#comin in HOT with this one be careful

[xoxojisu]

thinking abt being scared to be too clingy w katsuki...

"jisu you seem like you think abt being too clingy a LOT. didn't you just recently write this fic and that fic that are basically the exact same prompt?" no you can sybau.

you’re standing in the doorway of his dorm, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

he’s sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, legs spread just enough to be inviting without trying. hoodie half-zipped, sweats hanging low on his hips, phone in one hand, completely relaxed.

you are not.

you want to sit with him. in his lap. be tucked in, held tight, kissed maybe once or twice until you melt into him like sugar in hot tea.

but your feet don’t move.

you feel like if you climb into his space first, it’ll make it obvious how badly you want it. how you’ve been thinking about it all day. how when you woke up this morning, a part of you was already aching for his arms.

and what if he doesn’t want that right now?

what if he’s tired, or busy, or just not feeling it?

you shift from foot to foot.

his eyes flick up for only a second before going back to his phone.

“you comin’ in or just gonna stand there lookin’ like an idiot?”

your cheeks flush a little.

“shut up.”

he hums. doesn’t banter. just sets his phone aside, like, completely, not even face-up, and looks at you properly now. tilts his head a little.

and you see it. the way his gaze softens. the way his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile, because if he does, the world will probably collapse or something.

he opens his arms. slow, easy.

“c'mere.”

you hesitate. not because you don’t want to. but because you do, and that’s the part that always scares you. you want him so much. you love him with your whole heart and soul and would spend every second being close with him if you could. but does he? are you being too much? too clingy? your own insecurity and self-doubt eats at you.

he catches that in your face. always does. so he adds, voice lower now:

“c’mon, sweetheart. don’t make me ask twice.”

maybe the nickname does it. or maybe it's his tone, or the look in his eyes. either way, it does you over.

you pad over quietly, still a little unsure, until you’re standing between his knees. he reaches for your hips, not rough like how he does most things, but careful, like he doesn’t want to rush you.

“lemme hold you, yeah?”

you nod.

and that’s it.

he pulls you in, smooth and easy, guiding you into his lap like you’ve always belonged there. one arm wraps firm around your lower back. the other slides up under your hoodie to settle warm against your spine.

he exhales deep, like tension he didn’t even notice was there just fell out of his chest.

“fuck. there you are.”

you melt.

your face tucks into his neck. your arms go around his shoulders. your whole body curls up like it knows exactly how to fit against him now. no more guessing. no more hovering.

he rubs your back, slow and steady, fingers dragging ticklishly but soothingly along skin.

“you don’t gotta wait for me to say it every time,” he mumbles into your hair.

“if you want this, just take it. always want you close.”

you nod against his neck, lips brushing warm against his pulse.

and he holds you tighter, just for a moment, like he needs to be sure you believe it.

you do.

masterlist

[megapteraurelia]

fushiguro toji made previous men feel like boys.

fushiguro toji who doesn't play games. you hadn't heard from him all day. there was no good morning test, no small talk that filled the silence, yet at 6:43 pm sharp, like every day, there was a knock on your door.

when you opened it, there he stood. his shoulders broad, a jacket slung over his form, his hair tousled. a grocery bag hung from his fingers, and the familiar scar on the corner of his mouth twitched when he saw your face.

"i figured ya haven't eaten," he said, his voice rough like he hadn't talked much today; he stepped past you easily, his free hand finding your neck to squeeze once in quiet acknowledgement.

you narrowed your eyes at him, his palm heavy on your nape, "you could've at least texted me today, said something."

"why?"

"because—" you faltered, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of the why, like he didn't just take your passive aggressiveness at face value, "i don't know. it would've been nice."

he raised his eyebrows, "you thought i wasn't comin' or what?"

you shrugged, because you didn't know if that was what you thought. because you were used to flakiness, used to being forgotten, used to men who said a whole lot and followed through on nothing.

exhaling, his hand squeezed down again, "if i didn't give a damn, i wouldn't be here, woman. i don't waste time on people i don't care about. ya think i move for just anyone?"

fushiguro toji who didn't scare easy. not from blood, not from death and sure as hell not from you crying. unlike anybody before, he didn't hover and didn't ask you if you were okay every five minutes. he didn't because it was clear you weren't, because he knew that your pain needed out, because he wasn't going anywhere.

he leaned back, his arms crossed as he watched your chest heave wrecked breaths, sobs stuck in your throat. he waited, no matter how long it took, waited and sat there and watched over you until your body opened up, arms unravelling from your knees. he dropped down next to you, his huge body shadowing you, stance wide, hand finding your thigh. his fingers splayed out to ground as much of you as possible.

"g'on, get that shit out."

you pushed at him, fist finding his arm easily yet with no budging. so, you hit again, intent to find him softening underneath your anger, again and again, and again.

he rolled his eyes, huffing in something almost akin to amusement, the pelting of your fists against his bicep barely more than little pecks left by a fluttering bird, "you done swingin'?"

he let you, still. you didn't scare him, not even close. how could you when he had seen worse? had been worse?

fushiguro toji who didn't get jealous per se. he didn't get into pissing contests with other men when you were approached, who lied about his height, who felt the need to prove that you were with him. at the end of it all, it wasn't about him feeling like he was less.

it was simple, really.

you were welcome to test his boundaries, you were. if you wanted to flirt around, feel like you still had options, make a point to him, then you could go right ahead. he had no interest in stopping you, didn't need to tug you close or make a scene to know that you felt the heaviness of his eyes following you.

he'd sit back in the chair, his legs spread, one arm slung over the backrest of the chair next to him as he watched you: the way you leaned a little too close, laughed a little too much, watched the way that guy inched a little closer to you.

and when you glanced back at him, his gaze already rested on you as you had known, though not with furrowed eyebrows as though he were mad, not bothered. just a heavy stare that spelt more promise than any threat, and if it had the guy's shirt get a bit damp, then all the better for it.

he leaned down to you when you found his side like a butterfly, his breath hot against your ear, "he touches you again, i'll break his fuckin' hand."

to him, it wasn't about feeling less, at all. people just tended to forget, and he was just there to remind them.

fushiguro toji who walked on the outside of the pavement. he stood behind you in a crowd, sat closest to the door in any establishment you were in: his back to the wall, one leg stretched out, the other braced like he was ready to get into action any moment.

he scanned every room like a slumbering weapon, muscle memory kicking in in the way he watched every person that walked in. you felt it in the silence when somebody got too close and he shifted his weight like he was calculating how fast he could drop them. sometimes, when he was bored, he also thought about how quick he could do it for the fun of it.

he never told you you were safe with him — he didn't have to. one day, you just realised that you had never once felt unsafe with him.

fushiguro toji who didn't hide his scars. who chose to let you see them, who chose to allow you to take a peek at his innermost workings, rusted and half-broken. he wasn't somebody who opened up usually; life had a habit of teaching him that no one stuck around when shit got heavy so why would he?

yet, sitting at the edge of the bed, his shirt off and the disfigured marks on full display, he didn't dodge your questions.

fushiguro toji who showed you what it meant to keep choosing you. because he carried more than anybody you had met before, because he wasn't heartless, because he learned to wear the cold like an armour, efficient and far-removed. because with that quiet violence simmering underneath his skin, it was leashed by pure will and determination only.

because living life like that, every day was a conscious decision to hold back. because there was a twisted kind of loyalty within him, raw; one that was forged from the same ruthless intensity that he used to destroy, except now it was directed to protect you.

beause fushiguro toji did not love halfway. ever.

[bunny-jpeg]

"ex" husband

simon "ghost" riley

cw: pwp/smut, ex husband!simon, possessive!simon, dark themes, mirror sex & other smut, major red flags, proceed with caution, bad husband!simon, manipulation

bunny says: once you fuck crazy, you never not fuck crazy

simon didn't believe in divorce. he made a vow to be with you till death, he wasn't going to skimp out on the years you could spend together. he wouldn't accept that you wanted to be without him.

he had you on the floor of your shared bedroom, you were holding onto him behind yourself while his hands were on your hips. he was rubbing his cock up against your slick entrance.

"have you had any other guys over? fuckin' them in my bed, in my home that i paid for?" he held it over your head as he watched your face contort with pleasure. he continued to rub his tip up against your slit.

"no, simon." you panted. your heart raced with every moment that passed. your body was hot all over. "i haven't had anyone else, not since you." your pussy clenched around nothing in anticipation for what was to come. you were almost certain that your cunt was formed to the size of his cock.

"good, good. i don't want some fuckin' prick comin' to my home and fuckin' my girl." his voice was low as he got a hand between your legs and touched your clit with his rough fingers.

you arched your back and moaned out loud. you could be as loud as you needed to be. he kept his wife in a home far enough from everything that you could whimper and whine to your heart's content. your eyes fluttered closed as you felt the thrill of pleasure through your body.

"nothin' can have ya. no stupid asshole who thinks he can have what is mine. you made a promise, love. to be loyal to your husband." he growled as he gripped your jaw with his other hand and made you look into the mirror, "i don't think someone who wants to leave her husband would be lettin' him fuck her in their bedroom."

"simon, please." you whimper.

"nah, nah, love.' he said, accent heavier due to the immense lust in his body, "i was a good man to you. lovin', carin', did everythin' for ya. and you turn around like an ungrateful brat and try to leave me." his voice was getting deadly. his hand still held your jaw and his other played with your clit. you were stuck to him, "fuckin' slag. surprised you haven't fucked your way through the neighborhood to find a new man. because you'd never find one like me. or you're scared. scared i'd find him, and make him go missin'."

you swallowed, fear struck through you, "simon. i didn't sleep with anyone."

he buried his nose into your hair and groaned as his cock still prodded your pussy lips, "i know, i know. you don't actually want to leave me. your girlfriends got these thoughts into your head that i don't think are true. better without me? love, i made you."

you panted heavily, it was hard to look into the mirror with his hot words into your mouth. maybe he was right, maybe you didn't want to leave him. he had given you everything throughout your entire marriage. why would you sacrifice it?

he pulled his hand away from your pussy and guided his cock into your pussy. the stretch had you gripping onto him. the angle was awkward but he had you contorted to fit his pleasure.

"my good wife." he purred, "i'll always love you. even when you're not usin' that head of yours right. but don't worry." he kissed your cheek, "i'll always take care of my girl."

you held onto him as he thrusted into your from behind. you felt the air leave your lungs whenever he pushed into you. it was an intense feeling on your behalf. you had never imagined that fucking your soon-to-be ex-husband would feel so good.

"like that, love?"

you nodded meekly, "it feels good."

"that's a good girl." he groaned, "made perfectly for me. you are such a good girl for me, love. why would you want to go anywhere? stay with me, keep your vow."

your thighs quivered from the intense feeling of pleasure. your breathing was heavy and your head felt full. your heart leapt every time his cock nudged against a sensitive spot.

"please, simon. i can't be your wife."

"you can. and you will." he took you by the face and tilted your head back so he could kiss you passionately.

you melted into the kiss, as did the last of your resolve. your core throbbed with a need for him. he melted away all your problems. the more he fucked you, the more you wanted to stay with him.

he was your husband after all.

the sex between you two was hot and messy. it made you core soaked as he continued to bully his cock into your sweet cunt with every hard thrust.

"say you love me."

"i love you." you replied, your eyes hooded.

"good girl." he groaned, "i want to hear that every day until you can no longer speak." he licked across your bottom lip, "my good girl."

you whined as your body shook with each thrust of his hips. your pussy clenched around his cock. you felt your mouth to be dry and you voice strained.

simon loved taking you apart, only to put you back together. he continued to fuck you with abandon. he gazed at you with his nose in your hair as he thrusted up into you.

your noises were so cute, you really just were so small compared to him. you needed him! what were you thinking leaving him? you needed your big strong military husband to make sure that you were safe. don't be silly now!

he kissed your neck as he felt the surge of pleasure in his gut. his heart hammered with each every thrust. you were made for him. as he kissed the tip of your ear, he felt the blush that spread across your skin.

"please, simon."

"i got ya, love." he said, "i got ya." with a few more thrusts that hit in just the right place. you saw stars as you climaxed around his cock. his was soon to follow as his cum hit the back of your womb.

where it belonged.

as you rested your face on the carpet of the bedroom in an effort to cool down, simon grabbed your hips and started to thrust into you once more. his cock still painfully hard.

"you've done enough damage, love. so just sit there and let your husband take care of you." his voice was low and deadly. your best option would to just let simon do what he wanted.

-

"so mrs. riley. you've decided against the divorce. any particular reason why?"

you relaxed a little bit in the sleek office chair across the desk from your lawyer. your hand was on your middle as you smiled, "well, we're having a son soon, and he needs his father in his life. so i reconsidered."

"the case against your husband is fairly strong. broken locks on the door, his overly possessive behaviour, the text messages and voice mails, all of it. you could be granted a divorce quite easily."

you shook your head, "no need. we've worked it out." you smiled at the lawyer. you knew your simon was waiting for you in the car. his words echoed in your mind as you assured your lawyer that her services weren't needed.

you and simon were properly a family now. you didn't need to tear it apart. after all, how else were you going to end up with many little rileys running around?

[fortunxa]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 THINKING ABOUT . . .

🫧⋆｡˚ Jinx x fem!reader ˎˊ˗

. . . having a homoerotic friendship with Jinx.

suggestive | mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

she just gets you, in a way that feels almost unfair—your moods, your silences, the exact way your face looks before you cry. she’s your best friend. your favorite person. no one else even comes close.

you’re too close, always. she climbs into your lap when she’s bored, you rest your head on her stomach when you’re tired. there’s giddy groping in the kitchen when you pass each other—her squeezing your ass with a cackle, you flicking her boob in retaliation. but it’s playful, harmless. she rests her chin on your shoulder when you cook and asks if you missed her when she was only gone a few hours. she calls you dollface when she wants something, baby if she wants everything.

there’s casual nudity—her walking around topless, underwear and bruised knees on full display. you follow her into the bath one night because the conversation is too good to stop. because being apart for even five minutes feels wrong. she’s already in, blue hair piled messily on top of her head, steam curling around her shoulders, bubbles up to her collarbone. you sit on the counter first—cross-legged, leaning forward, still talking. but then she looks up and says, “you comin’ in, or just gonna be weird about it?” she winks, you roll your eyes, and then you’re stripping.

it’s nothing scandalous, but it becomes routine—just skin against skin, knees brushing underwater, her calf resting over yours. she dunks her head under and comes back up laughing, water dripping from her lashes. sometimes she climbs in behind you, arms draped over your shoulders, chin hooked over your neck. she washes your back while humming, hands a bit too careful. you wash her hair, fingers gently massaging her scalp, and she closes her eyes like she might fall asleep right there. just girls being girls.

it’s normal to straddle one another when you do each other’s makeup. it’s practical, you say. efficient. your thighs pressed together, her thumb on your chin, her knee between yours. she teases you in public and curls into you in private. she knows what makes you spiral, and you know what calms her down. she tells you you’re pretty when you need to hear it. you tell her she’s safe, even when she doesn’t ask.

she bites when she feels too much. soft, shallow nips to your shoulder, your jaw, your collarbone. but she kisses you right after—sweet, soothing. and if someone asked, you’d laugh it off. “we’re just friends,” you’d say, knowing full well she’s asleep in your bed wearing your shirt, legs tangled with yours. knowing her lips were on your throat last night, just to “see if it would make you giggle.”

and you both get a little possessive, but it’s not like you’re jealous. you’re the one who hypes her up before her dates, tells her she looks hot when she’s already halfway out the door. you nudge her toward it like a good friend would. but deep down? god, you hope it sucks. you hope they’re boring. you hope she comes home early. because you’ll be there—conveniently—arms open, blanket ready, your voice soft and teasing: “should’ve just stayed in with me, huh?”

and it goes both ways. she helps you pick out an outfit, says “go get ’em” like she means it, but then spends the whole evening refreshing your location. when the night goes south, she’s already waiting, smug and warm and just a little too pleased. “see?” she says, tugging you into her lap like that’s normal. “told you they wouldn’t know what to do with you.” you mention someone cute and she freezes. she plays along, plays it cool—until you reach for your phone. she snatches it, tosses it aside, and climbs on top of you. “look at me when i’m talking, yeah?”

maybe it’s a little toxic, a little codependent, but neither of you care. because there’s comfort in being needed like that, in needing someone like that. in knowing that no one will ever know her like you do, and no one will ever know you like she does.

it’s not dating. it’s not sex. but it’s intimate, greedy, full of unsaid things. you’re not sure if you want her or want to be her or just want to be the only thing she reaches for when she’s spinning out.

and maybe you’re not in love. maybe you’re just hers, she’s yours, and that’s enough to ruin both of you.

can i ever shut my yap and write something that fits in a screenshot instead (no 🤍)

[oreo-creampies]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: quiet nerd!pleasure dom!choso, heavy praise/light degradation, dacryphilia, choso has a size kink, choso’s pov, oral (giving and receiving), knife play/no blood, light pain kink, pussy drunk/obsessed choso, squirting, fingering, light begging, light choking

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @vampress7; Hi baby girl I hope you’re doing well, I have an idea: nerdy, loner, and unassuming freak choso who absolutely wrecks reader after class during a study session ((I need this so badly))

‘He is wearing those sweat pants, I keep sneaking glances at his cock, I'm dying of thirst! He can feed me his cum! I don't really care much for giving blow jobs but something about Choso makes me wanna gobble his cock till he is a whiny mess.’

‘Damn ily but you’re down too bad for a man you haven't even touched.’

‘I cant help it! Have you seen Choso?! I want to hear how he sounds when he cums.’

‘Aren’t yall supposed to study for friday’s exam you can’t fail this one!’

Writen in your text bar; ‘its hard to focus on what he’s saying. Choso’s thick arms in his black muscle t-shirt’

Choso’s cheeks are burning, his ego swelling, nerves churning, and disbelief whispering. He slides his fingers through his hair. There is no denying you want him.

He glances down at his cock it’s perfectly outlined by his thin sweats. Blood rushes into his cock making him warmer, longer, and thicker with each soft pulse.

Choso decides if you want his cock, you can have it any way you’re willing to take it.

You come back holding the fuzzy stripped criminal. “He broke my lamp, got it cleaned up but he’s grounded. No night time treats.” You bend over for Jasper to jump to the floor, running away from you with his fluffy, sassy tail in the air.

Your shorts rising up your soft ass. “I’d hit ya from the back if I didn't want to see the face you make when you take my fat cock first the first time.” Your beautiful eyes widen when you notice your phone in his hands.

Grabbing his hard cock, stroking himself through his sweats. You glance down. “I’m torn between wanting to fuck that bratty mouth outta ya and eating you out till you’re trembling.” Your mouth looks so sweet and fuckable. You’d look so beautiful sucking his cock with tears running down your face.

“For me to be a good teacher I need to help you focus. If I help you cum will you pay attention more. We can snuggle while we study.” Holding your phone out for you to grab. Quickly discarding it on the coffee table.

His heart beating faster when you get on your knees in front of him. “If you were paying attention to the text then you’d know,” tugging his sweatpants down, “I won't be able to pay attention until I hear what sounds come out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

Moaning when you grab his cock, your hand soft, in your hand his cock has never looked so big before. “You can hear me moaning in your soft cunt. I don't think you understand nnn!” Loudly moaning when you take his cock into your hot wet mouth.

Bobbing your head, taking him deeper with slow strokes soothing the uncomfortable tighteness building in his of his cock. “Honeybun I jerked off to the thought of eating you out before comin’.” Cupping your cheek, jerking hips fucking your soft wet mouth.

“Been slutting you out in my head since ya walked into class.” Choso leans his head back, sliding his fingers through his soft dark hair. “We can do both, Im dying to taste ya sloppy cunt. I'll gag you with my fat cock nnnn oh fuck that’s iiittt! Grabbing a handful of your hair, fucking your soft mouth till spit is dripping down your chin.

Choso is getting off on your beautiful eyes sparkling with tears that trickle down your cheeks. “Are ya gonna be my whore help me take care of my fat cock?” Pulling you off his cock with a soft pop. His too heavy to stand up, hitting his cock.

Grabbing his cock, smacking his tip on your lips. “Wish it stood up, but what can ya do?” He knees wobble when you cup his balls. Lovingly kissing along his cock, easing the ache and tension, with sweet soft pleasure.

Your hand feels so good, his cock softly tingling. Smiling up at him. He can feel his heartbeat in the quickly pulse of his cock. “You’re so perfectly thick and heavy that you hang, nothing wrong with that handsome, it’s perfect.” Licking up his cock, swirling your tongue around his fat head. He groans when watches himself slip inside.

Letting go of your hair, slipping his hands beneath your shoulders. Picking you up, you wrap your soft thighs around his waist. He feels strong holding you close, keeping you safe. “Gonna take good care of you, and your sloppy cunt.”

Squeezing your ass, carrying you with one hand. You grab a handful of his hair, and a tingle shoots down his spine when he feels your nails. “Bedroom is the last room on the right.” Taking you down the hall. “Please all I want is you. Wanna be your whore, ruin anyone else for me with your fat cock.” Trailing loving kissing along his jaw, his cheeks burning.

Opening and shutting the door behind himself. “Ill show you how badly I've been needing ya.” Gently setting you down, closing your curtains. Taking his shirt off, dropping it on the floor.

You’re making quick work of taking your shirt and shorts off. Admiring your beautiful body Choso forgets everything he’s doing. You give him one thought when you spread your legs showing him your soft wet cunt.

He needs to make you cum.

Kneeling, grabbing your soft thighs putting them over his shoulder. “So so so beautiful.” Kissing your soft clit, gently sucking, steadily stroking you with his tongue. Making sure his barbell rubs your clit with his swipe.

Nudging a thick finger into your tight cunt. You’re perfectly soft and wet, clenching his finger. Slowly pumping his finger, he’s going to find your g-spot. Clenching his head with your soft thighs. Grabbing his hair tugging, he groans from the sweet pain.

Focusing on your sweet spot. Taking pride in how easily you tremble because of his tongue and finger.

“They say the quiet ones are freaky, what about you? What do you think about when you're touching yourself?” Choso doesn't want to take his face out from between your legs. He’s found heaven, but he can't ignore your question.

Rising up, causing you to fall on your back, your legs over his broad shoulders. His cock hangs, his tip lightly grazing your soft, wet cunt. “Wanna take you to mine, get you high, give you a safe word,” trapping your head in between his hands, “tie you up, drag a knife across your skin, see you squirm, help you cum, hear you cry and beg to be my sweet little whore.”

His cock aches from having you folded up beneath him. “I wouldn’t mind trying some freak shit, get a knife from the kitchen.” Kissing your forehead, cheeks, and soft cunt. Carefully slipping your legs off his shoulders.

Choso is quick to grab a large knife from your kitchen.

Leaning over you, “Safe word is red.” Lining his cock with your soft cunt, rolling his hip. Dragging the knife up your side, gently kissing your soft lips. Groaning, grinding his thick cock on your sloppy cunt.

Squeezing your neck, pinning your hips with his, keeping you from squirming too much. Slipping his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss. You’re so needy, and desperate, digging your nails into his back.

Loosening his grasp on your neck. “Ya good sweetheart?” Dragging the knife over your soft nipple, pulling his cock away. You’re so sexy, stuffing two thick fingers in your sweet cunt. “You’re getting so sloppy for me.” Curling his fingers, remember where your sweet spot is.

Smirking with pride when you moan, “Chooo please please please!” Gliding the knife down your stomach. Marveling at how you squirm, your cunt getting so tight around his thick fingers.

Your cunt’s lips and puffy clit wet, soft and beautiful. “I’m obsessed with how sexy you are begging’ for me, clenching my fingers.” Pressing the side of the knife to your clit, lightly rubbing your clit.

“I’ve been waiting long enough please please fuck me. Need to feel your fat cock in my cunt!” Choso’s cheeks burn with how you’re looking at him. He wants to remember the look of adoration, lust and pleasure on your beautiful face forever.

Lifting the knife off your clit, kissing her. “I didn’t prep ya enough yet sweetheart.” Dragging the knife along your thigh, adding more pressure than before testing what limits you have.

Stroking your clit with his thumb. “Nnnn oh fuck.” Pumping his fingers faster. “Nn- the pain- pleasure-I didn’t think!” You trail off moaning louder, biting your bottom lip, closing your eyes.

Holding the knifes to your neck, “Look at me or I’m stopping, look at whose making your tight little cunt feel so good.” Smiling when you look at him. “That’s it beautiful, lemme see the sweet look into your eyes when you cum. Whose slut are you?”

Rubbing your soft clit faster. “Your’s! All yours my tits, mouth, ass and cunt are all yours.” Dragging the knife down your neck, between your collarbones and swirling around your nipple.

“What are you? Need to hear you say it beautiful.” Messaging your sweet spot at a steady pace. You’re quivering, your cunt squelching, making his cock ache with how hard he is. His pulse quickens, making his head throb.

Swiping your nipple with the knife. “I’m your sexy good lil’ slutttt!!! Nnnn!” You’re squirting on his fingers, fingering your soft, squelching tight cunt. Playing with your puffy clit.

Jerking your hips away, he drags the knife down above your belly. Forcing you to have to keep still, your thick cum trickling from your spasming cunt. “There are so many nasty things I wanna do to you. I’m gonna ruin you, make your cunt crave my cock.” Gliding his fingers out.

Sucking your thick cum off his fingers, groaning from the flavor. Dragging the knife to your sloppy, sensitive cunt, sliding the knife around your sweet cunt. Groaning when your soft cunt clenches around nothing. “Beg for my cock.”

Oreo’s m.list

[cinnamonlouu]

Flour & fire

Smoke x black!reader x stack

The smell of cinnamon and powdered sugar filled the warm morning air as Lily worked quietly behind the counter of her small bakery. Her apron was dusted with flour, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and faint flour on her cheek. The town was still sleeping, and she liked it best that way—quiet, simple and peaceful .

She was pulling a tray of cinnamon buns from the oven when the front bell jingled.

Her heart stuttered.

She didn’t have to look. That door only opened like that for one set of footsteps—and then another, heavier and slower.

“Mornin’, Miss Lily,”

Stack.

The second pair of step followed a beat later.

“Morning,” Smoke said.

Her hands moved slower now, setting the tray down carefully. She took a steadying breath and wiped her palms on her apron before turning to face them.

Elias and Elijah the Moore twins stood in the doorway, Twins, but not quite the same. Stack’s eyes danced with mischief while Smoke’s were still and unreadable.

“Y’all are out early,” she said softly, not quite meeting their eyes.

She was always shy around them, child hood friends or not.

Stack grinned, easy as a Sunday morning. “Could say the same for you. Heard you was up bakin’. Figured we’d stop in before the place got busy.”

She smoothed her apron down, heart pattering too loud in her chest. “Ain’t nobody here but you two.”

“Good,” Stack said, stepping further inside. “Means we get you all to ourselves.”

Lily’s cheeks flushed. She turned away under the pretense of reaching for a cooling rack. “You here for breakfast?”

Smoke moved to lean against the wall, arms folded. His hat sat low on his brow, but she could still feel the weight of his gaze. Always watching. Always quiet.

“We was wonderin’ about that delivery man, smoke caught em looking too long at you” Stack said, sauntering to the counter. “And I ain’t talkin’ about in a nice way.”

She startled and looked down at her hands. “Elias don’t do nothin crazy.”

He smiled wide. “I’m just saying, we don’t like it.”

Lily busied herself with plating two rolls, anything to avoid the way Stack was looking at her like she was made of something warm and soft he wanted to sink into.

“Thank you,” Smoke said quietly when she slid the plate across. His fingers brushed hers when he took it. Just the barest touch, but it made her breath catch.

“you’re welcome,” she murmured.

Stack sat on the counter stool and watched her like he was remembering every minute they’d grown up together. “You always been so shy like this Even when we were kids.”

“I just—” she fiddled with the ribbon at her waist, eyes on the floor, “don’t know how to deal with you when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Stack asked, already knowing.

“Like you’re flirtin’ with me on purpose.”

“Oh, baby girl,” he said low, almost a purr. “Ain’t nothin’ accidental about how I talk to you.”

She turned away fast, face hot. “I got deliveries comin’. Don’t start somethin’ you don’t mean.”

“We ain’t never said nothin’ we didn’t mean when it come to you,” smoke said, voice dipping.

Lily swallowed hard.

“You scared?”

Her head whipped around. “What?”

“You always been the careful one,” he said, looking at her in that way he did like he could see what she was hiding. “Ain’t never let yourself want nothin.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She just stood there, her heart thumping like it was trying to run off without her.

Stack rose from his stool, walking slowly toward the counter, eyes never leaving hers. “You ever think about it, Lil? About us?”

“I—” Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. “I don’t think about things I got no business wantin’.”

He was in front of her now, so close she could smell the smoke on his shirt, the sun-warmed scent of his skin. Her back hit the counter and she couldn’t go any further.

“You got plenty business wantin’ whatever you feel,” he murmured, fingers brushing her wrist so lightly it sent goosebumps racing up her arm.

“Elias,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Please…”

“Say stop,” he said, “and I will.”

She looked up at him—his gaze softer now, though the heat hadn’t left. Behind him, Smoke was closer too. Quiet. Steady.

But Lily didn’t say stop.

She didn’t say go, either.

Stack reached up, tucking a curl behind her ear. “You’re shakin’.”

“I-I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “With y’all.”

“You ain’t gotta do nothin’,” Stack said gently. “Leave tgat to us.”

Then his lips brushed hers, Not deep. Not demanding. Just enough to make her gasp against his mouth, her hands clutching her apron.

He pulled back just slightly, eyes searching hers.

she stammered, breath shallow, “—I never done this before.”

“We know,” Smoke said, stepping forward now. His hand found hers, fingers curling around it not letting go. “That’s why we gentle with you.”

She looked up at him—at the man who used to smack his teeth at adults who reprimanded him and fight boys for pulling her pigtails. Now he was a whole storm bottled up behind those eyes, yet his touch was warm, grounding.

Then Smoke leaned in, slower than Stack had, his lips pressing to her forehead first. A pause. A promise. Then he kissed her, firm and sure, but with the same care.

Lily made a soft sound in her throat, overwhelmed.

When it ended, she stood between them, heart pounding, unsure what she’d just allowed but unable to deny how her body had leaned into it—how she hadn’t wanted it to stop.

Stack brushed her cheek with his thumb. “You alright?”

She nodded quickly, still not speaking.

Then the bell over the door rang again.

Lily jolted, stepping away from both men like she’d been caught. Miss Clara walked in, purse in hand and eyes already squinting at the scene.

Lily rushed behind the counter. “M-mornin’, Miss Clara! I’ve got your cornbread muffins waitin’!”

The older woman glanced at the twins, then at Lily, who couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Mornin’,” Clara said slowly, as Stack tipped his hat.

Smoke stepped back, already moving toward the door.

“We’ll be seein’ you later,” Stack said, voice low just for her.

Lily looked up, cheeks still flushed, eyes wide.

“I… I’ll think on it.”

Stack smiled wide. Smoke just nodded once.

And then they were gone.

The door swung shut behind them, and Lily exhaled, hands braced on the counter.

Her lips still tingled. Her heart was still running.

And in the quiet left behind, she finally smiled—small, shy, and full of something new.

Something dangerous.

Something sweet.

[bxunyx]

Stack and crybaby reader who just wants to be coddled by her man and left alone

𝐀 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Pairing-Elias*Stack*Moore x BlackReader

A/N- Idk which version you wanted so I did both modern and when sinners take place but it doesn’t follow the storyline hope you like it

You were soft. That was the first thing folks noticed about you. Soft voice, soft hands, soft little heart that bruised easy.

And Stack Moore? He wasn’t soft. Not by a long shot.

Six-foot-something and mean-looking even when he smiled, all gold teeth and sharp eyes. Folks whispered about him in juke joints and on porches, called him and his brother trouble dressed in good shoes and tailored vests. A bootlegger, a gambler, a killer, depending on who you asked.

But none of that mattered when it was just you and him.

Not when you were curled up on his bed, in one of his shirts with the sleeves rolled three times past your wrists, tear tracks fresh on your cheeks. The night was hot, even with the windows cracked. The fan clinked every now and then, useless and slow. Outside, somewhere down the road, a blues record spilled out from someone’s front porch, crackling like fire.

And you? You just wanted to be left alone—except not really. You wanted Stack.

He’d walked in not even ten minutes ago, smellin’ like smoke and gin. He had a cigarette behind his ear and a slick little grin that vanished the moment he saw your face.

“Aww, baby… What’s all this now?”

You sniffed, lip trembling. “Nothin’.”

“That don’t look like nothin’. You cryin’ again?”

“I said I’m fine, Stack.”

“Mmhmm. You fine, but you in my bed lookin’ like the world ended.”

He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. His fingers found your ankle, rubbed slow over the bone.

“I ain’t mean to get on you earlier,” he said, voice low and rough. “I know I said I’d be back before supper.”

“It ain’t that,” you mumbled, staring at your hands. “You just… you always go and don’t tell me nothin’. And then I sit here waitin’ all night, wonderin’ if somethin’ happened. Wonderin’ if I’m gon’ get that knock on the door sayin’ you ain’t comin’ back.”

Your voice cracked, and Stack’s jaw tensed.

You hated that you cried so easy. Like a faucet that didn’t know how to shut off. But you were raised gentle. Raised to worry, raised to love hard.

And Stack, well… Stack wasn’t raised much at all.

He sighed, leaned down and kissed your bare knee. “You know I ain’t got no plans on leavin’ you like that.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll try.” He tugged you closer by your legs, gentle but firm. “C’mere. Let me hold you.”

“I don’t wanna talk right now.”

“Didn’t say nothin’ about talkin’. I said hold you.”

So you let him pull you into his lap, arms wrapped tight around your waist like you were somethin’ precious. Like you were breakable, and he was finally learnin’ how to handle you right.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and sure. “You always do this,” he said, voice half amused, half fond. “Start cryin’ and then tell me to go away like you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t,” you mumbled into his shirt.

Stack laughed, deep and sweet. “Lyin’-ass girl. You want me here so bad you damn near cried me home.”

You smacked his chest with your palm—soft, not real—but he caught your wrist and kissed your fingers.

“Ain’t no shame in wantin’ to be loved on,” he murmured, rubbing circles on your back. “Not with me. You wanna cry, cry. You wanna be babied, I’ll baby you. I don’t care who sees. You mine.”

You sniffled again, trying to bury your face in his neck. “You ain’t mad I’m always like this?”

“Nah. I like my girl sweet. Soft. The world too hard for both of us to be like me.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. “But I swear to God, next time you get to cryin’, don’t sit up here by yourself. You call for me, you hear?”

You nodded. And this time when the tears came, they didn’t burn as much.

They fell easy.

And so did you—right into the arms of the only man who ever made you feel like bein’ soft wasn’t a weakness.

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

You weren’t even mad for real. Not mad-mad. Just in your little feelings.

It had started over something dumb—like it always did. You couldn’t even remember what you were pouting about now. All you knew was that Stack hadn’t kissed you goodbye before stepping out earlier, and now everything felt wrong.

So you curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands, and your pout growing bigger by the minute. You scrolled aimlessly on your phone, sniffled once or twice just loud enough to make sure he’d hear it if he was near—and you left your do-not-disturb on anyway.

When the front door opened and Stack walked in, the scent of weed and that clean soap he liked hit the air. His keys dropped in the bowl, his slides shuffled across the floor, and then it got quiet. Too quiet.

“…You good?”

You didn’t answer. Just let out a long, very dramatic sigh as you turned your back to him and tucked yourself deeper under the blanket.

Stack exhaled through his nose. “Here we go,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just the usual amused kind of tired that came out when you were being extra.

He came around to your side of the couch, leaned over, and tapped your thigh. “Why you actin’ like I don’t always come back home to you?”

You stayed silent.

He crouched down so you were eye level. “You mad at me?”

“…No.”

“You cryin’?”

“…No.”

Stack sucked his teeth and ran a hand down his face. “Girl. What happened now?”

You sniffed again and shrugged, voice all quiet and pitiful. “You ain’t kiss me goodbye.”

His lips parted like he was about to say something smart, but then he caught your face—your real face, not the bratty one you used when you wanted to argue. Your eyes were shiny and your nose a little pink. You looked fragile. Real soft. All he could do was shake his head.

“Come here, crybaby.”

“No.”

“I said come here.”

You let him pull the blanket down just enough for him to scoop you up like a little kid. He sat back on the couch with you in his lap, arms wrapping around your waist like muscle memory. His hands were warm, rings cold against your skin, and that was all it took to make the tears start for real—for no reason at all.

“I hate you,” you mumbled into his neck, sniffling again.

Stack chuckled, rubbing your back. “I know, baby. I hate me too.”

You hit his chest softly, all useless and pouty. He kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw. “You want me to coddle you, huh?”

You nodded.

“You want me to baby you.”

Another nod.

“Even when you bein’ dramatic.”

You gave a teary little “mhm.”

“Alright then.” He pulled the blanket around both of you, tucked your head under his chin. “Go ‘head. Cry it out. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You clung to him like a teddy bear, hiccuping once or twice as your mood started to melt just being close to him. He didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t ask you to explain. Just let you sit there on his chest while he rubbed your back, soft and slow, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You done?” he asked after a while.

“No.”

“Aight,” he said, grinning to himself. “Take your time, princess.”

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫- @cursed-carmine

[torncwpid]

Tea is a Love Language (apparently)

Summary: Reader being absolutely oblivious to Ghost's feelings (and Soap facepalming)

Cw: gn!sergeant!reader, just a little drabble that I might expand on someday

Word count: 774

You were a sergeant at TF141, and you were very close with the other soldiers - getting along just fine and always playing around with them.

Except for Ghost.

And that was fine, you told yourself. He was closed off with pretty much everyone, and you were new there anyway. It was only expected. He would come around eventually. It’s not like your situation was hostile, after all. There was mutual respect and a somewhat amenable relationship between you. Just because he wasn’t friendly didn’t mean he hated you.

But oh, you were so very wrong.

There you were, making tea for yourself in the common kitchen while trying to keep up with the conversation Soap and Gaz were having nearby. They were mostly bickering about their football teams, but the conversation was entertaining nonetheless. You saw someone approaching in your peripheral vision, and judging by the silence and size of the figure, you easily knew who it was.

"Lt.”

A nod and a grunt is all you get in response.

“D’you want me to make you tea? I mean, it’s almost 16 already. You usually have an Earl Grey. I can prepare it for you since I’m already here.”

Another grunt that sounds like a “yeah.” Seems like you’re getting somewhere.

Turning around to grab a cup and start boiling the water, you’re met with a knowing, smug look plastered on Soap’s face.

“What?”

“He’s lettin’ ye make his tea now?” The confused look on your face must’ve been evident, because he keeps talking. “Means he trusts you, that — Ghost doesn’t let anyone near his bloody kettle.”

You shrug. “It’s jus’ tea. Maybe he doesn’t let you near it ’cause of your kitchen skills.”

Soap lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand flying to his chest like you’d offended his entire family. “Tha’s rich, comin’ from the one who nearly set toast on fire last week.”

“That toaster’s ancient. If anything, I’m the victim here.” You roll your eyes and go back to prepping the tea, unbothered.

Gaz snorts behind you, and you hear the unmistakable clink of him putting his mug down. “You’ve got no idea, do you?”

You look at him now. “About what?”

Soap looks like he’s just been handed the juiciest bit of gossip and adds, without missing a beat, “About Ghost.” He’s got the mischievous smile of a kid who’s about to tell his parents’ biggest secret.

Your eyes roll before settling back down as you dunk the teabag with the slow precision of someone pointedly ignoring whatever drama is brewing.

“He doesn’t let anyone make his tea,” Gaz chimes in, voice pitched like he’s trying to help, but there’s mischief in his words. “He’s a control freak about it. Swear. Exact temp, steep time, no sugar, splash of milk. The one time I tried? He took the mug, dumped it, and made his own.”

“…Maybe he was jus’ feelin’ extra mean that day,” you say finally, turning back to stir the tea.

Soap groans, full-body, like your denial is physically painful to him. “Christ, ye really don’ see it?”

You shrug and walk off with the cup of Earl Grey in your hands, prepared just the way he likes it, which wasn’t difficult to figure out after months of watching him make it the exact same way every day. Walking into the common area, you spot the lieutenant and shove the mug into his hands with a quiet, “Careful. It’s hot.” And he takes it without a word, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.

Warm, deliberate.

And still, it flies right over your head.

You linger for a moment. Not enough to be weird, just… long enough to see if he approves of the way you prepared his tea. Taking his low hum, quickly followed by a second sip, as a good enough sign, you head back to the kitchen.

You blink. “See? Nothin’ weird.”

Soap throws his hands up with a groan while Gaz shakes his head.

“Unbelievable.”

[fleurbly]

Remmick who loves to taunt hunter reader. Reader genuinely wants to trap and kill him and Remmick sees it as game but also gets feelings for reader

turned this into a concept because i couldn’t wait to turn this into a one shot! but holy moly 🫠

pairing: remmick x hunter!reader

The air was thick with pine and blood.

You pressed your back against the tree, hand clenched around your dagger. The silence in these woods wasn’t natural. No crickets, no wind—just the whisper of something watching.

“I know you’re out here, sugar.”

The voice slid between the trees like smoke. Low, lazy. And close.

You swallowed hard, breath catching as you stepped forward—quiet, careful. He was toying with you. Again.

“You know, it bruises my heart when you don’t say hi.”

He emerged from the shadows like a ripple in water—tall, pale, those maddening eyes catching the moonlight. That same slow grin curling his lips, like he’d already won.

“Remmick.” You hissed his name like a curse, raising the blade.

He whistled low. “Well now, ain’t that just music to my ears.”

“Stay back.”

“Darlin’, if I’d wanted to hurt you…” He stepped in closer, voice low and syrup-slow. “I woulda done it back in Vicksburg. Or Greenville. Or that graveyard in Clarksdale when you were cryin’ over your brother.”

Your jaw clenched.

He kept circling, slow like a predator, boots crunching over twigs. “But I didn’t. Know why?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“Because I like you,” he said softly. “I like the way you fight. Like the way your hands shake when you hold that knife. Like how you say you hate me—but you’re always lookin’. Always chasin’.”

Your grip tightened on the dagger. “I chase because you kill.”

“I kill,” he murmured, stepping close enough you could smell blood on his breath, “because it’s what I am. But I save my favorite tricks for you.”

You lunged. Blade up. He didn’t move.

Too fast.

Too confident.

You missed him by inches, momentum carrying you forward as he caught you—not the blade—but your waist, spinning you, slamming your back into the tree with a force that knocked the wind from your lungs.

His hand closed over yours, prying the knife free with practiced ease. “There we go,” he murmured, voice a velvet drawl against your ear. “Now we can talk.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spat.

He leaned in, nose brushing your neck. “And yet… here you are again.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You keep sayin’ that.” His lips ghosted along your jaw. “And I keep comin’ back.”

You struggled in his grip, but his hand slid to your throat—gentle, but firm. Not choking. Holding. His thumb brushed your pulse.

“That heartbeat of yours,” he whispered. “Louder every time I’m near. Is it hate, or somethin’ sweeter?”

“I hate you.”

His eyes flared. “Good. Hate’s a kind of love, too. You burn just as hot.”

He drew back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. “But one day, sweetheart, you’re gonna stop fightin’ me. One day you’ll understand. I don’t chase what I don’t want. And I’ve been chasin’ you a long time.”

You glared at him, lips curled in defiance. “You’ll die first.”

Remmick grinned. “We’ll see who begs first.”

And with that, he let you go—slowly, reluctantly. Like he didn’t want to.

The woods stayed silent as he backed away, slow and smug, his voice trailing after him like smoke curling through the dark. “Blue’s a good color on you,” he said, tilting his head just so. “That dress—the one you wore to church the other day…”

You froze.

He chuckled low, deep in his chest. “Didn’t think I was watchin’, huh?”

Your fingers twitched toward the knife at your hip, too late. He was already slipping into the shadows between the trees, that grin still tugging at his mouth.

“I ain’t missed a single Sunday, watchin’ from the windows, since you started showin’ up to help clean at night, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone. But the weight of his gaze clung to your skin like damp air—heavy, knowing, inescapable.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Yan dragon monster x human male reader thoughts~! ૮꒰ ྀི๑>؂•̀๑꒱ა

Taglist : @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs @dearestlitteleaf @nightshadelover12 @galiadeeznuts @piercing-gaze <33

A/N: just more monster thoughts F’ M’ deranged mind ૮₍˃̵֊ ˂̵ ₎ა

Jus thinkin bout bein on a hiking trip, alone in tha woods, goin up tha steep ol mountains with caves big enough T’ swallow ya whole. Takin cover in one of those caves. Unknown T’ you of tha monster lurkin in those caves- I mean tha towns people have their old legends of A’ dragon but that simply can’t be real!..right?.. tha next thing ya know yer tha captive of a’ Big creature with chipped horns N’ a scaly tail, wings on its back too- what a’ scary thing.

Jus thinkin bout tha dragon tryin T’ court ya at first, bringin back animals N’ other stuff for ya T’ eat- curlin ya up into its warm scaly wings like A’ blanket at night. Puffin its chest like a preenin peacock tryin T’ show ya how good he can be- how strong he is N’ how he can provide F’ ya an tha future dragon pups you two make. When ya accidentally come across as acceptin his courtship- then tha proper matin rituals begin.

Jus thinkin bout bein unable T’ leave- utterly trapped by tha dragon- they hoard gold N’ other prized possessions but in this case you were now its possession! He would use his large claws T’ grab your arm everytime ya tried T’ escape him- how mean of ya! He needed A mate for tha long harsh winters and you were tha only one T’ come into his territory, ya had curves and a pretty body- ya had T’ have a womb for him T’ use too..

Jus thinkin bout tha dragon not bein able T tell tha difference- takin ya as a woman instead of a man- tryin T’ breed you- tryin his best T’ push hot wha into your non existent womb only T’ whine when the eggs won’t take T’ your walls..he’ll keep tryin until you do your job for him- until ya give him all tha dragon pups he needs. Your neck is already soo covered In sharp bite marks from his attempts T’ bite at a scent gland that isn’t there- what a weird creature he thinks you are..

Jus thinkin bout bein cuddled after ya just got wrecked by tha dragon- yer insides still hot as lava from all tha seed pumped in ya- tha dragon makes ya sleep with both of his monstrous cocks still inside your wrecked hole, blamin all tha cum that leaked out of ya as tha reason you ain’t knocked up yet. Goin from fuckin ya once a day to twice- maybe more if he’s desperate..he has all winter T’ breed ya an he doesn’t plan T’ waste tha time either.

Jus thinkin bout layin with tha scale covered cock inside her walls- it hurts- S’ all painful T’ yer gummy walls a you’re on fire. A bulge in your tummy from tha outline of both cocks with s’mush cum all over yer thighs crusted from tha past fuckin’s ya have taken- makin ya feel all glazed in tha beasts cum makin him feel all territorial over you.

Jus thinkin bout winter comin to an end and he’s still keeping ya- you didn’t swell with tha dragon eggs like ya were supposed to but he’s attached now- you’re his F’ good. He’ll take care of ya T’ tha best of his abilities- an he ain’t lettin ya go no matter what, steam comes out of its mouth an his cat like eyes glow, pissed off if ya attempt to escape- he’ll always catch ya- no matter how fast ya run cause he has wings.

[twistedsistas-stuff]

Candy Licker🍭

Sammie “Munch” Moore

Warnings; He’s Jodi baby 😏(in summary)

You ain’t never had a man go down on you before—not ‘cause you ain’t had a chance, Lord knows you had plenty—but ‘cause you ain’t never had a man. Not a Moore man, at least. You told Sammie that one night, sittin’ on the edge of that old bed in the shotgun house you two shared. The kind that still smelled like cedar and the sweet, smokey scent of tobacco, with that little draft comin’ through the window every time it rained.

You told him, and he just looked at you for a minute, real slow, like he was piecin’ it together in his head. His eyes were steady, dark like deep water. And then, that smile—ain’t no way you could call it nothin’ but dangerous—slid across his face.

"Never had a man go down on you, huh?" he said, voice all low, like he was thinkin’ on it real serious. "Guess I’ll just have to show you how it’s done, then."

And Lord, did he.

He eased you back on them sheets, movin’ between your legs like he was walkin’ into church—slow, reverent, like he was approachin’ somethin’ sacred. His mouth? It was somethin’ else. Soft at first, lips pressin’ against your skin like he was makin’ sure every inch of you was worthy. That mouth of his? Multi-talented in ways that made you forget your own name.

He started with that spot—oh Lord, that spot. He licked and kissed, every part of it, slow and deep, until all you could do was close your eyes and hold on. And once he figured you out, once he knew what made you gasp and moan, he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. Became obsessed, like his whole damn world revolved around learnin’ new ways to unravel you, just like he did when he played that old guitar of his. He played you, and he played you so damn well.

And you? You were helpless.

"Sammie, please… just a second, baby, please," you begged, hands on his head, tryin’ to pull him back for just a second, but he didn’t stop. Not even a little. His hands slid up to your hips, grippin’ tight to hold you in place, and he dived in deeper. Couldn’t even tell if he was breathin’ anymore, and at that point, you didn’t care. He kept at it, makin’ you feel things you ain’t never thought your body could feel, and all you could do was moan his name.

It had been hours. Most women would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You needed him. And then came that combo—his mouth and those fingers, movin’ like he was playin’ a song he knew by heart. He looked up at you, eyes locked on yours, mouth open, chest heaving, and you could barely catch your breath. Then, he slid two fingers in, slow but deep. You gasped, your body shudderin’, and Sammie just watched, smilin’ like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

And then he crook’d them fingers, hit that spot again, and you lost it. You were a mess.

“Yeahhhh, that’s it,” he growled, his voice rough like gravel, then ducked his head, suckin’ on your clit like he was tryin’ to drink you down.

Your legs buckled up on either side of his head, your hips jerked forward, and Sammie took it all in, keepin’ you just where he wanted you. He was shakin’ his head side to side, movin’ his fingers deeper, glidin’ against that spot that made you wanna scream. And you did scream—loud, so loud, like the whole world needed to hear you. But Sammie? He didn’t care. He wanted you loud. Wanted you broken. Wanted your pleasure to fill the room.

He could’ve kept you like that forever, if you’d let him.

Later that mornin’, you were in the kitchen, wearin’ nothin’ but one of Sammie’s old button-ups—soft and faded, like it’d seen better days but still smelled like him. You were makin’ breakfast, hummin’ a little tune to yourself, eggs crackin’ in the skillet, bacon sizzlin’.

You didn’t hear him at first, but you sure as hell felt him.

His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and his head tucked right under your chin, his breath hot against your skin.

“Good mornin’,” he rumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

You turned your head, met his gaze, and that low, hungry look in his eyes was enough to make your heart skip. You looked at his lips, then back at his eyes, feelin’ a little caught.

But you stifled a laugh and turned back to the stove, seasonin’ the eggs with a little salt.

“S’pose you’re up early,” you said, just tryin’ to keep it cool, but Sammie? He wasn’t lettin’ you.

He corrected you before you could blink.

“You ain’t sayin’ good mornin’ to me like that, baby girl,” he said, his voice dropin’ deep like honey spillin’ slow. He squeezed your waist, hand goin’ up your throat, tiltin’ your head back like you was his favorite song. “You gonna say it right?”

You swallowed hard, caught in that stare of his, and nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Good mornin’, Sammie,” you whispered, voice catchin’ a little.

That was all he needed. He pulled you closer, kissed you hard—deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world. His tongue slipped into your mouth, slidin’ past your lips, demandin’ and patient, like he was takin’ what he wanted and what he was gonna have.

His hand slid up your thigh, tuggin’ at the hem of his shirt that draped over your body. You leaned into him, ready to let it all go.

Then, the smell of burnt bacon hit the air.

You snapped your head around, eyes flyin’ open.

“Sammie Moore!” you yelled, shovin’ at his chest. “Bacon is not cheap!”

You whipped around to turn off the stove, but by the time you caught your breath, Sammie was doubled over laughin’, his chest shakin’ with a grin so wide it lit up his whole face.

“Oh, it’s funny, is it?” you said, arms crossed over your chest. Your tone was playful but sharp, and Sammie knew it was time to straighten up. He stood tall, licked his lips slow like he was fixin’ to bite.

“No ma’am,” he said, voice low, his eyes wild with mischief. He walked over to you like a predator and pressed his hand down onto your hips, then slid it down to your ass, squeezin’ it firm.

“Let me make it up to you?” he asked, low and dangerous, the words almost like a challenge.

You didn’t say nothin’—just looked up at him, mouth dry, body already ready.

He smiled, just a little bit, and then he lifted you like you was weightless, set you up on the counter like you was the only thing worth anything in this whole damn world.

And before you knew it, Sammie was down on one knee in front of you, like he was about to propose to your pussy. Serious as hell.

He slid his hand up your leg, lookin’ up at you with that same greedy gaze that made your whole body ache.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, voice thick with lust.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Your mouth,” you said, your voice low and desperate.

Sammie grinned like you’d just handed him the keys to paradise.

And then he dived in.

He kissed and licked you, slow at first but gettin’ hungrier the longer he went. You were beggin’ him not to stop, hips rockin’ toward him, and Sammie just ate it all up, fingers workin’ in and out of you like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

He didn’t stop, not until you were ridin’ his face, legs locked around his shoulders, and you were callin’ his name in that broken, desperate way that only he could make you.

And Sammie? He just kept goin’. Full of your taste, full of your body, his beard slick and his chest wet from the work of it all.

In front of the forgotten eggs and burnt bacon? Hell, you were the only breakfast Sammie Moore needed.

—————

Heyyy yall! A little short something to hold yall over while I work on bigger plots 😏💕

Kisses to all of you who read and like it reblog or comment💕

[oceantornadoo]

(simon riley x f!reader, same rank!)

violence, cod inaccuracies, reader is a badass

simon riley never calls you baby

until he does.

you tell him it has to stay hidden. you can't be known as "the girl fucking the lieutenant", no matter if you're the same rank as him, the same sweat and tears put into the job. it scares you, the thought of losing decades of hard work over some stupid fling with a man they call ghost. a man who brings you tea on your sick days, a man with soft eyes and a listening ear, the only man who's ever brought you to orgasm. the push and pull of your autonomy and your love is ever growing, that bone deep fear rooted in your marrow.

simon's scared too. scared of waking up and it's all a dream. scared that his enemies will find out, scared that it'll show he isn't so dead after all. he's been a rotting thing on earth for nearly four decades and he's comfortable with it; no matter how alive you make him feel. his hand on your waist feels right, but he can't bring his heart into the light.

so you call each other "lieutenant." maybe "riley" when he pisses you off, just to get under his skin. "dove" is rare, but it warms you up just the same, gives you an unbidden vision of hot chocolate and snow days. mainly its "l.t.", remnant of johnny, the respect and friendliness woven together sweetly. you murmured "babe" to him once, in the early morning when he sneaks out, and felt his shoulders bunch, the weight of it too much to bear. that was the end of pet names, or so you thought.

--

it's a foggy day on what becomes the worst night of your life. the mission is at a standstill, the intel outdated. you were supposed to be taking out a terrorist organization, blowing up the base of their operations, but instead the building is damp and abandoned, echoes of life the only sign they were here. price is in your ear, telling you to clear one last room and retreat, simon already on his way out. you nudge your way into the room with caution, years of practiced steps coming to you on instinct. for some reason, you don't catch the glint of a stranger's eye in a hidden corner. you don't see the rope in his hands, the knife between his teeth. the next thing you see is the floor, fog seeping over concrete as rough hands gag you and mutter promises of ungodly harm.

something's wrong. "price." simon murmurs soft and low, crossing out of the building to the tree cover below. "where is she? s'pposed t' be out by now." he's scanning the building through his scope, looking for that figure he knows so well, could find blind. "copy. 'er tracker says she's still in the buildin'. let's-" there's a piercing scream in the air. the ravens take flight from the trees. dark wings, dark words. "ghost-" "goin' in." a sigh on the other end. he can practically feel price's hesistancy but he doesn't care, heavy feet already moving back into the building. "you're goin' in blind, radar's jus' gone out." he swears under his breath, clearing hallway after hallway as the building falls back into silence. just as he comes upon a 4-way split, you scream again, the sound far away and to his left. "'m comin' dove, hold on." there's no gunfire, no sounds of fight. it's so eerie he thinks he might have dreamed it, his worst nightmare come true. his instincts lead the way, some knowledge of your location hidden in his blood. pop. finally a gunshot, and if he squints hard, he tries to imagine it being from your weapon. he's close, nostrils expanding at the scent of you, memorized even without your favored perfume.

there were four of them. you still can't believe you missed them, the thought in the back of your head as you fight for your life. scrambling from the rope one tries to force on you, becoming an eel as you slip out of their grasps. this is what you do, what you're trained for. until someone stomps down hard on your ankle, the force of it cracking straight through. you scream, can't help it, searing pain blinding your vision for precious seconds. they take advantage of it, gloved hands tying your own behind your back in a tight knot. you can't reach your comms so you scream again, this one out of frustration, desperation that your team, that simon, might not find you.

the big one shuts you up with a hand to your throat, a bruising grip that leaves you unable to speak. they aren't well trained, fumbling hands and shaky grips, and you're finally able to reach your holster, shooting the first between the eyes before you can even glimpse his face. now you're in your element, adrenaline covering the pain of your ankle as you fight back, shooting one after the other, digging out your knife for close combat. it's over in a blink, the men no match for your skills, and once you double check they're dead, you collapse in the corner, the pain of your ankle roaring. that's when you hear it.

"baby?" it's him (but it can't be). he's never called you that. you pretend not to see when he whispers it into your neck as you feign sleep, when he murmurs it in a grunt as he's deep in your cunt. he's never said it to your face. "baby!" it's definitely him, that gruff voice cutting across the fog. you whine out of frustration, your throat too sore from your attacker to call out. instead, you limp to the door, almost running into simon as he comes crashing into your own personal hell. he sweeps you into his arms and you let him, grabbing his shoulders to make sure he's real.

"y' hurt?" he takes a look around the room, at the carnage in your wake. "my brave girl." you're sobbing, unsure whether its from frustration or relief. still can't believe you got caught, feeling like such a stereotype to have your knight in shining armor rescue you. "handled them all y'rself, hm, baby?" he's all sweetness and it hurts, seeing his eyes swell in pride as he takes in the four dead men, gunshots and a knife sticking out of one's eye. "why- why are you calling me that, simon?" he's ushering you out, your arm around his neck as you limp towards freedom. "proud of you." he says it simply, eyes trained on potential threats, not watching your reaction.

"aye, i told you, gaz. ye owe me a drink." soap's voice crackles through the comms. they were on. which meant your team heard the whole thing, heard simon practically claim you, knew you were together, thought you were a slu- "she's too good for him. i don't believe it." gaz's voice replied. "bugger off." simon grumbled into the mic, the sounds of them snickering loud and clear. "good?" he turned back at you, stopping you before you approached the clearing where your team waited. his eyes told you something different, that he'd walk out of here right now if you wanted. the cock of his head meant he'd follow you anywhere, live off the lamb for decades if you wanted. that was all you needed to know. you nodded and pushed forward. "yeah, i'm good, baby."

--

this is SO CRINGE but it's been in my drafts forever and needed to start paying rent

[vi-steponmeplease]

THE HILLS

REQUEST: billie filthy smut pleaseeee

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairings - fwb!billie x fem!reader

genre - smut

synopsis: as the rules of your casual friends-with-benefits arrangement with billie blur, one night in a hotel room becomes a turning point neither of you expected.

tw: domtop!billie, subbottom!reader, praise kink, strap (r!receiving), light choking, hair pulling, situationship/fwb.

word count: 1.2K

found out i was comin', sent your friends home keep on tryna hide it, but your friends know

⟡

i only call you when it's half-past five the only time i'd ever call you mine

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You're not entirely sure how it led to this moment—your back arched, face buried in the pillows to muffle your cries of pleasure, eyes rolling back as waves of euphoria overtake you.

Her hips ram into yours with rapid, intoxicating thrusts, her hands exploring your body—one gripping your hip firmly while the other threads through your hair, tugging your head back and forcing your spine to arch even deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so good."

You're not even sure you heard her right—your ears have been ringing for the past ten minutes. Nevertheless, you don’t really care what she said, as long as she keeps doing what she’s doing. Your body moves on its own, writhing in ecstasy, while your mind drifts helplessly in a sea of pleasure.

Your skin glistens with sweat, a testament to how long the two of you have been at this. The last thing you remember is calling her from the analog phone on the nightstand, telling her to meet you at the hotel where you’re staying.

This has become a bit of a routine for you both—whenever one of you feels needy, you call the other for a discreet hookup. It’s nothing official, so you’re forced to sneak around, careful not to get caught by her fans.

Her navy strap is one you've grown unbelievably accustomed to, just like the feeling of her calloused hands roaming your body, never neglecting a single inch.

"Billie, fuck!" you gasp, her groan vibrating in your ear as her body presses tightly against yours, her thrusts growing sloppier. Her breasts press firmly against your back, drawing a guttural moan from deep within you. "I'm close, so close—" Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as your hand flies up to grip the headboard, desperate for something to ground you. "Please."

Billie curses under her shaky breath, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you even closer, her hips driving into you with relentless force. Her pace quickens, her face contorting in pleasure as the strap hits her just right.

"Please what?" she grunts, her free hand cupping your left breast, squeezing just enough to elicit a whimper before sliding up to wrap around your neck. The cold silver of her rings contrasts starkly with your hot, sweaty skin.

You almost want to beg her to slow down—your pussy throbbing from the punishing rhythm—but you're too consumed by the moment, lost in the delirium of her fake cock filling you so perfectly.

"P-Please, faster," you manage to whimper, your lips parting as tears well in your eyes. You bite down on your wrist, trying to stifle the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth, but she quickly moves your hand away. She wants to hear—no, revel in—the pretty noises you make for her.

A breathy moan escapes her lips as she inches closer to her own release, her hands gripping your hips tightly to steady herself while her pace grows more frantic. "Such a good fucking girl," she breathes, her sultry tone alone enough to send you spiraling. "You take me so well."

You’re not sure how the two of you haven’t received a noise complaint yet, given how long this has been going on—though what feels like hours is probably closer to forty-five minutes.

Billie’s hand trails down your body, her skilled fingers finding your sensitive clit and stroking it with practiced precision, drawing out another throaty moan from your parted lips. Before the sound can fully escape, her free hand clamps over your mouth, only to slip her thumb past your lips. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around it, your tongue grazing the pad of her thumb as she watches with a smirk.

Instinctively, you push your hips back, grinding against the silicone cock in a silent plea for more—for her to fill you so completely that it drives you to scream her name until it echoes through the room.

Sensing your impending release, Billie suddenly pulls out, flipping you onto your back with practiced ease. She pushes your legs up, your knees pressed against your chest, before slamming into you again without hesitation. The new angle sends shockwaves through your body, arching your back and pulling even louder cries from your lips.

Her thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in fast, deliberate circles as she watches you squirm beneath her. She mentally savors the sight, basking in the knowledge that only she can undo you like this.

Part of your arrangement had been to avoid talking about any other hookups during your downtime, but truthfully, Billie hasn’t been with anyone else since this began. No one gives her the same electric rush that you do. And though she’d never say it out loud, she’s certain no one else can make you feel the way she does—and maybe, just maybe, she’s a little proud of that.

Your hands slide up her damp chest, squeezing her breasts before trailing behind her neck to pull her closer. She doesn’t know exactly what compels her to brush her lips over yours—a kiss that’s both needy and tender. It catches you off guard; you’ve never kissed her before. Ironic, considering all the other obscene things you’ve done together, but kissing always felt like crossing a line into something more intimate.

But right now, you couldn’t care less.

Your fingers thread through her hair, brushing it out of her face as your lips move in perfect sync. The kiss is charged, igniting a spark that sends a shiver down your spine. Not only is she amazing at fucking you, but, God, she’s an incredible kisser too.

A familiar knot tightens in your stomach, making you grind down against her desperately. A moan escapes her lips, and that’s your breaking point. Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm crashes over you in waves, leaving you gasping for air.

Billie watches you unravel beneath her, and the sight alone sends her over the edge. A loud groan rips from her throat, her usual care for discretion abandoned as the walls of the hotel room bear witness. Slowly, she pulls out, leaving you with an aching emptiness that only intensifies your sensitivity. She collapses beside you, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggles to catch her breath.

"Fuck, that was..."

“Intense?” you finish for her, a breathless chuckle escaping as you sit up, wincing at the soreness in your legs.

“Something like that.” She climbs off the bed, removing the strap before making her way to the bathroom. Pausing at the door, she glances back at you, her pink lips pursed slightly. “You wanna rinse off?”

“Together?” you ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion. She responds with a shrug and a simple nod before disappearing into the bathroom. Curiosity and the promise of warm water drive you to follow her.

Aftercare from Billie isn’t something you ever expected. It was never part of the unspoken rules of your agreement, a dynamic that thrived on boundaries and the title of “friends with benefits.”

But something feels different—like a rope has snapped inside her, loosening the rules she’d held so firmly. Because right now, in this fleeting moment, you’re not just a casual fling.

You’re hers.

[latin5mamii]

no pressure but imo we should get a winners fic today 🤭

Every night - Jude Bellingham

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend’s real reward is at home, waiting for him to make their night unforgettable…

GENRE: smut, reward sex

WARNINGS: smut (+18), fingering, jerking off, unprotected sex, crampie…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: of course i had to write this…especially with him looking so hot tonight😌

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If there’s one thing Jude loved more than winning a game, it was what came after.

Sure, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of the match, and the praise of being called the best on the pitch was a rush like no other. But what really got him, what he craved most, was knowing that you were waiting for him at home with that smile, the one that told him he’d more than earned his reward.

Tonight was no different.

“Oi, Jude, you comin’ out to celebrate?” Vinícius called out, his grin infectious.

“Nah, man, got somethin’ special planned,” Jude replied, a sly smile playing on his lips. The lads teased him, but he didn’t care. He knew they’d understand.

It was when he opened the door of his hotel’s room that he saw his real reward, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” you teased.

Jude’s grin matched yours as he dropped his bag by the door, his eyes never leaving yours. “You know I had to, right? Can’t leave my biggest fan waitin’.”

He led you to the couch, where you comfortably sat on his lap, still looking at him.He kissed you slowly, like he was savoring every second of it, every taste of you. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held you just a little tighter, his fingers gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

“Jude…” you breathed out, barely able to form words as his hands roamed your body, exploring, claiming.

“Mhm?” he hummed against your lips, his eyes half-lidded, full of that fiery intensity you loved so much.

“You were so good out there baby…” You whispered against his lips, which curved into a satisfied smile as he felt your breath against his skin.

“Yeah?” Jude’s voice was a low growl against your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “You know I do it all for you, right?”

You shivered under his touch, fingers tangling in his hair. “I know, baby.”

His hands roamed down your back, gripping your waist with a possessive intensity, his mouth leaving wet kisses down your neck. Soft moans escaped your lips.

“Don’t ever stop making that sound, yeah?” he murmured between kisses. You silently nodded, doing exactly as he requested.

Jude’s hands moved with purpose, tracing the curve of your body until his fingers brushed against the delicate lace of your panties. He pressed a finger against the fabric, feeling the heat and wetness beneath.

“Fuck, you’re so ready for me,” he growled, his voice thick. He slid your panties aside, his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping inside, making you gasp.

“Jude…” you moaned, clutching at his shoulders, your hips rocking against his hand. His thumb found your clit, circling it with just the right pressure, making you see stars.

“You like that?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, Jude… don’t stop,” you panted, your nails digging into his back.

He smiled against your neck, adding another finger and thrusting them deeper, his pace relentless. “Gonna make you come, love. Gonna make you scream my name.”

You could feel the tension building, your body trembling with the need for release. Jude’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough and urgent. “Let go.”

With a cry, you did, but Jude didn’t stop, his fingers working you through your orgasm until you were a trembling, panting mess in his arms.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing you deeply, his hand still teasing your oversensitive flesh. “But we’re not done yet.”

You gently pushed him back, your eyes locked with his as you slid down his body. He watched you with a mix of surprise and hunger as you unbuttoned his pants, freeing his hard length.

“You want to be rewarded too, right?” you whispered, your voice sultry.

Jude could only nod, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m all yours.”

You wrapped your hand around him, your tongue flicking over the tip before taking him into your mouth. His groan was deep and guttural, his hands finding their way to your hair, guiding you as you moved.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he muttered, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around him, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. His grip tightened in your hair as you increased your pace, the sounds of your sucking and his moans filling the room.

“Baby, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained. You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his as you continued to stroke him, your mouth working the tip with focused intensity.

With a shuddering groan, he came, his release filling your mouth. You swallowed every drop, licking him clean before looking up at him with a satisfied smile.

Jude pulled you up, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips.

He climbed over you, positioning himself between your legs. He grabbed your hips, pulling you closer as he lined himself up with your entrance. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you closed your eyes at the feeling.

“Nu-uh, let me look at these pretty eyes,” Jude murmured, his voice rough.

You did as he asked, opening your ‘pretty eyes’ and grabbing his hand, squeezing and caressing it

As he entered you, he started moving his hips slowly at first, savoring every moment. You moaned softly, the sensation overwhelming.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours. “So tight, so perfect.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Jude… faster, please.”

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more urgent, each one driving you closer to the edge.Your gasps and moans filled the room .

“Your legs are shaking so much, baby,” he whispered, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “You like it when I fuck you like this?”

“God- Don’t stop please,” you whimpered , your nails digging into his shoulders.

He increased his pace, his thrusts hitting deeper and harder. “I never thought I’d hear you say this. Fuck, you’re so hot.”

You moaned louder, your body arching into his. “Jude… I’m so close…”

“Me too, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “I’m gonna come.”

The intensity of his thrusts, combined with the pressure of his thumb on your clit, pushed you over the edge once more.As he spilled inside you, he messily kissed you,moving your hair from your face.

He collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, both of you breathing heavily, hearts pounding.

You turned to face him, blushing a bit.

“Why are you looking at me like this?”you asked, trying to catch your breath, a playful grin on your face.

“I’m just imagining how amazing it would be to celebrate like this every night.”

[princessbrunette]

puppy!reader trying to break up with rafe or just distancing herself because she overheard someone saying they couldn’t understand how rafe could be with a pogue and it hurts her feelings and has her overthinking :( (obviously rafe later on gets her to tell him who said that and he deals with it)

꒰ ౨ৎ .ᐟ .ᐣ ᡣ𐭩

he was used to you being all over him. if you weren’t constantly yapping in his ear, you were using him like a climbing frame, subtly rubbing your needy cunt on his leg or trying to stick a body part of his in your mouth. so, the difference in your behaviour all of a sudden was palpable.

you’d been at the country club. not particularly because you liked it there, you knew despite recently joining the kook life people still saw you as less than — but you had to say, the icecream they served was top notch, and you wouldn’t keep yourself away despite being told off plenty of times by rafe for overdoing it on the sugar and then getting hyperactive.

you step away from the counter with your cone, smiling to yourself at the small victory when your ears picks up on a conversation round the corner. you stop in your tracks, realising it’s about you.

“i mean she’s definitely hot, i’ll give him that. in like, a weird way. she’s got the whole ‘fuck me daddy’ thing going on, you know. she’s helpless. rafes gotta be fuckin’ her.” a kook you didn’t even recognise comments, sipping at his beer.

“dont be weird, bro.” another turns his nose up.

“its true! i dont care man, i know rafe — he fuckin’ hates pogues, he wouldn’t be caught dead with one, ‘specially not one as obvious as her. the girls a mess, and mommy and daddy suddenly coming into money ain’t gonna change that about her.”

your heart sinks as you continue to listen to the berating. in the north carolina heat, icecream didn’t stay structurally sound for long — and you’re only dragged out of your eavesdropping session when the dome of strawberry icecream slides straight off its podium, splatting on the floor besides your sandals, leaving you with just the cone in your hand. you stare down at it, barely registering the loss.

you’d overthought it— something rather uncommon of you. when a few hours had passed, and rafe hadn’t had you hurtling through his front door with a ladybug on your finger or something of the sorts, he actually wondered where you might be— so he showed up at your door.

you wasn’t expecting him. he never chased you, always letting you come to him first — but something felt off, and his curiosity got the better of him.

“w—what is this, you not comin’ over to bother me today?” he shakes his head and your brows crease, staring at the eldest cameron in your doorway.

“no…” you reply quietly, even going the extra length to avoid his eyes. you weren’t trying to be obvious about it, but you couldn’t help that you were upset. he stares at you for a moment, unnerved by your unusual mood.

“…well can i come in or what?”

you allow him, purely because despite your mood you didn’t like to be impolite.

“whats up with you? i already told you to stop watchin’ those animal planet documentaries, kid. they upset you, alright i—”

“i wasn’t.” you snap, and he looks over — your tone grabbing his attention from wandering around your living room, seeing you standing in the corner clutching yourself like you didn’t know what to do. you were so used to being all over him that standing by yourself felt odd.

he scratches his cheek awkwardly, eyes flickering over you. “shit, you mad at me or somethin’?”

slowly, you sit down on the couch, tucking your feet beneath you.

“i’m just trying to give you space.”

he huffs a laugh out from his chest, thinking you’re joking — but his smile fades a little when he sees that you’re not. “yeah? you were all over me yesterday, now what — you shy?”

“i’m a pogue.” you raise your voice over his just a tad, bringing your knees to your chest. the statement catches him off guard, and he sways awkwardly on the spot, watching you.

“yeah no shit. so what.” he drawls, and his agreement stings.

“you hate pogues. so… you hate me.” you draw the conclusion and he fights an eyeroll, walking over to where you’re sat briskly.

“listen if i hated you you’d fuckin’ know about it, alright? i don’t hate you. you’re a pain in my ass, but… but nah.” he shakes his head, settling down on the seat next to you and pushing his hair back, not enjoying the idea of being vulnerable. it made him a little uncomfortable. “where… where is this coming from anyways? since when did you give a shit ‘bout all that?”

“since the people at the club were saying stuff.” you mutter, and now he’s really invested. his head snaps towards you, arm freezing in the air from pushing his hair out of his face. he could tolerate the weird moods, but he wouldn’t tolerate people disrespecting you or him.

“huh?”

your lip starts to tremble at the memory, voice growing higher as you speak. “there was a group of boys, and they were saying i was a mess and that im nothing and that you had to be fucking me because that’s the only thing i could offer you and i dropped my icecream and—”

“what?” he turns his whole body towards you as you let out a quiet sob, wide eyes darting between your wet one.

“i dropped my icecream!”

“no— kid, who was saying this shit?” his outrage is somewhat comforting and you sniffle, wiping your snotty nose on the back of your hand.

“i don’t know his name. he had a green shirt on.”

he leans back in his seat for a moment, wiping hands down his face — a little frustrated with your inability to identify the culprits. he pushes his palms into his eyes for a moment, realising it’s not your fault — and you were already upset. sighing out his nose, he looks at you once more, shuffling as close to you as he can.

“quit listenin’ to nobodies at the club, a’ight? you… you think people don’t say shit about me? running their mouth about my private business? they — they do, alright— but what i don’t do is cry about it n’let them think they won. i handle that shit, like i’m gonna handle this.”

you blink at him, hanging onto his every word. you really were adorable, and as much as he’ll never admit it, his heart softens at how sweet you were by nature. you didn’t deserve to be picked on by people that weren’t him.

“how do you know who they are?” you tilt your head, really emulating a puppy and he presses his lips together, shrugging a shoulder and shaking his head.

“uh, you’re gonna point ‘em out next time we go to the club. i’ll… i’ll handle it from there.”

you nod, hating that you’ve caused any kind of conflict at all, eyes drifting towards as you burrow yourself into thoughts of guilt. before you can think too much, rafe grips your jaw — meaning well, but still carrying that boyish roughness. “hey. you’re my girl, alright? i don’t let shit slide.”

he’d never called you his girl before, so instantly — you’re all sniffly smiles, launching at him to clamber onto his lap once more.

꒰ ౨ৎ .ᐟ .ᐣ ᡣ𐭩

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part

...

"You doing okay?"

Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.

"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."

You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."

There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."

"It’s more complicated than that."

"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."

He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.

He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"

"I can't go back."

"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"

"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."

"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."

You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.

"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"

"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."

You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."

You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"

"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"

"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."

"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."

"I did my job."

"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."

You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.

"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"

You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.

"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"

Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."

"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."

"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."

"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.

You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.

"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."

Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.

"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"

"I made a mistake," you mutter.

That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."

"What?"

"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”

“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."

You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."

"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."

"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."

He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."

"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."

That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."

"You owe me," you remind him.

"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"

You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."

Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."

"Like who? You?"

"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."

You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.

Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.

"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."

You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.

You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."

"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."

"Then what do you suggest?"

His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.

Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."

"But..."

"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."

Can't argue with that.

He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.

You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.

You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.

Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.

He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.

He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.

You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.

Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.

"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."

He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.

You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.

"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."

You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."

Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.

But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.

He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."

You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.

He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.

With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."

"Quit what?"

"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."

Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."

Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."

"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."

He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.

You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.

He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.

"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"

You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."

"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."

You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"

"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."

You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"

"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."

You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."

"And what about you? Do I get to know?"

"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."

"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."

"I shouldn't," you mutter.

Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."

You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"

"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."

"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.

"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."

Another shiver wracks your body.

Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."

His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."

"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.

"Soap here."

You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.

Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"

"How long do we have?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."

You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.

He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.

He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."

You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."

Then you kiss him again.

...

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