, you were thankful he always hung out around the house without a shirt, his smooth skin contradicting the ridges of his abdomen. Your touch had him melting into you further, a soft hum of approval coming from his throat when your thumbs soothed over his belly.

Relaxing back into the pillows as he began pressing kisses to the corners of your lips, trailing them down to your chin before swiftly moving his lips over your jawline and down your throat, you pushed your chest up at him, your boyfriend immediately taking the hint as his hand landed on your covered breast.

His lips left feather light kisses on your pulse point as he kneaded the flesh in his hand, thumb swiping over your nipple making you let out a sigh.

Nestling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, you tipped your head back to allow him more access, Jimin easily following your silent instruction as he let his lips travel as he pleased.

He smirked at the soft moans you responded with when he opened his mouth on your skin, sucking dark enough marks into your complexion that satisfied him yet light enough that it wouldn’t get you ogled by your mother when you went to dinner together this weekend.

Fingers gathering the hem of your shirt, he tugged the material up over your breasts, groaning at the visual of your cleavage spilling out of your bra before he nodded at you to remove the shirt fully.

Sitting up slightly, you laughed as Jimin desperately fumbled to get the fabric off of your head, shrieking when he somehow got the shirt stuck on your face.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, dove.”

You could hear the smile on his face as he spoke, gently working the material up over your mouth and nose before releasing your head from it entirely.

Grinning at the feeling of your static-filled hair frizzing up around you from the release of the tight fabric, you raised your eyebrows at your boyfriend, seemingly not noticing the way your hair had blown up from the removal of your shirt.

“Does this do it for you? This is sexy?” You pointed at your messy hair, Jimin laughing as he once again collapsed with you on the bed, caging your body underneath him as he adoringly swept your hair back behind your ears.

“Incredibly. The sexiest.” He affirmed, his genuine tone causing you to snort back a laugh as he beamed down at you.

“Come here.” You held your arms out for him to lower himself, wrapping them around his neck to secure him there when he pressed his chest flat to yours.

Leaning up to catch his lips, the man instantly hummed in reaction, letting his hand soothingly rub up and down your torso before traveling up to your chest, groping your breast atop the lingerie you still adorned.

“Hm, you up for that nap?” He mumbled, fondly listening to your chuckle once you felt his not so subtle length poking at your thigh.

“Always.” You simpered, pushing on his chest slightly to get him to roll over onto his back, the man easily complying with a dopey grin on his face as his hair flopped onto the pillow around his head.

Placing your chest down on his, you cupped his face to cement your lips once again, the kiss lazy and languid, easily matching the pace of the trails of water sliding down the windowpane a mere few feet from you.

You chuckled at the disappointed noise from his throat when he reached for your chest, discovering the rough fabric of your bra instead of the familiar soft feel of your skin.

“Take this off.” He whined, tugging at the strap of your bra in a desperate attempt to remove it from your skin.

Giggling, you sat up, Jimin moaning as the action caused your hips to rub down on him as you reached back to unclasp your bra, breasts falling free once you pulled the garment down your arms.

“Jimin.” You exhaled when he eagerly sat up to take your right nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking at the hardened peak as his other hand appreciatively squeezed at your neglected breast, thumb swiping over your opposite nipple.

He groaned when you began moving on his lap, rolling your hips down as he eagerly met your movements with a few rather desperate thrusts upward into your core, responding to your needy whine with a hand tucking underneath the waistband of your shorts, quickly bypassing the thin layer of your underwear.

“Oh fuck.”

Jimin’s eyes rolled back into his head when his fingertips made contact with your dripping entrance, taking a small breath to regain composure before lazily dipping his fingers inside.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you placed your forehead on his shoulder, gasping as you moved your hips to chase more friction from the pads of his fingers against your walls.

“That’s right, baby. Back and forth.” He murmured, watching in amazement at the sight of you rocking your hips to get more stimulation from his hand, purposefully grinding the heel of his palm against your clit to increase the volume of your whimpers.

With his fingers curling to brush against your g-spot, you helplessly flopped your body down onto his, the man intercepting your frame easily as he locked an arm around your torso.

Flicking his wrist a bit faster, he set a steady pace, noticing the way your breathing quickened at the action as your hips responsively rutted into his hand.

“Is that good?” He wondered, pride filling his chest when you desperately nodded your head as an answer.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you cupped his jaw once again, bringing your lips down to his in a searing kiss as he continued pumping his fingers into your entrance.

“Babe, hnngh fuck,” he paused as you clenched around his fingers, effectively stilling their curling motions as he panted against your bottom lip, “sit on my face.”

Your core throbbed harder at his words, eyes catching his own lust-blown pupils as his flushed cheeks glowed in the dim light of your bedroom.

“I- what?”

“Sit on my face,” he repeated, then seemingly remembering his manners, “please.”

Exhaling shakily, you whined when he removed his fingers from you, instead tucking them into the waistbands of both your shorts and underwear to remove them from your hips.

Gently guiding your ankles out of the final barriers blocking you from view, he pressed a kiss to your bottom lip before laying down, beckoning you up his body when he was flat on his back.

“C’mere.” He emphasized with a curl of his fingers toward him, causing you to clamber atop his torso all too eagerly as he caught you by the elbows, guiding you up his frame until your pussy was hovering mere inches above his face.

Your entire body tingled in desire as his palms trailed up your thighs, greedily groping at the flesh as he smirked up at you.

“Is this what you wanted?” You asked, smiling a bit when the man nodded in response.

“I’ve got the best view from down here.” He answered smugly, his crudeness making you gasp with a scolding exhale of his name.

“Ready?” He asked, causing you to hum with a slight raise of your brows, opening your mouth to ask him what exactly he was implying by that before suddenly all breath was stolen from your lungs.

“Jimin!” you gasped as he picked his head up off the pillow to stick his wet tongue between your folds, traveling up your slit to circle your clit as your mouth gaped open at the sudden stimulation.

Flicking at the nub with the tip of his tongue, he pulled your hips down for easier access, making you shudder as he sucked your swollen bud into his mouth, his wet muscle continuing to soothe over it causing you to tremble at the lewdness of it all.

Jimin was a fantastic lover in that he always knew what you wanted. He knew precisely what every little gasp or moan meant, taking note of every move you made and the timing of every contortion of your face.

So when you bucked your hips in search of more, he easily moved his fingers that had been latched around your thigh to the area that was begging for attention the most, absentmindedly reacquainting them with your entrance with a gentle prod of his fingers.

You moaned at the sensation, the soft thrusts of his fingers coaxing you along to reach your high as he continued stroking your clit with his tongue.

Whining when he removed both his fingers and his attention from the bud, you took a glance down at him, scowling when you were met with a shit-eating grin on his face at your obvious frustration. Moving his thumb to swipe back and forth along your inner thigh, he raised his eyebrows challengingly at you, causing you to let out a sigh as you glared down at him.

“Jimin,” you whined, “play nice.”

The man only chuckled beneath you in response, his teasing touch only increasing your pleas as you not so subtly rocked your hips in search of any kind of stimulation.

“Jim-ah,” Your scolding of the man got cut off by a broken inhale as the tip of his tongue teasingly trailed back down your slit, pushing into your entrance and mercilessly curling to brush up against your walls.

“Fuck!” You swore at the sudden intrusion, his expert touches forcing your knees to buckle below you, much to his delight. The man had a smug grin on his face as you practically rode his tongue, causing you to scoff as you redirected your eyes to the wall in front of you.

Reaching out for the headboard, you tried your best to steady yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Jimin moaning against you. Your knuckles paled with their tight grip on the dark stained wood, rocking your hips onto Jimin’s tongue as he poked it around your entrance, brushing your walls with a calculated curl of his muscle.

“O-ohh,” you whimpered as his nose nudged at your clit, his face moving along with your hips as you continued grinding down on his soft, sinful lips. You let your eyelids fall shut as Jimin locked your hips down onto his face, subtly nodding his head along with your movements.

You barely had time to register the removal of his tongue before his fingers were plunging back into you, his mouth moving back to your clit to concentrate on the special button.

The combination of his fingertips brushing against your inner walls and his velvet tongue stimulating your tingling nub had you gasping for air, stars erupting behind your eyelids as you clenched your fists on the headboard.

“Gonna cum, fuck.” You warned, trembling when the man hummed against your clit and jerking your hips when he cockily did it again.

Moaning out his name when you felt the tension in the pit of your abdomen finally snap, you could only focus on the white dizziness you felt as Jimin’s tongue stroked between your folds, lapping up the spill of your release as you panted for air above him.

With a sigh, you leaned your forehead down onto the top of the headboard, blinking down at the man with tired eyes as he sucked his fingers into his mouth. You already felt something stirring inside you once again at the sight, swallowing harshly as you ram a hand through your hair.

Breaths evening out, you remained leaning against the headboard for another moment, Jimin stroking the backs of your thighs with soothing fingers as he lovingly peered up at you.

“Fuck.” You said once you finally caught your breath, body absolutely spent as you retreated down Jimin’s torso with his hands guiding your hips, settling atop his lap and chuckling at the obvious bulge beneath you.

“Would you like some help with that?” You raised your eyebrows, letting your hand rest over the tent in his sweatpants, relishing in the whimper he let out when you squeezed it.

“P-please.” He stuttered when you began palming him over the material, bucking his hips into your touch as he took his bottom lip into his mouth, watching with hooded eyes as you lifted his hips to tug his pants down his thighs.

His boxers were soon to follow, revealing his erection standing proud and tall, begging to be touched. Deciding to ‘play nice’ yourself, you did exactly that.

Easily wrapping your fingers around his length, you set the pace you knew he liked and squeezed at his base every so often in the way that made him gasp your name, leaning down to lick at the fluid leaking from his tip before you were stopped by one of his whimpers.

“No, kiss me, baby.” He whined, your brows furrowing at the man as you glanced down between his legs.

“You don’t want my mouth on your-”

“No, fuck, I do, just,”

You raised your eyebrows at his internal conflict, face screwed up in agony as your hand paused it’s motions on his throbbing length.

“Just please come here.” He said breathily, you immediately following instruction as you crawled up his body, letting him guide your lips into a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Picking up your previous actions on his cock, you moaned in response to his, noises muffled against each other’s mouths as he thrusted into your palm.

You heard the way his breath got caught in his throat when you squeezed him just so, loved the way he hummed from the depths of his chest when you trailed your fingertip up his veins and ridges, and strived for the whimper of your name when you told him to cum.

With a few more jerks of your wrist, you could feel his body tensing, continuing the routine set of actions and swallowing his long moan when the mess of his cum pooled into your palm.

You imagined you looked much like teenagers, getting off on almost nothing as you desperately made out in your dark bedroom. But it was difficult to care when it was always so easy with Jimin, so easy to feel loved and make each other feel just as so.

And as you dazedly looked into each other’s eyes, only shutting them at the feeling of him lining up with your entrance, you squeezed at his bicep in silent communication, heart fluttering at the feeling of him squeezing your thigh in response.

I love you.

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