hellokittyumb

[hellokittyumb]

black reader discourse…

I am quite frankly, very tired of seeing posts complaining about ‘hood’ Y/Ns and all of you coming out of the woodwork to proclaim that you don’t act this way and it’s disgusting to act this way and you hate fics where the reader wears wigs or acrylics or says the N-word and how all of these are just an inaccurate representation of our community. this is just very coon like behavior and is giving pick me.

yall know very well that fics including black women didn’t even exist until very recently. i’m grateful for every fic written whether it’s bad or good. either way they are contributing to the growth of a very niche community and helping establishing our presence here on this app. i’ve been on this app for like 12 years and I remember in the very early days when fics first started including black mc’s. no matter how the black mc was represented there would still be people in the mentions/comments like ‘eww gross you n***** why did you write this?’ or ‘this fic is so good but why is she black?’. we were quite literally fighting for our right to exist on this app.

hood culture is, like it or not, a big part of the black community and it’s not all negative. it’s a cultural movement that spawned from us being barred from white spaces and seen as the ‘inferior’ race no matter how we presented ourselves. hood girls deserve to see themselves in fiction just like everyone else. they deserve love without the implication that they need to imitate others/change themselves to seem more ‘civilized’. they aren’t bad people just because you don’t share the same style, vocab, interests and hobbies as they do.

whenever you bring this up you are giving non black people a free pass to insert themselves and say ‘yes omg so ghetto’. there are enough people against us. i would never help facilitate a conversation which further criticizes our community. especially when it’s related to very real people whose experiences you are trying to devalue.

[hellokittyumb]

Everyone thought Simon would die single, sure he has flings on the side but they’re always one night stands.

The he meets you.

The delicate girl sitting in a booth in the cafe he frequents. Wearing a white linen skirt with a light pink long sleeved shirt, mary janes on your feet, and white thigh highs with pink bows on them.

The whole world stopped, you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Imagine the team’s surprise when he introduces you to Soap, Gaz, and Price. Their lieutenant who’s cold, rough, grumpy, and never gives a fuck is dating a girl who’s the exact opposite of him.

You were a doll, so pretty and sweet, skin as fair as an apple, you were everything they thought he wouldn’t go for.

Opposites do attract after all.

(Literally have been so busy and forgot I even had tumblr…)

[hellokittyumb]

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts—bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

[hellokittyumb]

Rafe getting JJs lil sister pregnant and she comes to him after her dad got physical terrified that something would happen to the baby and he comforts her?

What happens when you show up at rafes doorsteep trembling and crying?

It was dark when you showed up to Rafe’s door.

Your hands were shaking. You couldn’t tell if it was from the bruising ache in your ribs or the storm of panic spiraling through your chest. The hoodie you wore clung to your body, soaked with rain, and your stomach—his baby—was cramping faintly from the stress. You didn't even realize you were crying until you caught your reflection in the glass of the door. Red eyes. Pale lips. Terrified.

You barely had time to knock before the door yanked open like someone had been waiting on the other side.

Rafe He looked half-crazed when he saw you. Eyes wild, shirtless, a mess, But the second he saw the way you were hunched over, arms wrapped protectively over your stomach, his expression dropped. Dead serious. Dangerous.

“What the fuck happened?”

You couldn’t speak. You just shook your head, trying to form words as your breath trembled. Finally, you choked out, “My dad… he got mad when I told him. He shoved me.”

Rafe didn’t move for a second. Just stared.

Then his jaw locked, and a slow breath left his nose.

“Get inside.”

It wasn’t a question.

You did as he said, stepping past him into the dark warmth of his house. As soon as the door shut, Rafe was in front of you again, pressing you gently back against the wall, inspecting your face, your arms, your stomach. His hands slid beneath your hoodie before you could flinch. You gasped softly—but his touch was careful, his brows furrowed in pure focus.

“He touched you while you’re carrying my baby*?” he asked quietly, his voice lethal. “You’re bleeding?”

You shook your head quickly. “N-No. Just cramping. I—I came here because I didn’t know where else to go. I was scared.”

“Shh.” He cupped your face, tilting it up. His thumbs gently wiped away the rain and tears from your cheeks. “You did the right thing, baby. You come to me. Always.”

You nodded. But your eyes were still wide with panic. “Rafe… what if something happened to it?”

He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to yours, voice like fire. “Don’t even say that.”

The possessiveness clicked in his eyes like a switch. His hand slid back down to your lower stomach, palm splayed across it like he was claiming it, like he needed to remind himself it was real

“That’s mine,” he growled, voice low and dark. “You are mine. That baby is mine. And no one absolutely no one lays a finger on what belongs to me and walks away breathing.”

He was pacing now. Jaw tight, chest heaving. You could see how close he was to snapping.

“Rafe, please—don’t do anything crazy.”

He stopped, turned slowly, and walked back over to you. His hands came to either side of your face again. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You think Im planning on letting you go since the second I got you pregnant?”

You swallowed hard. Your back hit the wall again as he leaned in.

“I’ve been losing my mind ever since I found out you were carrying me in you,” he whispered. “I think about you every second. About what’s growing in there. About how no one else will ever touch you again, because you belong to me now.”

You gasped softly at the heat in his words, the intensity in his eyes. It wasn’t just protectiveness it was obsession.

“And if your dad put even a scratch on you,” he muttered, brushing your hair back, “he just signed his fucking death warrant.”

Rafe backed off only enough to grab his phone and a sweatshirt for you. Then he tossed a blanket over your shoulders and led you to the couch.

“Lay down. I’m calling a doctor. I don’t care if it’s midnight.”

You blinked at him. “I’m okay—”

“I’ll decide that,” he cut you off firmly. “You're not gonna lift a damn finger until I say so. You don’t cook, you don’t clean, you don’t move unless I tell you it’s safe.”

“Rafe…”

He knelt down in front of you, both hands resting on your thighs. “You gave me a piece of you, baby. I’m gonna protect that with my life. You’re my family now. “

And the scariest part? You believed him.

You never felt safer

[hellokittyumb]

The Captain’s Wife

Something something the Task Force meets the captain’s wife.

Cw // suggestive content at the very end, inaccurate timelines, she/her pronouns used for reader, reader describe as having curves, hmmmmm not proofread :p blep

COD MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

She’s a pretty little thing, but the way she carries herself isn’t meek or shy. She’s self assured. There’s something domineering about the way she walks into the room, body clad in a hot pantsuit, heels clicking across the floors of the military base. Her manicured hands are holding onto something tightly.

She walks into the lounge, poking her head in. “Excuse me?” She says, voice smooth. “I’m looking for Captain Price. I’m a bit lost looking for his office.”

“Aye,” Soap answers, standing up. He puffs out his chest, looking the woman up and down. She looks good. She looks amazing. Fit. Fuck, those curves? The way the vest of her pantsuit hugs her waist? It makes the man just wanna take a bite out of her hips. “Got a meetin’ with ‘im?”

Her eyes don’t miss the way the Scott’s rake over her body. They squint at him for a bit before she looks at the other two soldiers with him. Of course, Simon, she recognizes. The other man with dark skin and dark eyes, youthful and charming, she does not. “Just got some files to drop off,” she tells, as if that was all that needed to be told.

Simon can see the way Soap keeps looking at her, like she’s a piece of meat. Part of him wants to stop him, tell him that he’s playing with fire. The other part tells him to leave it; let the Captain see. He could use a good laugh.

Ultimately, he stands from where he’s sitting. Price would have Simon’s head if he let Soap continue to eye up his wife. “Can show ya, Missus Price,” he quietly grunts.

She smiles fondly at him. “Thank you, Si,” she says sweetly, far too casually for Soap and Gaz to fathom.

If this were a cartoon, their jaws would drop to the floor, and their eyeballs would fall straight into their open mouths.

“Missus Price?!”

“Si? As in Simon?”

Gaz and Soap exclaim at the same time.

“The Captain has a wife?”

“You’re on a nickname basis with the Captain’s wife?!”

They speak in unison again. It makes her chuckle, her demeanor still cool and calm. “Well, we’ve only been married for fifteen years,” she says. “Known Simon since he first started working with John. Used to work with them myself, in fact.”

Gaz swore that the room was spinning. How have they gone this long without knowing this about their own Captain? Sure, everyone was pretty private about their personal lives, but only Simon was usually this private.

She ends up getting pulled further into the lounge, sat at the table with a cup of tea in front of her. The delivery of the files are now an after thought as Soap and Gaz bombard her with question about her and her relationship with John. All of her answers make their heads spin faster and faster as Simon nonchalantly listens, standing behind her with his arms crossed.

We met at basic training. He always had my back from day one.

We continued to work together after that. That’s how I met Simon, eventually.

We married only a couple of years after meeting. We didn’t want to miss our chance with each other.

I retired two years after getting married. I got pregnant with our first kid.

Two boys. Riley and Lucas. 13 and 10. Lights of my life. They love the brute standin’ behind me. Their favorite uncle.

Simon rolls his eyes at that one. “Their only uncle,” he grunts.

“And you’d be their favorite nonetheless, Si,” she says with a teasing smirk.

Ahem.

The sound fills the room, and everyone looks to the door. There stands John Price, his arms crossed. “Was wondering where those files were,” he says gruffly. “You said you’d arrived half an hour ago.”

She smiles up at her husband. There’s a look in her eyes. It was as if the entire universe had come to a halt. “Sorry,” she says, standing up from her seat. She grabs the files and walks them over to him. “Got distracted.”

A protective arm reaches up to wrap around her waist as his hand takes the files. “I can see that,” he says.

“Cap, ye dinny tell us ye were married!” Soap exclaims. “Ye hiding her from us? She’s a catch!”

John sneers at him. “That’s the problem. You lot can’t keep your paws to yourselves.” He sighs. “Let’s go, love. Enough of these muppets.”

She begins to walk with her husband, but not before she turns around to say goodbye to the soldiers. “It was nice meeting you guys. I’ll see you later, Si.”

Her heels click against the floor once more as John walks her to his office, quickly shutting the door behind them. He sighs as he tosses the folders onto his desk, leaning against it, his head hanging between his shoulders. He only calms down as he feels her hands begin to massage at his shoulders.

“They were sweet,” she muses. “Very… energetic?”

“Like children,” he grumbles, lifting his head to look at her. He can’t help but to smile when he sees the way she’s looking at him. Finally, he stands up straight, and he faces her. His hands grab onto her waist as he pulls her into him.

“Reminds us of our kids,” she admits, arms coming out to rest on his shoulders. “A billion questions, no patience, hungry to know anything and everything.” A giggle slips past her lips as she adds, “Nosey.”

Her hands reach out to caress his face. The feeling of his facial hair beneath her palms makes her hum in satisfaction. “Kinda makes me want another one,” she whispers.

John grunts, and his grip tightens. “Don’t tempt me, woman,” he tells her, moving her back until she’s right up against his desk. “Won’t be able to control myself. You know how I get around you.”

But she doesn’t listen. No, she only leans up and lets her lips brush against the shell of his ear as she whispers to him. “What’s one more?”

.

Ok I didn’t know how to end it. Here u go. Pls enjoy the struggle meal. I lowkey wanna write about the dynamic between the Prices and Simon here (it would be pure fluff), so lmk if ur interested.

[hellokittyumb]

RASPBERRY GIRL / MASTERLIST

Simon Riley masterlist

(Captain) Simon Riley/female reader 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, blurry lines of consent. Captain Riley in his forties. Heavy daddy kink. Age gap relationship. Reader is neurodivergent. Each part to have their own individual tags and warnings.

Raspberry sweet roll Lemon meringue pie Funfetti birthday cake Rosemary Focaccia

Raspberry Girl's recipes Raspberry Girl art by @/rayven-dark-fire

Divider painting and credit

[hellokittyumb]

Meanie!simon who thinks the little attitude is cute until it isn’t.

cw: 18+ mdni, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, brat!taming, daddy kink, dad bf!simon.

Doesn’t know where you got it from, but that harsh click of your designer heal to the hardwood floor, string of blasphemous curses and a cute scowl. the brutes brown eyes twinkle and he gobbled it up. Loves the idea of you taking on some of his traits.

But you were pushing it, now atleast. Simon doesn’t mind giving you what you want. Hell, you don’t even ask most of the time, the man will just get it because he knows you so well. But lately, you’ve been storming off with a stomp of your foot mid conversation, rolling your eyes, pouting when you didn’t get that record you’d been pleading with God to get.

Simon can only let it fly once or twice till hes gotta correct it himself.

He’ll let out that deepest sarcastic chuckle known to man, eyebrow raised this time, watching you with your face all screwed up, your own eyebrows furrowing, fists balled up—

“Yor reallly cute doll, trust me.” He bellows, circling around the car with the brand new tire in his hand. “Keep the attitude act up though, I’ll fix your problem f’ya.”

It only makes you more annoyed, you dip your toes in untouched waters— “I don’t have a fuckin issue, it’s you who’s got the stick up your ass. I don’t even ask for shit, I want that damned record!”

you should’ve just shut your blabber mouth. Just this once.

You’d have you on your knees, your mouth as wide as it can, hand gripping your curls, and ramming his cock into your tight little thoat. He starts slow, let’s you take his member into your mouth till your nose is kissing his pubic hairs, then plunged back into you, till you’re unthinking,

“Daddy’s alllllways gotta teach you to watch that fuckin mouth, thoa’ I taught ya better than tha’ luvie.”

He almost never gives you time to breath, your hands gripping the back of his thigh as he uses you, his cock pulses and grows larger at the sight of you. You’re nothing but a mess, his cum mixed with your spin dripping down your chin, tears running down your face, mascara smudged, and those gorgeous brown iris’ staring up at him— oh you’re the prettiest thing known to man in this moment.

“Been fuckin bitchin at me when you just needed to put this slutty mouth t’ use. Come on baby, take it.” He groans as you moan around him, you squirm on the ground, your clit pulsing in your soaking panties.

He roughly pulls out, still gripping your hair. You coughing up a storm, panting and trying to catch up he pumps his dick in his hands, he grunts “Suck it kitty.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

And maybe it’s from the oxygen not all the way to your brain yet, but you’re completely dazed. Taking his aching red length into your hands and slapping the tip on your tongue. Your plump lips wrap around the head, sucking and slurping and taking every inch you can, deep, until you’re choking. Stroking whatever you couldnt fit in your mouth. You let your tongue follow the veins around him and then pull your head back and forth till you’re out of breath. Ditzy smile on your lips.

“Thaaaa’s it baby, look at you bein a good. fuckin. girl.” he curses, fucking your face again, throwing his head back at how warm you are around him, till you feel cock twitch, hot cum filling the depths of your throat.

“What’d’ya say?”

You hiccuped, wiping wash your tears, swallowing his release as the blonde stands you up, “Thank you daddy.”

His chest moves up and down, slowly becoming regular again. He brushes your hair out of your face, “Gonna respect your pa from now on? Yeah?”

You nod your head, eyes fluttering, your voice nothing but ragged. “Yes, sir.”

He gives a slap to your ass, sending you stumbling back into the house. Thinking, maybe he’d get you that fuckin stupid record.

The man couldn’t help but spoil is precious baby. The exact reason you acted up every now and then.

a/n: this was sloppy but 🤷🏾‍♀️ it was on my mind

most recent masterlist

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @dollfwn @mims900 @lillybunni

[hellokittyumb]

cw: size difference, smut

──────────────

Just thinking about how Ghost is just so big.

Big meaty paws. Thick veiny arms. Broad shoulders. Muscles packed densely.

Sometimes he forgets just how big he is, but you never fail to remind him.

He remembers everytime you sit next to him and you take up half of the space he does, smaller thighs pressed to his.

Everytime he tugs on your tactical gear to make sure everything’s in place before a mission and you glance up at him wide eyed, dwarfed in his shadow.

Everytime you chose him as your sparring partner and he pins you under his muscular thighs, pelvis pressed to your ass purposefully.

You like it, he knows you do. It’s apparent from the way heat radiates off you in waves when you’re next to him, from the way your lashes flutter and your lips part when he stares down at you, from the way your legs twitch together for something more anytime his larger hands touch you.

So, when he finally gets you spread around his fat cock after months of you staring at him with hunger in your eyes, it’s amusing the way you protest like you don’t like it, like you haven’t been imaging him stuffing you full, haven’t been imagining how easy it would be for him to pin you down and make you take it.

“Ghost ‘s too much— too big.”

Your words are broken between choked breathes, tears framing your lashes, pawing at his hold on you like he’s suffocating you and he’s barely half way through. His hands engulf your waist, fingers touching at the small of your back as he pushes you to take more.

Your glassy eyes and tinged brows are a sight, but the way your tight cunt stretches thin around his girth is even better.

“Come on, doll, make some room f’me.”

──────────────

[hellokittyumb]

more! | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Just thinking about Ghost having a shy, quiet wife. The glaring opposite of Ghost, painted in black and blood while you’re adorned in lace and frills. Smooth skin and delicate flesh, warm eyes and a bashful smile. Soft-spoken and so fucking sweet.

No one else knows about you, or that he’s married, not from lack of wanting people to know he has such a pretty dove waiting for him at home, but because he knows all the men on base would eat you alive.

But one day, he forgets the lunch you made him. It takes everything in you to refrain yourself from driving to base to make sure he has something to eat— you know he doesn’t have the healthiest eating habits.

You choose to message him, something he usually responds fairly quickly to. Always at your beck and call just in case his sweet girl needs him, but he doesn’t answer. Your lips are pinched raw with worry by the time you decide to get in your car.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when a sergeant interrupts the meeting Ghost’s in— ‘Lieutenant, um, Mrs. Riley is waiting outside for you.’

Ghost is on his feet in an instant, it must be some emergency if you’re there. He rushes to the hallway, everyone else in the room stumbling behind to snoop through the thin crack of the door, see who their big bad Lieutenant is married to.

And there you are, Tupperware container in your manicured hands, white dress covering your frame with matching ribbons and bows in your hair. The look on your face is anxious, right up until you see Ghost, your eyes softening as he approaches you with wide strides despite the fact that he’s twice your size, hulking and threatening.

“Sweet’art, everything okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, brows furrowing as he does a once over your figure, checking for injury.

You exhale a quiet laugh, “No, baby. You just forgot your lunch, and you didn’t answer your phone so I got worried you would go the whole day without eating.”

He cups your jaw, a smile breaking out on his face. His sergeants are baffled for several reasons— they did not expect their Lieutenant to be married to such a sweet thing, nor had they ever heard their Lieutenant speak in such a soft, hushed tone, never seen him touch something with such care, like you were so fragile in the palms of his hands.

They would’ve thought it was all a joke if it wasn’t for the massive diamond ring on your finger, or the way you pushed deeper into his touch.

“Sorry, dove, just been in a meetin’ all day.”

He stamps a kiss against your lips, lets himself linger just a little longer than he should because he knows the whole room is watching from behind the door.

“Sweetest little wife, aren’t you?”

[hellokittyumb]

A small pt 3 of food aggressive simon and reader :)

it was meant to be a joke, youre sure, but its a cruel sort of thing to joke about.

you and simon are in the gym, hes sparing with some other soldiers and ur on the treadmill. you dont work out often, it brings back unpleasant memories, but its too damn hot out to walk right now and youve been feeling restless. thus, treadmill and eavesdropping on simon. its been months since ur new lunch sharing tradition started, and youd like to consider him a friend.

which makes it all the worse when you hear "damn ghost, i dont remember you being this big. maybe we should keep an eye on those lunches, eh?"

simon doesnt react, but you have to catch urself from eating shit on the treadmill when u froze, horrified. you suddenly really dont want to exercise, and although no one else can see it youve learned to recognize the subtly tensing of muscles along ghosts back. you stride over, lips pursed, and gently lay a hand on ghosts forearm "hey, you ready to go? i need to get those papers turned in."

you dont ask if he's alright, it would be pointless.

except, next lunch, its like all the progress you made is out the window. hes hunched over, shoveling food into his mouth, warily glancing at you every second. you purse your lips, not reaching for him but wanting to help. "simon," he doesnt react, "simon, stop for a second." you try again, hand coming to rest on the table, but not straying close. still, he flinches away, taking the plate too.

"simon, im not gonna take your food." you say, direct and pointed. you cant afford to dance around the subject with him. "im serious. can you just look at me? tell me if i did anything to make you anxious? did...did i accidentally hurt you?"

his eyes widen, sitting up straight "no! no its not-" he rushes out, pausing to sort his thoughts. "i just. you heard what they said." he finally settles on, you know exactly who hes talking about. "i thought...youd probably agree. i know i take too much."

you let out a pained whine, unable to stop it, and simon finally looks at you. your vision blurs with tears, but you reach out to cup his face anyways "simon. listen to me. you are never too much, you hear me? you deserve to eat as much as you want. you deserve to enjoy your food." youre properly crying now, overwhelmed. "you deserve to feel safe, okay?"

simon doesnt look away, but his face scrunches up and he nods. "...okay." you nod, a thumb coming out to wipe away a tear from his cheek. "i mean it, simon. food isnt something you earn, its not something people can take from you. you deserve it, and anyone who says otherwise i will personally beat the shit out of."

that earns a chuckle, simon glances away, picks his plate up, and slowly takes a bite. "...as if you could." he retorts, trying (and failing) to subtly wipe his tears.

"for you? i could do it easily" you retort.

[hellokittyumb]

the look of love | collection

01 RAFE CAMERON meets the new art teacher.

includes fem!teacher!reader / uncle!rafe / reader goes by "miss sugar" / fluff / grumpy x sunshine / family dynamics / safe to read! / wc 1.5k

Sarah already had her own family. Two rascals, Jackson and Josie. Meanwhile, Rafe didn’t. He had no kids. Nada. Zero. And he planned to keep it that way for a while.

As much as he loved his niece and nephew, they depleted his desire to have any. They were both rowdy and talkative and an awful lot like their parents. 

It scared him. 

He didn’t need more John B’s and Sarah’s walking the earth. Those little devils.

And yet, he was on his way to pick them up from school.

He never had to before. It was typically JJ, Kie, or anyone who wasn’t him. But apparently, the Pogues were more swamped than usual and had a ‘customer issue’ at their little Surf Shop. Whatever that meant.

Safe to say, Rafe wasn’t too thrilled about it. He was a busy man—the CEO of Cameron Development, to be exact. Children didn’t fit in his schedule. At least, that was what he told himself on the lonelier, quieter days. But family was family, as his dad always said. So, when his sister had called him, pleading, he reluctantly agreed. 

When he pulled into the pick-up zone, driving along the curb, he spotted his niece and nephew. They were hard to miss, not only because they were the only kids in front of the school, but because of the woman accompanying them. You. 

With the sweetest smile Rafe had ever seen, you stood between them, hands clasped behind your back, your eyes darting between the two children as they talked over each other. 

Rafe stopped in front of them and rolled the windows down. The youngest of the two, Josie, was the first to notice. 

An exaggeratedly loud gasp left her lips, her eyes wide. “Uncle Rafe!” 

That set off a chain reaction. 

Jackson looked up, his brows furrowed. “Uncle Rafe?” 

Rafe didn’t know if he should feel offended.

Then, your gaze shifted away from the kids, meeting his eyes through the passenger window. Time slowed. He saw your smile soften, and you waved at him. His heart lurched out of his chest, the feeling foreign and borderline uncomfortable. 

What the fuck?

But he didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling as his niece and nephew rushed towards his car.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle,” Josie chanted, panting like she ran a mile. “You’re pickin’ us up?”

Jackson stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You never pick us up.” 

Damn, what was this kid’s problem?

“Yes, Josie. And, well, they’re busy at the Surf Shop,” Rafe sighed, unlocking the car doors to let them in. “So, you guys got me for today.”

Through the rearview mirror, he watched the children clamber into the vehicle, feet kicking and hands flying as they argued about trivial matters—I always sit on the left side! So? I got in first. You’re being a butthead! I’m telling mommy you called me a butthead!—and so on. He chuckled, his lips curving into a grin.

Suddenly, you spoke, “They’re special, huh?” 

Your voice was warm and inviting. He didn’t know a person could sound so lovely.

When Rafe looked at you, he forgot how to speak. Every word he knew? Gone. And you barely did anything. You were just standing before the passenger door, staring back at him. He couldn’t help but notice the smudge of orange paint on the bridge of your nose. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he ultimately said, nodding.

You extended your right hand out to him through the open window. He saw more dried paint on your fingertips. “I’m Miss Sugar, the new art teacher here.”

Ah, that explained it. 

“Rafe.” He shook your hand, his eyes locked on your face. Your hand felt soft but far from fragile. “Rafe Cameron.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you beamed.

Did you ever stop smiling? Your cheeks should be hurting at this rate. 

He nodded, letting go of your hand before he looked like a creep. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh, Uncle Rafe,” Josie called, rummaging through her backpack, “me and Jackson made a paper chain thingy with Miss Sugar! Look, this one’s you!” 

He turned his head, eyes squinting at the paper doll chain she held up. Josie explained they made it during the after-school program, where she and Jackson spent a few extra hours each day. There were nine cut-out paper dolls, with what he assumed to be Josie at the start and him at the end. It was rough around the edges, but what did Rafe expect from a five-year-old? And the longer he stared at it, Rafe figured he was a last-minute addition, his hand glued to Sarah’s doll, the paper there wrinkled. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw you tilt your head into his car, looking at the kids. You seemed proud. It made him wonder what it felt like to have someone be proud of him.

“That’s really nice.” Rafe looked at his niece, who grinned brightly at his praise. He then stared at the frowny face drawn on his doll. “Why’s everyone smiling except for me?”

“Because you’re always grumpy,” Jackson replied bluntly. 

Little Josie slapped a hand over her mouth and erupted in giggles. Of course, his nephew was the one behind it.

Seriously, did this kid have a vendetta against him?

“Okay, you—” Rafe caught sight of your amused expression, and he bit back his words, “—I’m not always grumpy.”

You tried to cover up your laugh with a cough. “Yeah, he doesn’t look grumpy right now,” you defended, though it was far from convincing. Then you shot him a wink, and the gears in his mind stuttered and fell apart. Were you flirting with him? Or was it more of an ‘I got your back’ sort of wink? 

Fuck, why did he even care? He needed to pull himself together. 

“Anyways, I have to get back now,” you sighed, and the kids protested almost immediately. He saw a frown tug on your features, and you moved to the backseat window, cooing a mix of ‘I know’ and ‘I wish I could stay longer’ that eased their complaints. Eventually, you moved to the passenger window again, telling him a sweet, “Get home safe.”

Rafe felt himself having to fight back a smile. “Thanks.” 

You pursed your lips, your fingers tapping the window seal. “Don’t be a stranger, Rafe Cameron,” you said, stepping back from his car.

Jackson and Josie shouted their goodbyes to you before he could respond, but your words rang in his ears. Don’t be a stranger. He watched you wave to him and the kids before turning on your heel, your long skirt dancing around your legs as you made your way to the school’s entrance. Once you disappeared behind the door, he eased off the brake and pulled out of the pick-up zone.

As Rafe drove the kids home, the wind whipped through the open windows, the music on the stereo hummed softly, and his niece and nephew whispered to each other in the backseat. What about? He didn’t know, nor did he want to know. But he suspected they were up to no good. 

Josie cleared her throat with an over-the-top ahem, ahem! “Uncle Rafe?”

“What?”

She didn’t waste another second. “What you think of Miss Sugar?”

Rafe stared hard at the road. He had many thoughts about you: beautiful, messy, stunning, smiled too much, gorgeous. 

“Uh, she seems nice,” he answered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“Just wondering!” Josie chirped.

Silence fell between them.

He thought that would be it, and then he heard more whispering. Dread flooded his body. Rafe tweaked the stereo volume higher. They hadn’t caught that you piqued his interest, right? No, that would be ridiculous. They were kids. They would be none the wiser.

At least, he thought so until his niece asked, “Do you think she’s pretty?”

No wonder the Pogues called her Nosy Josie. It all made sense now. And, of course, he thought you were pretty. Who wouldn’t?

Rafe sucked in a breath, scratching his brow. “I’m not answerin’ that.”

Jackson grumbled, “I told you, Josie.” 

“You didn’t!” 

And a new argument ensued. But for once, Rafe was content listening to their high-pitched shouts because that meant the attention was off him. He didn’t want to be pestered about you any further. If Josie had kept pushing, he feared he would be sent down a rabbit hole, you consuming his thoughts.

But maybe he had already fallen down the rabbit hole. He was just too busy denying it.

Soon, Rafe arrived at their home, and the kids hopped out of his car and ran to their parents. Sarah thanked him for picking them up as John B took them inside—Josie sat on his hip, with Jackson walking beside him. He brushed it off, even offering to pick them up from school more often. His sister looked surprised and a little skeptical, but she didn’t question his change of heart. 

While Rafe Cameron didn’t have time for children, he could make time for you.

sunnie speaks! i realized miss sugar is barely in this WHOOPS!!! but i hope you guys found his dynamic w jackson and josie fun, haha! i sure had a fun time writing it :D let's chat about rafe cameron / teacher!reader

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[hellokittyumb]

ribbons & rage | b.barnes

[warnings] dark!gray!congressman!bucky barnes x feral!hybrid!reader, daddy!bucky, power imbalance, possessive bucky, pet play elements, dollification, political manipulation, age regression tones (dd/lg dynamics), dom/sub dynamic, stockholm syndrome, forced domestication, DUBCON

summary: After a diplomatic mission turns into an extraction, Congressman James Buchanan Barnes brings home a prize no one knows about. She’s impulsive. Dirty. Disobedient. But under his eye, with enough ribbons, praise, and correction, he’ll turn the wild thing into something beautiful. Something his.

word count: 5.8k

bucky barnes masterlist

Sam warned him not to get involved in Project LUPUS. He was only a year into his congressional term and he’d managed to fully rid the public of the image of the Winter Soldier. For the first time in the century he’d been alive, he was just James “Bucky” Barnes. Some of his colleagues had even begun to take him seriously. Despite this, Bucky knew Sam didn’t fully understand. He’d never fully understand the destruction that Hydra had caused to his mind. Bucky was the only one who could understand the minds behind the deep-state project. Modern American scientists influenced by Hydra’s science. 

Project LUPUS was Hydra’s legacy. The experimentations, the genetic manipulations, the violence. They hadn’t been erased. They were buried, waiting for someone to dig them up. It was his responsibility to make sure everything tied to it was destroyed. 

The classified file came across his desk because one of his colleagues recognized he would be the best person for the job. He was granted limited access under the purpose of an oversight audit and a bioethics violation review. 

According to the document, everyone involved had been terminated and all the experiment subjects had been exeterminated. His colleague believed otherwise. Bucky read the documents even closer during his private flight to Outpost-25 A, and undisclosed location in Alaskan territory. A snowstorm had grounded most flights but he’d been given “special clearance”.

The scientists, under the direction of a network embedded within the Department of Defense, were intending to create self-healing, biologically engineered hybrids with enhanced aggression, sharp senses, and fast reflexes. They’d be able to detect and eliminate threats, control public unrest, recover key asessets, and could even be deployed during warfare operations. 

They’d learned nothing from the past. 

The very last document in the pile of fifty pages peaked Bucky’s interest the most. It was a scanned intake form, faded, stained and partially redacted. This one had many notes written in the margins. A different tone than the documents describing the purpose of the project, the different subjects and how they’d been exterminated. 

Subject 109. LUPUS-F. Status: Unconfirmed termination. Last seen on Sublevel 3. 

Ah, the real reason he was here. You were nineteen at the time that the project had been terminated. Many of the notes were similar to the other subjects. Rapid healing. Strong territorial response. Pre-verbal communication. A few others, including you, had been listed as non-compliant. 

He stared at the paper longer than he should have, becoming unsettled as he read further. 

There were so many incident reports related to you. Reports on the use of deadly force. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. The accidental death of a Lt. Carney. Another accidental death of a Lt. Wynn. Destruction of two containment doors during transport. The standard dose of sedation being ineffective due to rapid metabolism.

Avoid eye contact. 

Will only accept food from [REDACTED] 

Your termination order was prior to the termination of the project. The justification included unmanageable behavorial volatility and emotional instability. It stated your body had been incinerated but there were no autopsy photos included. 

Double dose required for sedation. 

Rejection of mating partner 103-M. 

Rejection of mating partner 98-M.

Rejection of mating partner 115-M. 

Bucky searched for anything that gone right during your captivity and didn’t find anything. Bucky finally tore his eyes away when the plane dipped from turbulence. The storm was building. As the jet began its descent into a snow-covered valley, Bucky caught sight of the outpost. It was buried under permafrost in a decommissioned missile silo.

The pilot warned him not to stay long before he finally stepped off the transport. It was a thirty-foot walk through snow, reaching up to his mid-calf, to the entrance. The tall steel doors of the entrance had been sealed off. He used his clearance code, courtesy of his colleague on the oversight committe, and the steel doors groaned open. 

Lights flickered weakly above. He passed through long corridors and security checkpoints until he reached the main lab. It didn’t look abandoned. Only frozen in time. Notes were still scrawled across whiteboards, papers stacked on desks, and metal trays with half-used syringes. A shattered, glass, containment chamber sat nearby, clawmarks across the glass. 

But there were no bodies, or bones, or even any bullet casing. 

Carefully and methodically, Bucky cleared the first two floors of the outpost. He found each cage door open and and empty. When he finally reached Sublevel 3, he noticed something in the air had shifted. The air cooled even further and lights dimmed. That’s where he found the bones. Animal bones. 

He checked each cage for a sign of life. Though there was a pistol on his hip and a shotgun strapped to his back, he didn’t ever reach for them. He paused at cell 12-C and stepped inside. There was bedding, sheets created from lab coats, chair cushions and even shredded documents. Muddy foot prints. Small and barefoot. 

You weren’t in a cell. You were loose. Surviving. 

He stepped back into the hallway. And then he saw you. No chains. Just … standing at the end of the hall. Watching him. 

Despite the the lack of sunlight and coldness of your home, your skin was rich and radiant. Your curls, though some were matted, defied gravity. Your frame was slender, most likely from being trapped here with dwindling resources, but the curves of your body remained. Gunshot to the abdomen. He saw the scar above your hip bone. He also saw another one on your right thigh and an even larger one on your collarbone. 

It wasn’t just the scars or the angles of your body that made you unlike anything Bucky had ever seen. Unnaturaly wide pupils that he could see even in the dim light. Slightly pointed ears. You looked him over, scanned him, and Bucky noted the faint twitch of your nostrils – scenting him. Though you were physically much smaller than him, you did not cower. You were not prey. 

Your lips parted and Bucky could see your canines, just slightly too long. 

He remembered your file. 

Hybrid Type: Homo sapiens/Canis lupus (Genome Series III)

Ancestral Donor: [REDACTED] 

You were made this way. Selfishly, inappropriately, Bucky wondered how something made by evil minds could be so … beautiful. Something switched in his mind then. He couldn’t ensure the full termination of Project LUPUS. 

You were like him. A monster of another’s creation. He had to save you. Someone decided to give him a second chance, he could do that from you. 

Perhaps they had evolved. Maybe he was here to get rid of you like the others. He was armed. There was no reason to trust him. 

You didn’t speak. Just stared. Assessed. 

Until you did move. 

Part of you expected to easily pierce his skin. To be so much faster and stronger that the shear force of pushing your body against his would easily knock him down. You hadn’t met a worthy opponent yet. Until now. 

He caught you. 

He moved but barely. You let out a scream of anguish as his arms wrapped around your torso, pulling your body against his. You thrashed wildly, trying to pull your knees into his groin, before you decided to go for his throat. Bearing your teeth, you lunged for him, but the wind was almost knocked out of you when you suddenly found yourself slammed against the concrete wall. 

Now you were mad. Blindingly furious. 

What was he? He didn’t smell like a hybrid. He smelled chemical, metallic, and synthetic. His arm, across your chest, pinned you against the wall. You looked up at his face now, long dark hair shielding half his face. 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” His first words to you weren’t a threat. You knew that much although you couldn’t decipher the full meaning. He was surprised. Not scared of you. Not the least bit scared of his own safety. It made you even more furious, “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stop.”

Dead. Hurt. You knew those words. Those were bad words. But he almost seemed worried. He looked … conflicted. 

You couldn’t breathe, your chest was tightening under the pressure, and it felt like your bones might crack at any minute. Your eyes burned from the rage and frustration. No one had ever made you feel like this. You wanted his heart in your hands. You wanted his head off his shoulders. But you forced your body to still. Not in submission but to allow yourself time to think. 

A growling whine left your throat, the pain finally fully registering. His grip loosened and something changed in his face. He managed to keep you pinned but the pressure lessened, “I don’t want to hurt you,” He spoke and you hung onto every word. You needed to think. To try to understand him, “You won’t be able to hurt me. Not in the way you want to.” 

Your nostrils flared. You didn’t believe him. You also didn’t move. Clearly, you would have to take a different approach.

He talked like a human. Carried weapons like the humans. You weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like he needed them. You could take another bullet, you’d done it before. You wished that the food hadn’t started running out a few weeks ago. You would be stronger. But there was still fight left in you. 

He didn’t notice the switch flip in your mind. He was already pulling away, giving you space, but you quickly struck again. Dropped your weight, slammed your forehead against his jaw as hard as possible. Nails slashed against his throat when you successfully caught him off guard. You drew blood and smiled. 

“Fuck,” He growled, actually growled, and your smile grew bigger. 

So he bleeds. What was he? 

A metal arm wrapped around your throat before he shoved you to the ground. You scrambled and kicked as he got on top of you, straddling your torso. When he reached into his pocket, you thought he was reaching for his gun. 

“You don’t get it,”  He said. You screamed as best as you could. Your chest heaved, “I’m not your enemy.”

You didn’t see the syringe until it was already pressed against your arm. The sting was nothing. You’d felt much worse. You didn’t flinch. Despite the way his face softened, you showed him your rage. You pushed at him until you couldn’t feel anything anymore. 

Bucky didn’t realize he’d taken on too much responsibility until it was too late. 

“You’re safe here,” He’d say over and over, “This isn’t a cage.”

Now you were here in his Brooklyn home, barefoot, feral, and you were close to destroying every valuable item in his home. His first mistake was trying to make sure you didn’t feel caged. He realized quickly that he couldn’t be nice with you. The only things you responded to were pain and control. 

This would be a journey. A long one. It would be a slow, brutal fight to drag you out of whatever darkness they left you in.

And Bucky wasn’t sure yet who would survive it.

For the first two weeks, he kept a bit gag in your mouth to stop you from biting, and padded gloves on your hands, leather on the outside, soft inside, to keep you from scratching him. He had to sedate you everytime he deemed you needed a bath or your teeth brushed because you’d fight him until your body went limp from exhaustion. You completely refused any clothing, leaving Bucky to draw every curtain in the home. 

He hadn’t found a way to make a click. To help you understand. Until he’d prepared you a breakfast one morning and you’d thanked him by flipping the table. He lifted you by your waist and dragged you kicking and screaming to the living room. He bent you over the couch, vibranium arm pressed against your upper back, and spanked you until your growling turned to whimpers. 

He hadn’t seen you cry yet. Not until then. His heart panged, realizing he’d let his anger make him lose control. He hand’t wanted to hurt you. Not really. But the spanking had done more then bruise your ass. It embarassed you. Made you truly realize how much stronger he was. You were deadly but Bucky had an extra eighty years to perfect his craft. 

Bucky could tell in the way your posture softened. How you leaned into the fabric of the couch for comfort. You weren’t broken but you were beginning to understand. He was the one in control. He could keep you here no matter how much you fought it. 

You allowed him to lift you, to place you softly on the material of the expensive sofa. As he rounded the piece of furniture and sat close to you, he watched how you pulled your knees into your chest. And then quickly sat up and tucked your knees under yourself instead, bottom sore.  Hesitantly, he rested a hand on your thigh. You looked up at him, eyes sad and confused. 

“I know,” He said quietly, voice rough but steady, “But there are rules to follow. You were being a bad girl–”

You pointed to your chest and spoke to him for the first time, “B-ad girl.”

Bucky was taken aback by your tone of voice. Gritty from misuse but he heard so much softness underneath. A delicateness he had not expected. Bucky nodded after a long pause, “Yes, you were being a bad girl. But I know you can be a good girl.”

Your brows furrowed and Bucky saw the way that you momentarily grew frustrated before you pushed it away. For the first time, you pushed away your gut instinct to fight him. You pointed to him next, “Good girl?” You asked, confused. It didn’t sound right and Bucky could see your mind working.

Bucky grinned, “No, I’m Bucky.”

“Boy,” You corrected yourself, “Good boy?”

Bucky’s lips parted. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d get to this point with you so he hadn’t spent enough time considering how he would explain all of this you, “No,” He said after clearing his throat, “That one’s for you. You get to be the good girl.”

You tilted your head again, “You … Alpha?”

Bucky shook his head, “No, not exactly. I want to be your …” He thought carefully about his next words. He pointed to you, “You … good girl. Baby. Doll. Pet.”

He pointed to himself next, “Me …. I’m Daddy.”

“Hmm,” You made a noise as you looked him over. You reached out next, your fingers wandering curiously over the fabric of his white button up. You felt his chest, hard and thick before you gripped the metal wrist of his left arm, “Daddy arm … this … you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Still me,” Bucky spoke a little breathlessly, not realizing how much that word on your lips would make his heart race. You studied his face and then subsequently his heart rate. You placed a hand over his heart and felt the beating. It fascinated you. Your heart rate was so much slower, so much more controlled.

You made another noise and your hands wandered back to your own lap. It would be a strange sight to anyone looking in. You were completely naked and Bucky had, somewhat, grown used to looking at your figure. Sometimes his eyes lingered a little too long on the perks of your nipples or the plumpness of your bottom. And your legs were slightly parted, he could clearly see your slit. You didn’t mind it. It bothered you more when he wanted you to wear clothes. 

“No baby,” You interrupted his thoughts and Bucky realized his hand was traveling closer to the gap between your thighs. 

You were so soft. 

“What?” he asked, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“No … not baby,” You pointed to yourself then and gestured to a lower height, palm facing downward, emphasizing how small an actual baby would be, “This baby.”

You wanted to be understood, “Not a real baby, no,” Bucky said, “But I want you to be my baby,” When you went quiet, he continued, “I want to take care of you. I will take care of you.”

You shook your head, “No need.”

“I know,” Bucky agreed, “You’re right. You’re strong. But I know you don’t want to be alone again. All by yourself. No family. No friends. No love. It’s bad for you.”

“Bad for me. No love,” You said after awhile, mimicking him. Trying to understand. 

Bucky nodded, “It’s good to have someone. Stay with me. I won’t hurt–”

“You hit,” You retorted, some of that fury returning. Your palm touched the skin of your bruised bottom, “See, you hit! No like. I … don’t like.”

You raised a hand and Bucky quickly caught it. His eyes grew sharper and he sent you a warning. 

“Hey, you’re not supposed to like it. I hit, yes. But it’s different than this,” Bucky emphasized the scars on your skin, the bullet wounds, the scars from where knives had sliced you open, “Sometimes it hurts more here.” He pointed to you heart. 

“I don’t like,” You said again, softer this time. 

Slowly, Bucky’s tight grip turned gently and he took your hand into his. One hand on your thigh, his metal hand on your soft one. 

“Then you won’t be a bad girl, okay? No fighting. No hurting Daddy. If you want something, you have to tell me. You can’t just throw a tantrum. There are rules to follow.”

You sighed, considering. Your lips parted again, uncertain. That was good enough for Bucky. 

Bucky leaned in, his voice gentle, “Do you know your name? I’m Bucky. You are …”

“109-F,” You answered easily and flashed him a look of boredom, like your name didn’t matter. 

“That was your name. We’ll think of something better, okay?”

Another week passed and Bucky found he had little use for the bit gag and leather gloves. The tantrums remained but Bucky noticed your intentions had changed. You didn’t get riled up and try to hurt him anymore. You pushed at him and knocked things over but mostly only when you wanted to communicate something and Bucky couldn’t understand you. 

As the spankings increased, the good behavior increased as well. He started new routines with you. 

Your room was currently only a twin bed and soft carpet despite the size of the room. It allowed for less things to be destroyed. You didn’t sleep in the bed anyways. Bucky started to notice that his couch cushions, blankets, old newspapers, and even clothes from his closet were starting to go missing. He found them later in the small closet connected to your room. 

A nest.

You had created a soft, safe space for yourself inside. At first, you bared your teeth at him when he tried to step inside. Instead, Bucky sat right by the entrance of the closet door. He brought you breakfast, a simple bowl of oatmeal. He’d take a spoonful into his mouth and exaggerate an, “Mmmm,” as he ate. Then he would hold the spoon out to you and wait for you to take it, “Your turn, baby.”

You refused the first few times. Then eventually you took the spoon in your hand and catapulted it at the wall. Not out of anger, mostly out of curiosity. And then you clumsily dipped the spoon inside the oatmeal, brought it to your nose, smearing some on your nose. “See, it’s not so bad. Try it.”

You looked at him like he was from another planet. 

Eventually, you took the spoon into your mouth and had a few bites, “Good girl, baby.” That’s how he knew you were warming to him. 

His work in Washington continued even as he continued to help you settle into a routine. There were still meetings and late-night calls. Stacks of policy briefs piled high on the living room table and his phone buzzed constantly. Soon, he would have to return but he hoped by then you would be more house broken. Easier to manage. Easier to leave on your own. 

You responded well to the corporal punishments. To make even bigger changes, Bucky tried to workout a system of rewards for you. It started with the stuffed animals. Soft and cute. He knew you’d never seen or held one before. He sat outside the closet, further than he usually did, one evening holding a stuffed, brown bear, “Look, he’s soft. Do you want to hold him?”

“ … hold him?” You made you way to the edge of door and reached for it.

Bucky pulled back, “You may hold him. You’ve been such a good girl, eating your food, and not throwing things. Come here,” He patted his lap. 

For a long moment, you mentally debated whether or not you would leave the closet. When you finally decided the risk was worth it, you hesitantly crawled forward, sitting your bare bottom on the worn fabric of his jeans. Bucky let you take the bear into your hands and he saw something your face soften immediately. You brushed your hands over the fur methodically, over and over. Bucky counted fifty brushes of your hand over it’s head. 

“You can hug him,” Bucky demonstrated for you, realizing then that you wouldn’t know what a hug was. He pressed the bear to your chest and then guided your arms around the plush toy, “See, sweet girl. Do you like him?”

“I like bear,” Your voice came out muffled as you pressed the bear against your face, “Soft.”

You were mesmerized for a solid fourty-five minutes. You didn’t mind when Bucky shifted you in his lap so that you were fully straddling him, the bear between the two of you. His hands caressed your back, the sides of your waist and eventually he fully grasped your bottom in his hands, “Fuck,” He cursed under his breath.

“Hurt?” You asked though it was clear your mind was elsewhere.

“No, baby,” Bucky said although he was painfully hard.

“I keep bear?”

Bucky placed a soft kiss against your shoulder blade and was surprised when your face remained soft, almost happy, “It’s yours. For you, my good girl.”

“I’m good girl,” You smiled a real smile. It was the first time he fully saw your teeth and you weren’t thirty seconds from trying to rip out his jugular, “Good bear for me.” 

He nodded, brushing your curls back with his metal fingers. He’d have to tackle another deep detangling another night, “That’s right. But when someone gives you something special, there’s something else you say, too.” He touched your cheek. “Can you say thank you, baby?”

You blinked at him.

“Thannnk—” he started, slow and patient. 

You studied his mouth. “Than...”

“Good,” he coaxed, smiling now. “Now say thank you, Daddy.”

You continued, “Thank you… Daddy.”

“There you go. So polite. So sweet.”

You just stayed there, safe in his lap, hugging the bear a little tighter.

You followed Mr. Bear around the house. Wherever Bucky placed him, you were there. The kitchen table at breakfast, the space beneath Bucky’s desk while he was working, beside the bathtub when Bucky decided you couldn’t go any longer without a bath, your bed that you had initially abandoned. You’d even spent a full night in Bucky’s large bed, letting Bucky hold your waist as you slept using Mr. Bear as your pillow. It wasn’t conscious at first. You fell in love with the small toy quickly. You looked in his eyes and squished his belly to help calm yourself, to even help yourself sleep. It was an attachment that was foreign to you. You liked that Mr. Bear was yours and that Bucky had given him to you. 

It was comfort and regulation. It was all new. 

You spent a full two weeks with that sense of peace. Until you woke from a long nap on the living room couch and Mr. Bear was missing. You’d learn to breathe, to slow down and to not let your anger rise to point of seeing red. You breathed deeply as you turned over every cushion and looked threw drawers. You couldn’t even smell him anymore. 

He was gone. Forever. Stolen from you. Had you been a bad girl? You’d grown attached and now you’d been abandoned. You started looking under any item you could find, letting items fall to the ground with a thud. You emptied an entire bookshelf of all it’s books and spread the contents of one of Bucky’s manila folders all over the floor. 

Cold, dense paper. Nothing soft. You didn’t register the sound of Bucky’s voice in the other room. You fell to your knees, cheeks wet with tears, and started to shred the papers with your nails. 

“....Then tell them to hold off until I’m back D.C. I won’t sign off on anything blind …. Yeah, he knows this. Email him again. Then call. Whatever you have to do. That’s your job …”

A second later, the footsteps came. Fast, heavy but controlled. 

“Give me a second,” Bucky said. Then louder, “Just pause the call.”

Your eyes found his when he finally walked into the living room from his office. He looked over everything quickly. You couldn’t control your breathing. 

Before he could ask you what was wrong, you yelled, “You took bear! Not here! Where?!”

“He’s not gone,” Bucky crouched next to you, eyes dark and fixed sharply on you, “I was in the other room. You need to ask when you have a question. You can’t do … this.” 

“Need bear, Daddy,” You crawled closer on your knees, “Need. Baby is sad.”

“Thank you for telling Daddy how you feel but this is not what you do when you’re sad. You didn’t ask Daddy for help,” Before he continued his lecture, he realized you weren’t the least bit sorry. Your focus was on your toy, “Daddy put Mr. Bear in the washing machine. He was dirty. He’s in the dryer now.” 

“You took bear,” You croaked and Bucky sighed, “Not dirty. Give back.”

“I’ll give him back after you clean up your mess.” 

“No, Daddy!”

“Do you want a spanking too?” You blinked, eyes wide. You shook your head slowly. It had been so long since Bucky had bent you over and done that to you, “Clean, all this needs to go in the trash. The books go back on the bookshelf. And you can put the couch back together. I will wait.”

You scowled then. You had to clean when all of this was his fault. He took Mr. Bear. 

He kept his word. He waited. You put the couch cushions back where they belonged before you stacked the books back on the shelf. He stepped in to show you exactly where the books needed to go and held a trash bag open for you to place all the destroyed papers in.

“Good girl,” He said though the way his jaw clicked made you believe he might be just as mad as you. 

He took your hand a moment later and led you into the small room with two white machines. One was loud, rumbling and as Bucky opened it’s door, the shaking came to a cease. And then Mr. Bear appeared. Before you could lunge for him, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, holding you at a distance, “My bear,” Your voice trailed off as you eyed the toy. He looked cleaner but he’d lost the smell you’d grown to like, “Bucky no more clean. Not dirty.”

“Mr. Bear does get dirty just like Baby does. He has to have a bath sometimes. Do you understand?”

You were reluctant but you nodded. “Yes,” As soon as the plus toy was in your arms, you curled up on the ground, and held him tightly. As Bucky turned to return to his call in the other room, you let out a small, “.... Sorry, Bucky.”

He paused in the doorway, glanced back.

“I know, baby,” he said gently. 

Bucky decided the perfect gateway into you finally wearing clothes around the house was yet another toy. This one was a soft rag doll that looked just slightly like you. The same skin tone and dark curly hair pinned up by two lavender colored bows. She also wore a lavender dress and matching ballet flats. She looked sweet, safe, familiar. 

His usual spiel had failed. He explained that clothes were a good thing. They were soft and kept you warm. He also teased the possibility of one day going outside with him, “The people outside always wear clothes,” He’d say, “You want to go on a trip with Daddy one day, don’t you?”

You just ignored him and let your eyes wander towards the window, “This is Mr. Bear’s good friend,” He presented the doll to you, placing her on your bed, next to the loose-fitting, pink t-shirt dress that was laid out on the bed. He chose something completely unrestrictive on purpose. You perked up then. You gave him a hungry look, as if he was presenting you with a medium-rare steak instead of a doll, “She’s a ballerina. Uh, like a dancer. To music. Her name is … Rina.”

“Rina,” You tried, your eyes locked on her, “Soft?”

“She’s very soft,” Bucky assured you, “She loves hugs too.”

“Rina mine?” You asked next, face soft, looking up expectantly, “Like Bear?”

“She could be. She wants a new friend. But she has a rule.”

Your arms crossed at that. You leaned forward to study the doll, brows furrowed, “She has rule?”

“She doesn’t want to be held unless you’re dressed, like people are supposed to be. Even cute hybrid girls have to wear clothes.  She feels the most comfortable that way.”

You pouted adorably, “Bad rule.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, “That’s what she told me. Rina’s rules. She might let you hold her if you’re a good girl.”

“Don’t like,” You started to whine, pressing your body against Bucky’s body, forehead pressing against his chest, “Please … don’t like.”

Bucky placed gentle on your shoulders, lifting your body from him. He pressed a finger under your chin, lifting it until you were looking at him, “I’m sorry, I would help you but it’s not my rule.”

He turned away from you. Not far, only a few steps. He gave you space. Pretended to check his email on his phone. He heard you stomp your feet. Once. Twice. Then a whine. Then there was silence. The tiniest ruffle of fabric. When Bucky turned around, you were wearing the dress. He smiled wide, impressed. 

He doubted he could get you in pair of underwear or a bra today but there was time for that. 

He came closer again, running his fingers over your hair before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “Did it. See, Bucky.” You declared, eyes wide and expecting, “Mine now?”

“She’s yours.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” You bounced on your toes excitedly before you happily scooped up the doll. Bucky picked you up next, and you wrapped your legs around his torso. You let out a soft laugh, a real one, and it was music to Bucky’s ears. One arm looping around his neck, the other squeezing Rina to your body, you looked Bucky in his eyes deeply. Like he’d placed gentle kisses on your forehead, your shoulder, and cheeks, you placed a soft peck on his lips. 

He stilled for a second. Then smiled, full and proud, “Thank you, babygirl.”

There was one week left until Bucky had to return to Washington. He was more than happy with the progress you’d made. You’d started wearing underwear and you’d even been open to trying different kinds of clothes. Pants were still a nonstarter. You didn’t mind the skirts. You didn’t love the tight-fitting t-shirts but Bucky often left you no options. You tugged at them and pouted. Selfishly, he liked the way they looked on you. 

There were still many gaps in your social etiquette. It took him a full three days to explain that you couldn’t lift up your skirt whenever you wanted. You had a habit of wanting to stare at the different patterns on your underwear and often would flip up your skirt in the middle of a conversation or activity or anything to look. He corrected gently, not because he didn’t like the view but because ideally one day you’d accompany him to dinners and go on outings with him. He didn’t need you putting your body on display. 

He convinced you Rina liked it when wore different hairstyles. Ribbons and bows were her absolute favorite. He’d started getting really good at braiding it into neat rows, and tying bows to the ends. During his morning meetings, you often sat between his legs at his desk, Rina in your lap, as he fixed your hairstyle for the day. 

Bucky was settling into a sense of peacefulness. A feeling he had longed for. Therapy helped. His new job fulfilled him in some aspects but also made him realize how slow change really happened at the same time. This life, the pocket of innocence he was building around you, was starting to help most of all. This life was the opposite of everything he and you were ever used to. 

He didn’t want you exposed to the real world. He would shield you from reality for as long as possible. He would give you something he never had for himself. He’d also had enough of following orders for ten lifetimes. With you, in his own house, he made the rules. 

He had to address his mission. Debrief the committee on all of his findings. He had to give his colleagues enough information to satisfy them but couldn’t risk them getting their hands on you. You were the survivicing data to a program that never should’ve been created. He decided to lie. The site was clear of any sources of life. The facility was sealed, records wiped away, and he submitted a report that suggested Project LUPUS be permanently blacklisted from funding due to “gross ethical violations”. 

He’d have to spin another story eventually. Explain your presence in his life. Mel, his assistant, was already working on using the story for political advantage. You were a rescued civilian during a humanitarian negotiation. You’d suffered severe trauma and Congressman Barnes, recognizing the complexity of the situation and understanding the importance of mental rehabilitation, he’s personally arranged for you to receive trauma-informed rehabilitative care under his sponsorship. He’d be even more of the hero than the public saw him as. 

Colleagues would raise questions but no one would push to hard. He was a war hero. His word was gospel. 

Pls reblog w/ your thoughts if you enjoyed! This will be a 2 part series with the second chapter focused on Bucky + Baby’s time in Washington! Hope you enjoyed :)

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rafe hates it when your cats wake him up but you love it

Lolita, the sleek black cat, stretched languidly, her claws extending and retracting with a soft, satisfying click on the hardwood floor. She blinked her emerald eyes, then fixed her gaze on the lump under the comforter. It shifted, a muffled groan escaping. Perfect.

Lolita launched herself onto the bed, landing with a gentle thump on Rafe's chest. He grumbled, trying to swat her away, but she was too quick. She began kneading his chest, her purrs rumbling like a tiny, contented engine.

"Lolita, get off," Rafe mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Undeterred, Lolita began her morning ritual. She nudged his chin, then began licking his cheek, the rough rasp of her tongue a surprisingly effective alarm clock. Rafe groaned again, finally cracking an eye open.

"Fine, fine, I'm up," he grumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Lolita hopped off his chest, landing gracefully on the bedside table, where she began grooming herself with meticulous precision. Rafe watched her, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at the clock – 6:30 AM. Too early.

He looked over at the other side of the bed, where a form was still buried under the covers. A soft giggle escaped.

"You think this shit funny huh? Did you put her up to this?" Rafe grumbled, his voice still rough with sleep.

"Maybe," came the muffled reply, followed by another giggle.

Rafe sighed, a smile now spreading across his face. He knew he should be annoyed, but the truth was, he couldn't stay mad. He loved Lolita, even when she was being a furry, purring alarm clock. And he loved the way his girlfriend found it so amusing.

"You're lucky you're cute," he said to Lolita, who responded with a slow blink.

He knew he'd complain about being woken up early, but deep down, he wouldn't have it any other way.

taglist

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Welcome to Warm Hands!

18+ only meaning MINOR DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL

TF141 x fem reader || There are some descriptions about the reader.

!! In progress!!

Warnings/info : mentions of abuse, dark topics may come up in later chapters, smut will be in later chapters, Hybrid AU, Puppy girl reader

Summary: You were taken into John’s care, now you have to find your way with him and his boys. They’d accept you, wouldn’t they?

Season 1

Chapter 1 || Unexpected Encounters

Chapter 2 || Leaving

Chapter 3 || Peach Schnapps

Lore

Mood Boards

1 2

Back to blog directory

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thinking about bunny hybrid!reader x some sort of english mastiff or cane corso hybrid!simon ghost where the you live with an old lady as your owner and you help her around, acting as a service animal as the owner is deaf. when you see simon on the streets you want to help him, much to the dismay of your owner.

at first telling you not to stare at him, then not to talk to him, then not to feed him.

"this is what it knows" she would say as you whined about how cold it must be. eventually sneaking him in.

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Bird Watching

Construction Worker!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x single mom!reader

‘Birds of a feather,

We should stick together, I know,

I said I’d never,

Think I wasn’t better alone’

Part one

Part two

Part three (coming soon)

Main Masterlist

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💭...

dbf!ghost who has to deal with your occasional visits to the base. it's for your daddy, you claim. why are you wearing such a cute little outfit, then? how dare you show off what's rightfully his to the greedy eyes of these dirty men! >:(

dbf!ghost who lets you strut to his office, pretending to be oblivious to your desperate attempts to seduce him, to rile him up, to take you right then and there. he makes no effort to stand up when his desk covers his growing hard-on.

dbf!ghost who lets it go on for months – even he's surprised he's lasted for so long – until he gets fed up.

dbf!ghost who catches you off guard. just when you think he's about to yell at you, he harshly grabs you and bends you over his lap. whispering dirty words and promises of punishment into your ear is the only indication you're given before his hand connects with the cheek of your ass.

oh, silly girl, of course he knew you wanted this! how could he not? he's taken care of you in your younger years, after all. consider this his reward for being such a good friend to your father. ♡

dbf!ghost who ends up letting you sit on his lap and make out with him. to have sex— no, to make love with him. you pant against him as you come down from your high; his praises are long gone when it all dawns on him. or maybe he already misses the feeling of your pussy.

you kiss him with the expectation of his acceptance of you, but you instead receive a gruff, "i'm too old for you, lovie."

"you deserve better."

"you should be with someone your own age."

oh, sweetheart, you overestimate him. how could you have forgotten? he's a complicated man.

dbf!ghost who tells you off, letting you cry your poor little heart out when you step out of his office, feeling like a whore he'd gotten sick of. it breaks his own to ignore your weeping.

it breaks his heart even more to see your heart get caught by a better man. :(

this cute divider is made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more ! ♡