#iron man tee shirt

[clubmega]

[rainbowjay20]

Everyone knows the joke. George R.R. Martin, Josh Whedon, and Steve Moffat walk into a bar. Everyone dies. Now, you can be a proud owner of The OftDead Club members shirt. There is a two death minimum to be a member. As Buffy said, "Hey, I died twice!"

Check it out here!

Also, check out my other Witty Tees here!

[jalufkaart]

IRON MAN | MANDALORIAN

[threadtidalcraft]

Here a new collection punks not dead design on my redbubble stor

Is it good or so so tell me everyone 😊

👕:- https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/155521550?asc=u

[pstvebrand]

Free US shipping

[pennyserenade]

devil in his heart | jackson rippner x reader

summary | after finding out your long-time boyfriend's real occupation, you have to grapple with who he really is. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | 18+, dark, dubcon (bordering on noncon), smut, explicit smut, fingering, degradation, violence word count | 1.9k+ a/n | i honest to god don't know what possessed me, but we are all grown ups here. read with caution! enjoy! love ya! also: i wrote this to devil in his heart by the donays and he's got the power by the exciters, if you're interested in a soundtrack. not beta'd

Truth be told, this is the best game of cat and mouse he's had in years, and he doesn't like that it's ending so soon.

As he gets on your level, crouching near your slumped form, Jackson almost feels a little sorry that you couldn't win. It's not that you weren't witty enough--you were. It's just that, well, he's better. This reminds him of when he was ten and had wanted to go to space only to figure out when he was twelve that he was too scared of the vastness of the galaxy. Some things are just out of reach, too good to be true. He mourns it all the same.

His fingers tenderly push back sweat soaked strands of hair from your face. You look up at him, blurry-eyed, but still so resolute--lips thinned, smoldering with anger. God. He swipes a finger across your lip just to know what it feels like, and likes it better for the fact that you jerk away so aggressively that you knock your head back into the wall.

His tongue clicks. "You should've known, after following me all those weeks, that I'm good at this."

Jackson wraps his fingers tightly around your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. You give in, mostly because you have so little energy to protest. His eyes look ominously glacial, lit up only by the moonlight cascading in from the window.

You look down at his lips; the flesh there is still swollen, broken from the harsh swing of your elbow earlier in the night. His tongue spears out to feel at the area. "You're a sloppy assassin, baby. My blood's all over this goddamn place. All over you--" he gestures down to your simple white tee shirt, which has been made dirty with dirt, sweat, blood. You don't care. You feel dizzy and half-scared to pass out, to even think of it, because you've never seen him look quite like this.

You think back to that first time you met him, how he had seemed so polite. He was traveling by train to visit his folks back home for Christmas (he said things like 'folks' in a crisp Midwestern accent, for God's sake). He had said he worked in life insurance policy, which made you laugh and caused him to say, "I know, I know--ironic, Jack Rippner dealing out life insurance." You had thought it was ironic. It is: ironically cruel.

He buys his ties from GAP, his dress shirts from Macy's, likes EggNog and celebrates the fourth of July with as much enthusiasm as any plain, good-hearted American man can.

He’s met your mother; he loves her breadsticks.

You spit on him. It takes the very last of your strength, but it's worth it to see the way his eyes ignite. His hand wipes it off, thumb running through the saliva on his fingers as his lips purse. "You know," he begins, voice eerily calm, "I always thought we'd make good parents. God knows we've come close to it enough times. You just can't help but beg for my cum in you, the slut you are." He chuckles darkly. "I always imagined that you'd be the good cop and I'd be the bad one."

Jackson pushes your head back into the wall, propping you there, almost choking you, but not quite. You let out a deep, wavering breath. He smirks. "But I see that's not the case now, is it? You don't seem to like very much when I play with my food before I eat it, do you?" His fingers press against your lips again, saliva coated. You let him. "Here I thought, all along, 'my baby's a goddamn pacifist. She didn't even like fishing!' It kept me up at night, the idea of you finding out what I did. But look at you!" His thumb tenderly strokes your neck, moving around a mysterious fluid--could be your blood, his blood, spit, water, anything. "I think if I reached between your legs now, you'd be soaked."

You choke out a sound of protest, wiggling beneath his gasp. He tuts, his fingers digging more tightly into your throat. For a brief moment, you can’t breathe. You find enough strength to claw at his hand, to widen your eyes and plead.

“C’mon, you’ll like this. You always do.” He loosens his grip on your neck.

As you gasp for air, Jackson knocks your legs apart. It doesn’t take much effort to get your cunt—you’d foolishly made the mistake of wearing a dress today—and he hums in delight when his fingers reach past your cotton underwear, confirming what he suspected to be true. His lips form into a mocking pout as your eyes begin to well with tears. It's not fear—you’re beyond that. It’s anger. The betrayal of this curdles inside you, eating you alive. Your eyes fill with ire.

“Don’t be that way,” he shakes his head, softening a degree. He holds your chin between his fingers again, the other hand rubbing wide circles over your clit. “I’m not going to kill you. How could I? I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you, truth be told, but it’s not that.”

Your hips jerk involuntarily, causing him to growl. “That’s the spirit, kitten. When you hit me earlier, I thought—after, of course, 'God she’s a bitch!’—that you might be a good asset. I know you’ve got a lot of morals holding you back right now, so I figure I’ll let you do the easy work at first. Let you think you’re doing some good in the world.” He presses down on your clit, his touch more intent, more focused. You squirm, hating the way he knows that you like it like this.

His fingers slip down into your cunt, wetting them. “Fuck, you’re soaking. If this is how you get when we do this, you might just reform me. I’m not opposed. We—“ he reattaches his fingers to your cunt. You whine, arching into his touch.“—could do good work. I freelance, if you couldn’t tell already. Though I’m sure you can. You’re a thorough investigator when you want to be. That’ll be helpful, too.”

Jackson picks up his pace, swallowing as he stares down at your lap. He can’t see anything, his hand hidden beneath the fabric of the dress and your underwear, but it seems to thrill him all the same. You too, admittedly.

“I—I couldn’t,” you retort, biting at your lip. “You—you kill!”

“Don’t be such a prude,” he deadpans. “It’s political assassinations and occasionally, though very rarely, an innocent bystander. And I do my best to make sure those cases are few and far between. I do.” He presses down more intently, watching with delight as you squirm, trying not to cum. “Oh, go on. It’s just you and me here. No one’s gonna know except me, and I won’t tell anyone. I’m good with secrets. You know that now.”

He’s near exultant, talking to you about this. The pitch of his voice is higher, and he’s looking at you like he’s won a prize of the highest degree. You’d spit on him again if he wasn’t making you feel so goddamn good.

“I won’t do it,” you shake your head firmly. Jackson takes the opportunity to slip a finger in your cunt, to press in and show you how much he has always—will always—know you.

“Okay, okay, I’ll bite,” he soothes, entering another. It’s a squeeze, but a welcome one, especially when he begins to thrust them against the spongy surface of your walls. Your toes curl, and you hate him, hate him violently. “If you want me to be rough, you really only have to ask, but since you like this game so much we’ll play it.”

As he fingers you, he begins to palm your clit. The sensation is overwhelming. Tears cascade down your face and he leans forward, licking them from your lips. The warmth of the orgasm rises in you alarmingly quick, his fingers deftly touching the inside of you, his palm lining with your clit each time you rut involuntarily. Your body knows him. It trusts him. He knows it.

The orgasm licks through you like a goddamn flame, igniting everything and leaving it all worse for it. When you cry out, Jackson smirks, so fucking pleased. But he doesn’t stop. He goes on, rubbing down harder, thrusting in quicker, until you’re wiggling beneath him.

“Please!” you say, trying to move his hand away.

He’s resolute. “No can do, honey. You’ve been a naughty girl, indulgent in the worst way. Gluttony is a sin, and I've been good–I’ve never punished you for it before–but you’ve hurt my feelings now.”

He slides in a third finger, his crystal eyes dark in the shadows. You feel impossibly full, and on the brink of another orgasm. You whine out. He knocks your head back into the wall with force. It doesn’t take your breath away, but it stuns you to silence. “That’ll be enough of that. This is for me now, got it? Getting you all wet so my cock will fit in that tight cunt of yours. Want you to hear it, your pussy taking me.”

As if to prove a point, he thrusts in again, and you do hear it—the way your body allows him in. An obscene squelch. You bite your lip, feel more tears fall down your cheeks.

“Jackson—“ you plead. You’re tired, achy, terribly confused. He works you open so well. You can smell the sour sweet smell of his body odor. You love it. You cannot help it. Your body trusted this man for so long. Still does.

You fool, you tell yourself, before your body gives way to his will again—you collapse into him, screaming out a silent whimper as the orgasm makes you convulse.

“That’s it,” he encourages, not stopping. “Be good for me. If you’re good, we’ll make this enterprise into a family business. If you’re bad—well, we’ll just have to make this our life, won’t we? You all weak, me with all the power. I don’t think you’ll like it, but you understand, it’s how it must be done if you don’t obey.”

He sighs, as if it’s putting him out too.

You know he’s serious. What’s worse is you know he’s right: that you won’t like it, that he’ll get his way eventually.

When you give in, he knows immediately, lips quirking up into a smirk.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your temple. “I always knew you had it in you a little. You were always such a whore for me. I’m happy it worked out so well for us both. Now–” He pushes your legs further apart, moving in with his own hips. “Let’s play your most favorite game. It’s longer, requires more patience, but I like it just as much as you do.”

The jingle of his belt buckle makes a shot of fear, mixed with arousal, shoot up your spine. You think: God, no.

He laughs darkly. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve been making sure you’ve been taking your birth control. I’m not really ready for that, either. It’s just the idea that thrills you, isn’t it anyway? And that smallest, tiniest chance that it could happen.” He smirks, loosening his belt. His fingers exit you, leaving you empty, feeling scandalized and ruined. Jackson rubs them on the cloth of your dress, uncaring.

“I hate you,” you spit out, venom lacing your words.

He looks thoroughly amused as he releases his weeping cock from his underwear. “No you don’t. You’re just ashamed of yourself. But fear not–” he wipes a tear off your face, “--when we’re done here, you’ll be glad for this. Just remember, baby, that I’m on your side.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Brat Hours

You dramatically react to an issue involving your friends and so Billionaire Entrepreneur, Lanniscorp CEO Tywin Lannister takes your phone, makes you an offer that makes you panic, then fucks your panic away.

Modern!Tywin Lannister x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, crack fic kinda, implied sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamic, age difference, pwp tbh, smut (bdsm, brat/brat tamer, daddy kink, degradation kink, bondage [belt], teasing, edging, fingering, piv, mild spit kink, dumbification kinda, breeding kink, cockwarming, biting, marking), fluff, etc.

A/N: im so down bad for this old man that the plot ends at 1k 😀 cross posted on ao3. Please consider donating €5 to Rital's GoFundMe, so that she and her family can evacuate Gaza.

Tagging: @ceoofyearning sabi mo tag kita wag mo ko block

Tywin Lannister lifts his gaze from his computer screen, eyes narrowing at the sight across the room. His desk is positioned in front of a window that looked out to the large expanse of the Casterly Rock estate. Directly in front of him, laid upon his massive bed, there, I sprawled, squealing into a pillow, wallowing in the velvety sheets.

He leans back into his leather office chair, stretching out an arm. He rests his palm on his oak desk, "will I be hounded for concert tickets to some smelly half-wit vocalist's concert again?"

His stubbly jaw clenches as he awaits a reply. He gets none.

I throw my phone onto the pillows and stand. I start pacing around the bed.

Tywin calls my name.

It does not register. I jump back into the sheets and continue to scroll on my phone. After I yelp and sit up, I flinch when he calls my name sternly.

Tywin shakes his head and sighs. He raises a hand and beckons me over with two fingers.

I chew my lower lip and rub my thighs. My skin is cool to the touch, as I only had booty shorts and an old band tee of The White Walkers on. Tywin hated it.

I sluggishly walk over to him, dread lumping in my stomach as I take in the old man's expression. "I didn't do anything wrong," I pipe up.

Tywin turns his chair to the side, anticipating my arrival. He spreads his legs, giving me perfect view of his well-ironed, grey dress pants. He opens his arms out for me, and I gratefully take my seat on his lap, my bum on one thigh and my legs in the middle of his. He links his hands together, resting them on my hip bone, "then who would cause a troublemaker so much trouble?"

I drop my head and peer up at him through my lashes, unable to fully meet his gaze knowing what I would have to say to him.

I nestle my face into his neck. One hand sneaks its way around his back, the other fondles with his white dress shirt. I undo two buttons as I take in his rich, earthy scent.

Immediately, he understands what is happening, "speak, girl, even if it's petty."

"But it's hella petty."

Tywin sighs and tries to look at my face. He cannot, so he instead turns his chair back to his computer and pulls us closer to his desk, "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what ails you."

I scowl when his hands leave me to go back to typing on his keyboard. I pull away from the comfort of his shoulder to show him my displeasure.

He ignores me.

My pout exaggerates, "nooooooo."

"No?" he spares me a raised eyebrow, "so you want my attention?"

I furrow my brows and cross my arms, "no."

"Funny," he looks back at his computer, "I was certain you'd sooner perish than be rid of it."

I sound off, offended and annoyed.

He clicks on his mouse, then scrolls through his emails.

I shoot him a nasty look.

He mumbles whilst reading the text on his computer screen, momentarily making a face because of whatever he reads.

My annoyance festers.

He begins to type his response.

I grumble, "Tywin."

He continues typing.

"Tywin," I groan and whine, "I want your attention."

He leans back on his chair again, hands coming down to his armrest. We stare at each other for a moment, I knew, because he was waiting for me to take it down a notch. He tilts head, "sit properly then, girl."

I make an annoyed sound, tightening my lips.

Tywin acknowledges the challenge and simply squashes it, "will you really make me repeat myself?"

I scoff, "I don't even like sitting on your lap."

He chuckles, deep and gutteral, annoyed and amused at once. It makes my stomach do flips. He motions with his pointer, "then get off."

I growl and straddle his lap, sitting on him 'properly'. I wrap my arms around him and nuzzle back into his neck, "stop telling my what to fucking do."

He nostrils flare. His thorax emits a low hum. He scratches his nails on my back then digs one hand into the roots of my hair. He tugs my head back, forcing me to turn to him, "watch your mouth, else I'll put it to good use-"

"Try me-"

"-I'll make you record the Lannister jingle for me."

My eye twitches. I pull away and sit up straight.

His expression shifts, knowing how much I fucking loathe his company's stupid-ass jingle. My lips curl in disgust, "yuck, the fu-- the... heck."

Tywin's lips curl slightly upward. His one hand rests on the curve of my bum, the other rests on my cheek. He swipes my lips with his thumb then brings that hand opposite the other, "filthy girl."

I scowl again.

He leans on his headrest and shakes his head, "will you speak, or shall I return to Mr. Baelish and his Vale proposal?"

My brows relax at the mention, "he's proposing something in the Vale?"

"Mmm. Undoubtedly a plot to get a promotion," he says, swiveling to reach out for his keyboard.

I swat his hand and place it back in my side.

Tywin looks back at me.

I growl and brush my hair back in annoyance. With a deep sigh, I cross my arms, looking down at my lap. I feel him looking at me, so I toy with his belt to distract myself from his scorching gaze.

He does not appreciate it, "behave."

"I ammmm."

He does not respond.

I sigh again and finally look up at him, "you know that show I watch?"

He places his hands on my thighs, his large, warm palm heats up the area, "the ghastly one about looney blondes?"

"Mmm."

"Yes. Are they finally cancelling it?"

I turn to his chest and trace the opening of his shirt with my fingers, "opposite actually. They renewed it and my moots are killing each other."

I look up at him when he does not respond.

"Online friends," I correct and drop my hand.

He furrows his brows, "so? Let them die."

I inhale deeply, "Tywin-"

"No," he raises a finger, "I understand these online friends of yours mean something to you, but if they are causing you to scream and roll around the bed over an idiotic programme, then you're more simple minded than you've let on."

I scoff, "why not just call me a slur?"

He slips a hand underneath my shirt, rubbing my sides, "I will never understand why such an exquisite creature finds such entertainment in something so dull anyway."

"Hey, it's not that bad, plus I'm only watching the show for Smith Matthews."

He hums, "and what shall we do with the people vexing you over that show?"

"They're not vexing me, they're destroying themselves over opinions on fictional characters and started bringing personal agendas into it."

Tywin watches as a line forms between my brows.

"It's seriously making me anxious because, oh my gosh, it's not that deep," I sigh, resting my hands on his shoulder.

He stares at me for a moment, "show me."

Without another word, I stand up, get my phone from the bed, and sit back down on him. I open my app and begin to drone about the details of the drama.

"Which user is doing this again?"

I show him my screen and he takes my phone, staring at my following list as I explain what happened, "--and then she was like, 'no fucking way' then posted this whole-ass thing about-"

"I've blocked them," he hands me back my phone.

My soul escapes me, "w h a t?"

"I believe the feature was created precisely for moments like thi-"

"DID YOU ACTUALLY?!" I gasp, "OH MY GODS, OH MY GODS--"

Tywin watches as I frantically look through my phone. My expression drops and my heart races as I swipe the screen, seeing that I, in fact, was now following significantly less people. I frantically unblock them.

"TYWIN, YOU BLOCKED PEOPLE NOT EVEN PART OF THE-"

"Enough!" he grabs my phone and chucks it onto his desk.

I stare at him and clench my jaw. My adrenaline is pumping, and so I take it out on his arms, squeezing his biceps until he groans and grabs my hands.

"Your calamity is imagined," he mutters. He rubs my shoulders, "do not waste your time on people you'll not even meet."

"IT'S NOT IMAGINED!" I shake my hands, "IT'S REAL TO ME!"

He flinches at my shriek. He releases me and sighs.

"You can't just do stuff like that!" I whine, feeling my eyes water, "this is like if I went through your emails and deleted the ones that annoyed you."

He purses his lips. He takes a moment before sighing his response, "so? What would you have me do?"

I glare at him and scratch my eyes.

"Hmm?" he shrugs his leg, nudging me on his lap, "is all that's left? For you to cry about your digital pals?"

"grAH! It's not like I can just follow them back and say someone took my-- no wait... I can just say that!"

Tywin raises his brows as I turn to take my phone. Before I can do anything though, he shakes his head, "I thought interacting with them 'freaked you out?'"

"Yes, but I can't just-"

"I'll have their accounts suspended." 

I raise my brows as he turns to his desktop.

"What's that app called? I'm sure it will be easy to get someone to-"

"No-- honey, that's so dramatic," I place my hands in his chest.

He turns to me with a raised brow, "now it's dramatic?"

"You're talking about suspending accounts just because!"

"Because they bother you," he rebuts, face dead serious.

His deadpan makes my stomach roll. I gulp and feel my heart race.

"Besides, what's one more bloody email to me when I've gone through hundreds?"

My breathing begins to grow heavy, but no longer because of my internet dilemma.

He averts his attention to his computer, "now tell me the name of that stupid app."

I take a deep breath and chew on my lip. I place my phone down and slump as I look at him, "you like me so much you'd waste your time on this?"

If it was possible, Tywin's deadpan drops even more. 

I lick my lips and hold back a laugh, momentarily grinding down on him.

He turns to me.

I mutter, "my stomach feels fuzzy."

"Because of your internet issue?" he leans his head back.

"Hmm... and cos I like how much you like me."

I catch the slight glimmer in his eyes, though he tries not to betray his deadpan.

I sniffle for effect and shrug. I rub our noses together and bite my lower lip, "Mr. Lannister, do you have a crush on me?"

His brows quirk and he is unable to conceal his chuckle. He breaks into a groan and rubs his hands up my back, "what irritating creature you are."

My breath hitches as he leans in for a kiss. It was a chaste one, one that meant to show affection or even soothe. In truth, it was slightly surprising, considering his affections were mostly tangible. I pull away to giggle at him and grasp his cheeks, "you like annoying girlies?"

"Careful now, girl" Tywin narrows his eyes, "I enjoy you, but be careful."

"Mmm," I nudge his face with my nose, "and how would you like to enjoy me, kitty?" I bring my hands to his belt.

"Gagged."

I chuckle as I undo his buckle, "but milorddd--"

He gruffs.

"--I want you to use this on my wrists."

Tywin draws a deep breath, "the brat wants to be bound, does she?"

I nod slowly and pull his belt off. I hang the black leather on me like a scarf and grab his face, kissing him greedily. I shift on his lap and grind down on him. I chuckle when I feel him hardness through my shorts.

"Where do you want to enjoy me, daddy?" I mutter before licking a stripe up his neck.

He groans, "on my desk, whore."

He doesn't have to tell me twice as I shove his things out of the way to make room for myself on the surface. I lie on my back, curling my legs up as I excitedly loop the belt.

"On your belly," he commands.

"Nooo," I whine as I willingly trap my wrists in knot I prepared, "wanna see you. Wanna see you get tired as you fuck me."

Tywin grabs his belt and tightens my bounds, "filthy brat."

I giggle then huff as he yanks my arms up and positions me on his desk. He pushes the hand that held my bound ones above my head and looks down at me. I stretch my legs and wrap them around his waist, "love seeing your face when you come in me, daddy."

"Mmm," he leans and grinds down on my steadily dampening core, "you like seeing me use you like a clock sleeve?"

My breathing strains. I nod with enthusiasm, "all I'm good for."

He hums again, deeply pleased. He grinds rougher into me, causing me to shift from my spot. He grabs my thigh with his free hand and repositions me, "you know your place-"

I grind my hips, meeting his rhythm.

"-yet you somehow believe I should reward you for being a whore," he mutters, stopping his movements.

I make a sound at the lack of friction and seal him tighter around my legs.

"So audacious in your need," he digs his fingers into the garter of my shorts, "beg for it."

"Please," I lick my lower lip, "I need you-- need you to fuck me- use me like toy-"

"Desperate hussy," he pulls my shorts down.

Just as he said, I desperately wiggle to help him pull my shorts off with one hand. He chuckles and sinks his face into my neck, taking in my scent then nipping my skin.

"Let's see how desperate you are," he whispers hotly against my ear.

He rids me fully of my bottoms. He fastens my legs back around him then grinds down into me once more. The friction of his pants on my bare cunt makes me hiss. I moan and throw my head back, adjusting my hips until it feels good. The sound that leaves me when he rubs me the right way is nasty.

Tywin simultaneously moans and sighs. His nails scratch up my thigh and he squeezes my hips before continuing the travel to my breast. He pushes my shirt up and kneads my fleshy lumps. He hums in approval when I arch my back.

"Please. More," I whimper, looking up at him.

He tilts his head, "more what?"

"More you," my hands begin to strain as I overcome with the need to touch him.

He senses it and tightens my bounds, making me whimper. He renews his grip on my wrists then brings his other to inspect the building mess between my thighs.

I moan when he rubs my clit. He pulls back and inspects my arousal. He wets his two fingers with my slick before sinking into me. I whine at his prodding, jaw hanging low, hips grinding into him, "Tywin."

"So soft," he pumps his fingers into me, "so fuckable."

My stomach tightens at the wet sounds of his ministrations, and in turn, I clench around his fingers.

He moans my name, making my stomach flip. He rubs his palm into my clit, "your cunt's hungry for my fingers."

I moan, needing more friction. I pant like a depraved animal, "more, fuck, please."

Tywin basks in the way he makes me tick. He tunes in to the sounds I emit as my folds leak more and more.

I whimper when he pulls out and brings his fingers to my lips. Without any thought, I dutifully clean them, lapping evidence of myself off his digits. I graze his skin with my teeth as he pulls out with a pop. He chuckles, "dirty work for a dirty girl."

"Yes, please, I'm a dirty girl."

I yelp when he grabs me by the throat and pushes my head back. He does not choke me per se, but there is pressure in his hold. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "again, you think you deserve a reward for being a harlot?"

"No, daddy," I whine, "being a needy whore doesn't win me prizes."

"Mmm," he trails his hands back down to my breast.

"But it does make your cock hard," I sigh as I roll my hips.

This sets Tywin off. It's a visible change. He proceeds to rub my clit to prove a point, and clearly the point is to make me writhe and come all over his desk.

I moan unabashedly, something he's always loved about me. I whine his name and chant agreements, encouraging his finger fucking. I roll my hips and arch my back even more. I throw my head back and feel my neck strain as I chase the building pleasure he was supplying.

And I really shouldn't have been surprised, but he stops just as my orgasm was dawning.

I look at him, teary eyed from the loss of my incoming high. I pout and whine.

"Beg."

"Please, please,  I wanna come, baby. I need it. I need it, I want it."

Tywin teases me with his thumbs.

I let out a strangled moan, feeling my body quake, "mmm-- daddy, please. I need you! I need you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, with your cock, oh- fuck- want you to come in me and spit in my mouth and ruin me."

Tywin groans and shakes his head, "you truly are a depraved little whore, aren't you?"

I moan and nod, "yes. Yes, I am. I need it so bad, daddy, it hurts. My pussy needs you-"

He grabs my jaw, squeezing it to keep it open, "you want my spit in your mouth?"

I nod rapidly and stick my tongue out.

"You will not get everything that you want, slut," he says, releasing me to undo his pants with one hand.

I pant as I watch him free himself. When he does, my cunt quakes in anticipation, aching to be filled. I spread my legs, bringing my knees to my sides. My brows furrow in concentration, "please, please, please, I need your cock. Use me, please. I need you--"

My words are cut off by him finally driving into me. I squeal in excitement. I groan and tightly grip on the belt as much as I can. He thrusts into me with little regard for anything but himself. He gets lost in his thrusts. He presses his hand into my inner thigh and pushes my leg down. He pulls the belt on my wrists and pistons harder.

I cry out in approval. I mumble incoherent words of praise and encouragement in manner that scratches my throat.

Tywin eventually releases his hold on my bounds in lieu of rubbing my clit. At the same time, he thrusts slower and deeper, making me throw my head back in pleasure.

"Fuck! Just like that. That feels so fucking good, mmm fuck-"

He drags out his cock even slower, withdrawing until he's nearly out then sinking back in till his stones hit my ass. His deft fingers, wet with my lust for him, rapidly rub my clit in a fast and delicious pace. I squeal when he sporadically slaps into me, only to draw back out in a languid manner again.

My eyes begin to water and my belly trembles at the ministrations.

I whine on beat with his thrusts when he grabs my hips with his large hands and plunges deep, bullying my cunt with short and shallow shoves. My breathing is loud and hard as I wrangle out of my bounds, dying to touch him as he makes my pussy flutter. Seeing this, Tywin growls and pushes my hands back down, "stupid whore. Lay down and take it."

I make a squeaky noise, "wanna touch you- needa touch you."

"Were you not the one who asked for this?" he groans through laboured breath, "are you so dumb fucked already you've forgotten?"

I squeal and feel my breath get knocked out of me when he returns to a more brutish pace, holding me down by my decolletage. My body jolts on impact, in turn, making the desk creak and the objects upon it jostle. My salivating mouth chokes out a response, "no-- wanna to- wan' touch you, da-" I whine, "please."

"Greedy come slut."

I let out a broken moan, "lovie, please- please. Wanna touch- wanna pull you close--"

"I'm inside you," he chuckles darkly, one hand tightening around my throat.

The lack of oxygen and his thrusts make me see stars.

The next moment, he begins to fuck me slowly again, grinding into me in a moderate tempo. He stuffs his thumb into my mouth, effectively muffling my whines. I haughtily suck on his finger. With the new found quiet, the wet slapping and thrusting was now audible to anyone earshot. The sounds makes my belly wild with lust.

"Look at you," he mumbles as he does just that. He looks at me as I suck on his thumb and mewl; he watches as his cock disappears into core, my puffy lips parting with every thrust, "so eager for my seed."

I pathetically sound off at the idea, rolling my hips as I did.

"Shall I put an heir into your belly, pet?" he releases my wrists, bringing the now free hand onto my stomach, "my pretty girl."

I gag at the idea, nibbling down on his thumb as I desperately wiggle the belt off my hands. Tywin ignores me as the fantasy of fucking me pregnant clouds his mind. His breath strains as he rubs a side of my stomach, "though, I do like painting your skin with my seed."

I whimper and furrow my brows. I choke on his thumb as I mutter, "no, inside. Inside, please!"

Tywin is snapped out of his fantasies and pulls his thumb out of my mouth. He tilts his head as he watches me struggle out of the belt, "oh? You think you deserve that?"

I make a frustrated sound as I free myself from my bounds. All the while, Tywin uses his wet thumb to slowly draw circles on my clit.

I gasp when I finally manage to shrug the belt off my wrists.

Lost in the thought again, Tywin continues with his steady and deep pistoning. He imagines how my body might change to accommodate his child, how my belly will grow, how my breasts will heavy, how my slick will sweeten. He hums and curses under his breath. He doesn't actually want an heir, he doesn't think, but gods fantasy of it all.

"Need it," I whimper, reaching out to him. I grab his dress shirt and scratch the sides of his ribs. I lick my lips and debate ripping the his shirt open, but don't want to deal with repercussions of flying buttons nor what he'll do to me for destroying his shirt. I hastily unbutton his top and rub the expanse of his chest. My hands run up to his neck. I massage his shoulders and pull him close, lifting my head up to kiss him.

Tywin leans down, lips finding my own, but just before I can deepen our kiss, he pulls away and clutches my jaw, "I asked if you deserve it, my stupid fuck-toy," he rests his forehead on my temple, "not if you need it."

As this point, his movements slow then cease altogether. I whine in protest.

He clicks his tongue and rubs my thighs, "use your words, darling."

I continue to whine as I scratch as his nape. "I deserve it," I stretch out, peppering kisses all over his face. He leans into me. I lick his lower lip, " 'm a good girl, officer. So good."

He groans when I begin to roll my hips again. He grips the curve of my ass and shakes his head, "your whorish nature proves overwise."

"Please, please, please--"

"Will you cry to me about your woes and then cry again when I take action?"

I rapidly shake my head, "never. Never, lovie."

Tywin hums and rubs his nose on my cheek.

"Please," I beg, "please," I urge, "please."

He kisses my jaw and begins to move again. I squeal in relief and nip at his ear.

"Since you asked so nicely," he mutters, propping himself up on his palms.

I shift my weight on my elbows and chase after his mouth. I give him messy kisses and make it a point to catch his lips between my teeth at least once. Though normally, he would see this as an act worth punishing, in the moment, he did not care. He, quite frankly, loved the neediness, not that's he'd say that out loud.

Tywin loses himself as he bucks into a thorough pace. He plows into me with enough force to make his desk squeak and thud in protest. I meet his movements with the grinding of my hips and wanton pants. Amidst all the sensations, I feel my climax quickly drawing near.

"Yeah, baby, so good. So good."

He grunts as he squeezes the flesh on my hips. He pushes my knees back with one hand as the other rubs down to the small of my back, "you like that?"

I claw at his shoulder, dig my fingers into his nape, and rapidly nod, mumbling in mindless agreement. He huffs, looking down at me in self-satisfaction, wholly enjoying the reaction he was garnering. He spectates the wet slapping of our skin and the shuddering of my belly. He rubs circles on my clit.

"Fuck, Tywin."

He hums, "such sweet sounds."

I drop my head back.

"Prove your obedience then. Come on my cock."

I whimper his name out repeatedly and chase my incoming high.

Tywin pounds into me with more vigor, rougher and harder and more desperate.

I feel my belly begin to tighten. I howl and pull him close. I bring my mouth to his neck and graze him my teeth. I sigh and lick his skin before sucking the area, "give it to me, gimme, baby-- need it, need'a-"

His mouth finds mine and we share a heated kiss. He pushes me flat on the desk, hands on my shoulder and hip. He grips me tightly as he stokes the fire building inside him. He flicks his hips at a desperate pace and his expression displays his single-mindedness: his brows furrow, his jaw drops. My own face makes known how intoxicating it all was. Much as I wanted to watch him come, the twitch of my features prevent me from doing so, and soon enough, my eyes screw shut to focus on my pleasure.

Tywin's nails bite into my skin, and with two strong, distinct plunges, he grunts and releases his lustful heat. He continues to fuck me through his peak, and I feel him throb as he sighs deeply in ecstacy.

Quickly after, I let out a throaty squeal as my body breaks into burning bliss. My spine twists and my thighs shake as I feel my come spill down my ass onto the wood supporting my weight. I heave heavily through my open mouth and squeeze the arm pushing my shoulder down with both my hands. I lick his fingers as I grind into him, riding out my climax.

He begins to falter moments later. I wrap my legs around his waist and seal him in place. My body buzzes as he caresses my neck and rubs my lips with his thumb.

Breathlessly, he praises, "good girl."

My belly tingles and my eyes open to his look of bliss. I lick his thumb then kiss it, pulling his hand off me to then kiss his palm, "thank you, daddy."

Tywin takes a couple open-mouthed breaths as he examines me. He kneads my exposed breast then rubs down my belly. He licks his lips, evidently satisfied. I whimper as I push myself up and bury my face into the crook of his neck. I sneak my arms underneath his open shirt and pepper kisses on his skin, licking, nibbling, and doting on him.

He's accustomed to how I get after a good fucking, and though his sigh was that of content, it was also something else. He places his hands on the curve of my hips and nudges me with his nose, "I have work to do, needy pup."

I bite his neck hard enough to make him react. He calls my name out as a warning. "Wanna stay like this," I whisper hotly against his ear.

He sighs again as my lips kiss their way to his. He knits his brows but returns my affection.

I drape my arms over his shoulders, one hand combing through his white hair, "don't want my old man to be cold."

Tywin makes a disapproving sound at my feigned concern. He rolls his eyes and I simply giggle, knowing even in his annoyance, he'd let me have my way. "You will not distract me," says the man with his serious Lannister™ voice.

I am immensely undeterred and overly confident in my post-sex state, and so I stick my tongue out through my teeth before shaking my head. He sighs yet again, shaking his head as he tries to push me off. I whine and scowl in offense, tightening my arms and legs around him. The man knows it's futile, and yet he continues to push me back, as he also knows he will let himself get distracted once this work stokes his ire.

Coming to terms with his defeat, he stops pushing me off. I pull my lips into a pleased smile and look at him.

He raises his brow and warns, "you will not speak a word unless spoken to."

My stomach rolls at the severity of his tone.

"And you will not complain about how I'm ignoring you, nor long it's taking me to complete my work while you are nestled on my lap."

I chew my lip and tilt my head, "can I complain if I'm off you?"

"Yes."

I nod, "okay, kitty meow meow, sit down on your chair then."

Tywin's brow quirks.

I blink expectantly, "come on, honey. With all the exercise we do, I'm sure you can manage to get us on your chair."

He glares at me, but I simply do not care. I grin and rub the line between his brows.

With a grunt from him and a giggle from me, we end up on his chair. I kiss his cheek and rub his shoulders, "good boy."

He ignores me and rolls his chair towards his desk with slight difficulty. He arranges his things and wipes down the wet blob on his desk with a tissue, "dirty temptress."

I chuckle and rest my head on his shoulder.

We both know Tywin Lannister would never donate to charity 🤢 be better than our old man, and please consider donating €5 to Rital's GoFundMe if you enjoyed this fic.

[luvfy0dor]

“Hands Under My Sweatshirt, Baby Kiss it Better ♡⁠˖” Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; BSD Spoilers, mentions of death, ch. 112 events, soft!fyodor

Description; Having a nightmare about your partner dying and waking up to him comforting you

A/n; i'm supposed to be doing a saq rn but I COULDNT NOT POST ON NEW CHAPTER DAY AHHHH I WANNA BE FYODORS MEDIEVAL HOUSE SPOUSE SO BAD IN EVERY LIFE TIME

ೃ⁀➷

Everything felt so real- you watched as your lover got into a helicopter with a briefcase containing an antidote, expecting a swift escape from Mersault only to be impaled by an iron rod. You watched as his eyes widened and his slender fingers wrapped around the pole. Blood trickled from both the new piercing in his midsection and between his lips while his breathing became shaky. He glared at another man in your dream who has been rendered faceless while speaking, although everything in the dream was silent so you couldn't make out any particular words or sentences.

The night terror didn't stop at your boyfriend being impaled, as a matter of fact it made you watch as the helicopter was messily flown directly into a tower and burst into flames with Fyodor still inside. You tried to hurry towards the aircraft, but it exploded before you could reach it. The blast didn't effect you, not scorching you or propelling you backwards at all, but letting you stand there and watch as all hope of getting Fyodor out of there shattered like glass. The crackling embers of fire surrounding you gradually became accompanied by a soft whisper-one that was all too familiar and thick with sleep. You were still in shock from the dream when your eyes snapped open, your legs curled inward with Fyodors chest to your back and his hand soothingly rubbing your side. "It's okay, Moya Lyubov, what happened?" He asks you, his eyebrows furrowed and his breath warm against your ear as he presses a chaste kiss to the nape of your neck. "Nightmare. You're...you're okay." You murmur, relief taking over your heart and mind. You rolled over, your body pushing his backwards a bit. "Ofcourse I'm alright. I'm not going anywhere, y/n, I promise. Was the dream about me getting hurt?" He correctly assumes, his tired gaze fixed on your own. "Mmm, worse, dying." You say, your heart finally returning to a steady pace.

"Ah, that makes more sense. You were very restless, you know." He tells you. "It's easy to tell when you have nightmares, you're like a dog. You make some distressed noises and kick your legs." He says with a grin. You sigh and close your eyes, pressing your head to his chest. "It's better than being stiff as a board though, 'cause that means you'll pick up on it and be all sweet and affectionate." You say. Your arms wrap around his torso like they would with a stuffed toy. "I'd say I'm rather affectionate regardless. You're just needy." He looks down at you and pushes your head out from his chest, kissing your forehead while his other hand slides up the back of your sweater and rests on the small of your back. You hum and twist the fabric of his tee-shirt between your pointer and thumb. "M'not needy." You roll your eyes and look up at him through your eyelashes. "If you insist." He says, closing his eyes and readying himself to delve back into a dreamless sleep. "Mhm..g'night, Fedya, I love you." You say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips that gets his eyes to open right back up. He kisses you back and smiles faintly. "Good night, Y/n, I love you too, sleep well." His arm drapes over your side with the blanket strewn messily over the both of you. Now you could sleep a little more peacefully with the reassurance of your lovers presence in your arms, and more importantly, his safety.

A/n; i speedran this tbh, so I'm sorry if it's not great. Also, would if I made like,,, a taglist would any of y'all wanna be on it because I see so many people do it and it looks cool but I've been too nervous to like say anything or ask bc I don't want people to be like "ew no wtf" THATS LITERALLY NOT GONNA HAPPEN BUT LIKE IDK I'm scared djsjjfjekekak

[belokhvostikova]

Have you guys seen that clip of Deborah Ann Woll teaching John Bernthal Dungeons and Dragons? Because that's how I imagine Eddie Munson learning, thus teaching you...

As young as can be, sitting in the lonesome of his yard, father nowhere in sight for days to come. There's always a boy. A much older one. Probably in high school. Eddie likes to watch him. He's got crazy hair, tattoos of devilish designs, a cigarette in hand, beer in the other, with a band tee to brandish his look. The overall stamp of approve in Eddie Munson's book- not that a ten-year-old is cool enough to have one, though, if Eddie was, the teenager next door would get it. So slowly, over some weeks, Eddie gains the tendency to pick up the distress t-shirts at the thrift store, and perhaps explores the music he so frequently hears come from the trailer over. It's nothing like his mother's, but the thrashing screams help with the raging thoughts.

So, back to the yard. Summer had been abusive. And a town or two next over, Wayne was pummeling to race over to save his nephew from boiling alive in the tin rectangle that lost its AC and a father figure to fix it. Wayne had made Eddie swore over the phone to stay outside under the shade of a tree. It's probably when the older boy first sees him. Yeah, he's seen the quiet kid around the trailer park, but for once, he's seeing the quiet kid with an asshole of a father, sweltering in the darkness of a t-shirt that oddly resembles his own Iron Maiden one.

Water was the first of an offer. "Hey! You, uh, need something to cool down a bit?" And as gnarly as he was believed to be to the child, Eddie remained silent to the offer, despite the ache for it. But the young man wasn't one to blame the young boy, so slowly, he approached. "Don't have to die out here, kid, could get you a fan if needed?" Nothing. "Folks around?"

Al? Al Munson? Around? Yeah, even the high schooler realized how stupid he sounded asking. But shitty fathers wasn't anything new to him, had a couple of his mother's boyfriends to even add to the experience, which was probably what inclined him to have a seat next to Eddie's hunched stature. "Killed an owlbear last week." Words may not have came out, but the furrow in Eddie's brows was quite a reaction. The guy laughed. "Y'know, D&D? You ever play?"

Dungeons and Dragons? Pardon his French, but that nerd shit? Wasn't this guy supposed to be cool? "Don't give me that look, twerp, can't knock it 'til you try it." A corner of Eddie's lips almost upturned. "Let's play.”

Spoken so faintly, "What...?" Christ, that kid was in need of water.

"Like, right now, let's play. Let's see, you," a point to Eddie's chest, "you gotta bow, on your back, strapped in- hell, and a sword and dagger at your hilt, right?"

"Uh-"

"Don't question it, just imagine it." The nicotine of his breath emphasized. "It's dark in the woods, isn't it? Nighttime, with almost no light, right? The moonlight can barely peak through the sea of trees, but that doesn't stop you from walking." And he watches Eddie's eyes fall to the telling of his story. "But... you hear a crack. It's something large. You can feel it. What would you do?"

Eddie seeks for the validation. "First thing?" And the teenager nods. "How far away is the crack?" Then, there's the smile. The hook, the teen calls it in his mind. "Perception check. We roll the dice, and let's say you roll a thirteen, and hell, you seem like a perceptive kid," the young man alludes to the similar taste of clothing Eddie's suddenly acquired, "that's a plus three, now sixteen. No need for me to tell you the insights, man, you know it's about twenty feet away."

"Then... then, I want to take out my bow first." Eddie rationalizes. "A-And I'm gonna aim."

And there's a light noticeable within Eddie, the high schooler can tell. "Okay, now, slowly creepin' at you, suddenly into view, you see its bit of eyeshine, in the darkness, you see an owlbear." Eddie smiles. "Ten to fifteen feet," the man acts out, "a monster so extraordinary, with the look of an owl, but a stature as great as a bear. It's squawking at you... what do you do?"

The curiosity sits up within Eddie. "Have I ever met an owlbear before?"

"History check."

"I have a history?" Eddie quizzes.

"You have a life, kid." Those words, something within had lit up inside Eddie. "This is D&D, you're playing D&D!"

"But how do I win?" His peculiar eyes rounded.

And a smile greeted him on the other end. "You don't. The goal's not to win, it's to tell a great story." Eddie sat back. "If this one isn't doing it for you," and gaudy rings on the young man's finger pointed to the likes of the trailer park, "make your own. It's what I do." He shrugged. "Don't keep your shitty life a shitty life. You could be sword fighting dark wizards in enchanted forests instead of waiting for next bad thing to happen." And Eddie listened. "Make your own life."

By the time Wayne’s pick-up truck had arrived, Eddie Munson had killed the owlbear.

And perhaps, in a few years’ time, about nine or ten, Eddie comes across a lost soul, too. Well, maybe not lost, per se, just allergic to the hierarchy of high school that he’s unfortunately been subjected to for far too long. Not exactly here or there with that group or the other, simply floating by without a notice- well, mostly.

There was some notice of your hair, the quite nice hair you got there, how you, uh, how you had it. Y-Your teeth, too, uh, pretty cool teeth. Made your smile kinda nice- well, not kinda, very nice- but not nice in a creepy way, y’know, nice in a good way… yeah.

Eddie swallowed thickly.

“Thanks.” You bluntly muttered back, returning to your task of retrieving dusty books from the desolate library.

“Oh, you like Lord of the Rings, I love Lord of the Rings!” It was worn, spine creased with no care- or maybe too much care. “Y’know, with the, uh, elves and shit, love ‘em.” You eyed him, and suddenly Eddie was plotting his own demise. Why he chose to speak as if he’d never read the book, he would never know, but words were spewing, and unfortunately, you were being drenched in the vomit of his nerves.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” You chuckled off in amusement.

But, nonetheless, you were ready to walk away from the oddity of Eddie Munson, as Hawkins High, in of itself, was weird enough for your liking.

“I killed a owlbear once.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face the metalhead, who bounced on the balls of his feet. Yeah, impressive, you swore the look on his face said. “What’d you just say?” Interest piqued.

“Wanna play D&D with me?”

Maybe you liked his weird…

[coralinnii]

✧ Who’s your vibe: Heartslabyul edition ✧

How to play: out of the 20 traits I think of about the TWST guys, bold or highlight the traits you associate or vibe with. No competition, no challenge, just fun.

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia

Riddle

8/20

collared outfits \ academically driven \ watching documentaries for fun \ pocket watches \ feeding stray animals \ rose-infused smells \ actions speak louder than words \ crossword puzzles \ reread books \ is always perfectly on time \ anxious cook \ socially awkward \ tea over coffee \ sweet tooth \ valedictorian \ photographic memory \ perfectionist \ horseback rides \ manners maketh man \ ironed shirts \

Trey

9/20

freshly baked bread \ mint scents \ big sibling energy \ hats \ friend who plans everything \ safety first \ casual clothes \ supreme baker \ loves kids \ writes neatly \ loves to spoil others \ secretly mischievous \ doesn’t want to stand out \ green clovers \ beware the nice ones \ dental care is best care \ loyal to the end \ hidden muscles \ easily embarrassed \ simple and chill \ cool tone colours

Cater

5/20

social media presence \ keeps a lot of secrets \ social expert \ spicy food lover \ exhausted little sibling \ cute little fangs \ flirty \ skateboards \ guitars \ so many selfies \ band tees or hoodies \ trendy accessories \ fortune telling \ cute cafes \ pompadour \ winky face \ go with the flow \ cute nicknames \ peace signs pose \ rock n’ roll vibes \

Ace

6/20

jerk with soft spot \ shortcuts are best cuts \ angry worry wart \ brutally honest \ cheeky hearts \ prostratinator \ tsundere \ magic tricks \ sore loser \ playfully insults friends \ talks to friends during class \ messy hair \ accidentally very dramatic \ secretly sappy \ stepping around the rules \ idolizes big siblings \ visits friends without warning \ trouble magnet \ cocky smirk \ brings playing cards everywhere \

Deuce

6/20

book dumb \ changing for the better \ grease monkey \ bad rep \ momma’s kid \ ride-or-die \ super gullible \ fights back \ two-toned varsity jackets \ bikes are cool \ single parent child \ delinquent days \ works on honor code \ musclehead \ good with chores \ can’t go wrong with adding eggs \ won’t know till you try \ one-track mind \ do shit, get hit \ hardworking \

[clubmega]

https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/45946562-combo

[beansricejc]

juices like wine

werewolf!john wick x f!reader

synopsis: on a full moon’s night, you think you’ll be safe in this house alone with your fellow monster hunter.

warnings: monster!jw, cursing, pussy drunk activities, oral (f receiving), squirting, sniffing, watered down spec of masochism, dbf!john, age gap, dub con(?)

authors note: thx for all of ur messages, life is just too much rn and I’m attempting to keep up haha, here’s that spooky thing I promised

“Uh, are you sure this will-“

“Of course it will!” I rolled my eyes, tightening the cuffs on the iron cuffs on John’s wrists. “My dad’s book says that werewolves can’t break through iron. And his book is never wrong.”

John flashed me a skeptical look with his eyebrows raised before rolling those thin brown eyes. Hunting monsters has always been our side gig. Although, things became a little tricky when he had accidentally been bitten by a now dead furry friend, almost a month ago now. Tonight was the full moon, and there haven’t been any side effects but John insisted on taking no chances.

My partner in crime sighed, grunting a bit with discomfort as the iron restraints dig into his flesh a little.

“It better not be wrong. I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happened.”

My hand grabs his bearded and chiseled face, forcing John to give me his attention. There’s always been… tension, between the two of us. Yet neither have acted on it. He was my dad’s best friend after all, before my dad became vampire food on a job gone awry.

“Nothing is gonna happen.” I reassured him, my fingers squeezing his face a bit harder this time. John nods to himself, taking a few deep breaths. “It’s only for a night. Hell, I can just turn The Office on for you while you’re in here.”

Light hearted humor got me nowhere tonight. I’m an idiot. A fool. A fucking moron. That’s what I’m telling myself as I creep through the house on the second floor. A silver dagger in one hand, a phone in the other, with Charon on the other line, the closest Hunter in proximity to us in the state.

“His senses are better, he’s faster, stronger, you need to get out of there or just kill him.” Charon pleads. I grunt quietly.

“I can’t leave-“

A loud and bone rattling howl bounces off of the walls of the house, startling me. I froze in my tracks, cursing under my breath. I hang up the phone and slip it into the pocket of my leggings.

“You smell even better during a full moon.”

My breathing stops as I feel the breath of another behind me. I know damn well who that person is, his voice is much deeper and gravelly than normal, this isn’t him. This isn’t the John I know.

A yelp escaped my lips as two paw-like hands grab me from behind, tossing me over a huge shoulder. John’s shirt is mostly ripped all the way off, since his transformation took place under just a simple tee shirt and flannel pants.

“John! Put me down!” I shouted, legs thrashing as my fists beat at his huge back. Thud, thud, thud, it did nothing. I hadn’t even noticed that John had tossed the silver blade aside until I had tried to use it.

A deep throaty chuckle erupts from John’s mouth, right before he tossed me onto the bed of the master bedroom. I land on silken sheets as my eyes widen, experiencing John as half man, half wolf, for the first time. Fangs peek from his lips as his beard had become much more untamed and wild, even his hair is much longer and crazy.

Muscles bulge from his shirt, before he gets frustrated and rips it off with an irritated roar. The shreds of the fabric land on the wood floor, as his evolved muscles ripple over my cowering form on the king sized bed.

“Such a pretty girl. I’ve always known better than to have a piece of you to myself.” John speaks lowly, his red eyes linger over me. “But I can’t control myself tonight. I’m sorry sweetpea.”

“Wait, John, just, wait!” I know damn well it’s to no avail. His paws grab my thighs and push my legs to the mattress, as his nose buries itself in my clothed crotch. Frowning, I scream in objection but my squirming and resistance is futile. I can’t even beat John while we spar, of course I won’t even have a chance while he’s half man, half creature.

“Fuck, you’re ovulating.” John salivates and takes in a deep breath to get the scent of my cunt imbedded into his feral brain. With one tiny motion of his razor sharp claws, despite my avid protests, he sliced the crotch of my leggings open like butter.

“Hey hey hey! No! John, this can’t happen!” I stammer out quickly. John is far too heavy and I don’t stand a chance.

“Don’t worry. My cock is too big to give you right now.” John insists, dropping his pajama pants and tugging on his huge erection. It matches his insanely big body, one that I’m just realizing has been growing larger and larger ever since he began his chase.

My jaw dropped as I notice he’s got to be at least seven feet tall now, with a cock that’s about 10 inches long, but 4 inches wide. John seriously had a comically large and furry dick at the moment, and I had no idea if I should have laughed or just stayed quiet. So I picked the latter.

John drops to his knees, as both of his hands spread my thighs even further, taking a longer inhalation of the heat between them. Squirming under him, I couldn’t help but whimper and whine out of the pure tickling sensation. The feeling of his beard and nose on my folds were unfamiliar to say the least.

“John, get o-“

I stop talking and let out a moan as his big nose brushes against my clit. His long spongy tongue swiped efficiently on my folds, making them pliable enough to then plunge in a finger.

John let’s go of my thigh for half a second so he can shred apart my sleeping shirt, my tits falling out of the fabric. My nipples harden from the sudden air exposure. John growls against my cunt in response to that sinful visual. One of his paws smack my left breast, earning a gasp from me, while his tongue worked overtime inside of me.

Head like this only existed in porn, right?

Apparently not. Apparently, you can get head like this from your local werewolf.

My fingers dug at the bedsheets and also his head of messy long hair. My fingers even brush against his newly grown canine-like ears, I keep forgetting that this is only happening because John has turned. That meant, he was eating my pussy and needing to inhale my scent on pure instinct. If he doesn’t, he’d go insane. He’d lose control. Maybe even kill someone.

The mere thought of my vagina actually being the death of someone kinda has me in a chokehold at the moment.

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

John continued to lick, suck, thrust, whatever he could to with his tongue to get my taste and scent locked into his memory. He’s even so desperate that he has managed to scratch up my thighs and stomach in the process. The cuts aren’t anything too deep, maybe a bit more than a cat claw. But I’d be in denial if I claimed the slight sting of his nails and there euphoric head I was receiving wasn’t a delectable combination.

A knot forms in my lower region, an unusual feeling. Not like an orgasm, no, this was something else entirely. I had no idea what to expect, but it sure as hell was shocking when I began to squirt all over John’s bearded face.

My cum splashed onto his cheeks and nose, even a bit of his forehead. The dribbles from my pussy coat his unkempt beard, and he catches his breath with an exhausted smile when he pulls away.

With my legs trembling and moans spilling from my mouth, I laid under his beastly frame, helpless. Exposed to my elder Hunter, it was a shock to see him as some vicious monster. My heart was nearly about to give out from the intensity of the orgasm, and from the pure shock I was still trying to comprehend.

While he collected my juices from his face and sucked them off of his fingers, my mind is racing as I wonder, is he even going to remember this tomorrow? When he shifts back, is it going to be awkward between us from now on? There’s no way he actually felt so strongly for me… right?

If he didn’t recall eating me out like it was his last day on earth, how am I going to drop that bomb? John’s hands grab my face, much like how I had a few hours earlier. His moist nose and forehead press against mine, smushing in a little. My own juices smear against my small face. John’s red eyes demand my full attention from mere centimeters away.

That same rough voice gives me a growling chuckle.

“Been waiting three years for that one, babygirl. Maybe now you’ll notice me.”

[strawberryforks]

better than hemingway // damian wayne x ironrot!reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have WEIRD sleep schedules, your nemesis is a bird, you’re a thief, and this is part one of a new series.

warnings: swearing, blood, violence, criminal activity (idk man, you’re not a good guy)

a/n: reader and damian are 18/19. requests are open <3 feel free to spam

word count: 1174

it’s pitch black in the apartment–all of the lights are off, and you, making your footsteps featherlight have no intentions of turning any of them back on. your boyfriend, who you’re certain is an insomniac is up at all hours of the night and the lightest sleeper you’ve ever met. it’s because of this that you two don’t usually sleep in the same bed. you were friends and roommates before you were anything more so aside from the occasional sleepover and exchange of clothes (damian has less sweaters then he started with, tee shirts too as you love to sleep in them) not much has changed. your room is still decorated with posters, flooring comprised solely of dirty clothes, empty water bottles, pins and stuffed animals, and his is still perfectly organised. you’re opposites and it shows. but in every way it counts? it doesn’t matter a bit. you creep through the hallway with your pastel pink slippers on. they’re fluffy and don’t click against the ground. you step over the creaky floorboards, having memorised them, and make it to the living room. your eyes have adjusted to the dark, so you look around, and when nothing is amiss, nudge the door open.

the bellman has retired for the night, so it’s up to you to let yourself out. and you do. after ducking into an alleyway you put on your suit and fish your phone from your bag before stashing it behind the green bin. “hey dae. esti called and needed me. i’m sleeping over.”

then, you send a text to esti, “hey girl. if damian calls you tell him we’re together. thanks in advance xoxo.”

god only knows why she was awake at 2am, but your phone dings and there’s a response almost immediately. “and if he shows up like last time?”

“spam me and tell him i went to pick something up at our fav 24 hour gas station. i’ll book it there and boom. anyways wth are you awake???”

“was bingeing supernatural. sue me.” (you couldn’t blame her)

“well try to get some sleep sometime. I’ll stop by tomorrow. for real. want anything?”

“would love a new necklace. not too memorable tho.”

“i was thinking icecream but sure. ly.”

you pocket your phone, sticking it into the most secure pocket in your suit. after glancing at the green bin to confirm that nothing’s visible–not your bag or damian’s sweater. your hands find purchase in the crevices between bricks, molten iron helps to stick your fingertips to the wall you scale. then , on the rooftop, the wind picks up. the night air is chilly, perfect foreshadowing for the crime you’re about to commit. no, you’re not going to steal ice cream. that’s tomorrows problem, a cone is only $3, and the woman who runs the shack is the sweetest ever. it’s more tempting to gift her things than to take from her.

you run across the roofs until you reach your destination. then, you lower yourself down to the ground and make quick work of the doorknob. “someone hasn’t been robbed before,” you muse, pins slotting around easily, latch clicking open. shouldering through, a grin splits your face as you look around. everything is dusty and allergies are a bitch, “ACHOO!” your sneeze startles a cat, and the tortie stretches out and walks over to you, angling to be pet. the pet flops down and when it isn’t given the expected attention–hisses and walks away.

after stuffing a few watches, some costume jewellery, a wooden beaded necklace, some first edition books (damian’s birthday was coming up and they would make great gifts so long as no one made a huge deal about them being missing), a map (it looked cool) and just about everything behind the glass wall you broke with a few well places thumps of your fist. finishing up your haul, he arrived.

just in time because what was a night without your nemesis making his incredibly irritating presence known.

robin. fucking robin.

he’s your nemesis. nope, you couldn’t get batman so there’s a teenage boy, nearly as unhinged as you are, tailing you and constantly foiling your plans. (you’re a teenager too, but still, it’s embarrassing) even this heist he interrupts and you weren’t even doing any real damage. this excursion was more for fun than anything and he was here to ruin it. “how many times are we going to have to do this?”

“well, until you give up, obviously, bird boy. and you’re a persistent little shit, so forever, probably?”

“or until i send you to arkham.”

you snort, “good luck with that.”

he unsheathed his sword and lunged. you rolled to the slide, dodging his blade but–the sack slung over your shoulder split, stolen items spilling out. he wasn't trying to cut you–just your score. goddamnit, you could be dense sometimes. robin picked a book up, “you enjoy austen, do you?”

you scoff, eyes wide as you look at his other hand. the other items are all over the ground, some underfoot but he managed to save the books from being damaged. good, because you wanted them for your boyfriend. “better than hemingway,” you throw a ninja star, one you’ve forged yourself, and send it sailing his way. robin sets the books down behind a desk and you take note of their precise location, scooping a handful of discarded loot into your pocket. esti was going to love that necklace. you stuffed it down the front of your suit, sliding across the floor and ducking under another swipe of his sword. something pierced your suit and you winced–it wasn’t even robin, just a fucking splinter of something you’d broken earlier. springing back up, you crafted another ball of iron and threw it his way, the molten liquid glowing orange. when it landed on the wood floor and began to smolder, you had your distraction. you decided to come back for the books later and robin attempted to smother the growing flames. “you should get that checked out,” he said, slapping an old sued jacket over the glowing orange and red. you looked down at your thigh, at the piece of glass sticking out of it. it was larger than you’d thought. “and check myself into the hospital so you can find me? no thanks.”

“or pull it out and die. either works for me” he slams the jacket into the flames again, in an attempt to smother them. as it’s working, you decide to make your leave, sprinting through the door and down the street.

you stop by the alleyway, grab your belongings and actually head to esti’s. she’ll patch you up and you’ve got something to pay her with–the necklace.

[elusiiev]

The Brainrot is Consuming me.

anyway earlier me an my friends were discussing what kinda clothes the main cast of omor would wear bc.... yk half of the cast is in fucking npc ass attire, and we went back and forth about it a lot and now i feel obligated to share this with other people to see if they might agree with my headcanons

mari - for mari i feel like she's very much a cardigan girly, sundresses all the time, probably like sweetheart and square necklines on a lot of her shirts, and she consistently puts lots of time into her appearance, more so for her own pleasure than anything else. however if she doesnt get to change out of pajamas she'd probably get a little upset and feel unproductive as a result - idk she just seems very schedule oriented and i feel her clothing style and habits would match that. she 100% irons clothes, if somethings wrinkly shes not wearing it, and she'd lean into the academia aesthetic. she also gives summer vibes to me, but that might just be because the main canon images of her are during summertime - also lots of purples and yellows, purples her fav color and yellow is the complementary color, plus a color associated with bright light and summertime

hero - he'd probably have a more basic style of fashion, but still look very cute in it. like big sweatshirts, long coats, button ups, wide leg jeans, collared shirts, clean shoes, all in all a very clean look. he prob has some of mari's jackets in his closet that he wears pretty frequently. also he would always wear earrings BECAUSE I SAID SO I THINK ITS AWESOME he might also be a bit into academia fashion, but less over-the-top "i'm the top professor of this college" look and more just autumnal tones and mildly professional attire. also i feel like hero would iron some of kel's clothes if he noticed they were very wrinkled, which might result in hero running out of time to iron clothes for himself, in which he just switches his outfit last minute. this is hyperspecific but but but but but yes

kel - this man does not know fashion, all his tips are from hero, which hero got from mari. his wardrobe probably consists of graphic tees he found funny or pretty, hand-me-downs from hero, and plain shirts and jeans, probably with a couple rips in them from him being reckless. also he always wears some sort of brace, either on his arm or leg he is consistently getting hurt in some minor way /j dirty converses real!! also probably some pen/pencil marks on articles of clothing from getting bored and deciding to doodle randomly on them. also bracelets from random fundraisers or from crafts with the rest of the gang

aubrey - shes actually kinda hard for me to figure out, but i ffeel like aubrey would be wearing a lot of graphic tshirts and tank tops, but like those ones with extra detail yk the ones the grunge ones yeah those, and like huge cargo pants or wide leg jeans, chains hanging from pockets, necklaces and bracelets, and generally ripped things. so kinda punk but also still very fem and not very out there in terms of fashion styles . however this would only be half the time, this half is when she's really feeling like putting in effort to look nice, probably being like "im gonna be like mari today" and spending a good chunk of time putting together an outfit and such. the other half she's fucking done with it and throws on whatever shirt she can find and some pants, tosses her hair a little bit and throws on eyeliner and is out the door, somehow looking gorgeous still. like that effortlessly pretty look even when theres nothing outstanding abt the outfit

basil - grandma ass /j he probably thrifts constantly and the antique store is one of his fav places, so it seeps into how he dresses. lots of sweatshirts with intricate embroidered or sewn in designs, coats, lots of browns and greens, and very worn things. probably wears some traditionally feminine things he finds too jsut because he thought they were nice, again think grandmacore /j he's a very green and wiggly boy, lots of layers in his outfits, and is pretty rarely seen with short sleeve shirts. also collared shirts, messenger bags, pins, custom patches, and friendship bracelets. his clothing represents who he is and can tell a lot about him for the most part, basically story telling through what he wears since he has so many accessories that come from different places. also lots of floral patterns because he's he's the flower boy the little man the flower guy . in summary cottagecore mori kei esque things

sunny - his ass is not putting together outfits /j ok so i feel like sunny is the type to save his energy for other things, i feel like socializing might be a bit draining for him but he loves his friends, so he kind of switches up how he uses his energy to accommodate. but sometimes he'd probably wanna be like mari and put himself otgether, so he probably goes shopping with her and has cute clthes, his outfits just end up being very simple with a graphic tshirt and maybe an oversized jacket. HE ALWAYS WEARS SHORTS!!!! he dislikes the feel of pants and preferred shorts, even if he's cold. if he'd cold he just kinda balls up and puts a jacket around his legs. anyway i feel like he's probably being restricted a lot by his preferences (i hc he has autism and this is one of the ways it impacts him) so he's not the most fashionable person

OK THATS IT this took too long to write it took like maybe 30 minutes ummmmfehrhfweifu im obsessed with this game its taking over my every thought i needed to express this my brains going crazy bhhuu8ewifihbweifuweifok

[loveshotzz]

POSTED

🌇 chapter four <-

(older!eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

This is the chapter that sparked it all 🧡 So in honor of that, a snippet below the cut. (Enjoy the little easter egg of older!eddie from @carolmunson ‘s Orange Colored Sky 😉)

The string lights of his front porch catch in your sight while the sounds of Eddie Money echo down the quiet hitting your ears. He was home, but he wasn’t alone.

You slow your pace when you get close enough to smell the smoke of his cigar, and hear the deep baritone of his full belly laugh. Another voice chimes in, it’s raspier, darker and definitely not a woman’s. The unruly pang of jealousy that hits your gut subsides when you reach your apartment and he finally comes into view.

His hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it, the gray and honey highlights sticking out at the ends like he’s spent the whole night running those big hands through it. His cheeks are flushed with what looks like the end of a fun day with friends, a half smoked cigar tucked between his teeth that show themselves in a wide grin for the man sitting on his porch steps next to him.

He leans on the top step by his elbows, your thighs pressing together when the silver chain that’s usually hidden under his shirt swings over the soft blue tee that fits tight across chest when he laughs again. His cream jeans are loose fitting, stretching at his thighs with dark gray house slippers on his feet.

The guy next to him is not who you’d expect to find, he looks around the same age, gray streaks shining under the porch light in the dark curls that rest tied back in a loose low hanging bun. His chocolate eyes shine with excitement while ring and tattoo covered hands gesture wildly with his story, the ash at the end of his cigar is dangerously close to falling onto the wood of the porch.

Steve picks up the ashtray between the two glasses of a dark liquor like it’s second nature, lifting it up for his friend, making you notice the silver chain that dangles around his wrist when he takes the offering. He’s dressed in all black, a contrast to the light colors of Steve’s wardrobe with a pressed Judas Priest band tee that sits half tucked into the tops of his Chino shorts that fall right above his knee. Black socks and black slides covering his feet.

Bandit’s the first to notice you from his spot on the giant rug by the front door when you reach the gate. His ears perk as he sits up, paws dropping one after the other in excitement. A high pitch whine escapes him catching Steve’s attention. He plucks the cigar from his mouth looking at Bandit before finally following the dog’s line of sight to you. There was no getting out of this now.

You feel like you won some kind of prize at the size of Steve’s smile, lopsided with rosy cheeks pushed up and eyes crinkling in the corners. He sets his cigar down, ignoring the confused look his friend is giving him before sitting up running a hand through his hair making it stand on end.

“She’s alive!” He does his best impression of Dr. Frankenstein sticking his arms out in front of him and you see the man next to him grimace before taking a puff and turning his attention on to you. Curious dark eyes watch Steve and Bandit go to meet you at the gate.

“Yes, I somehow survived.” You can’t help but giggle making the man on the porch shoot his eyebrows up. All the nerve you worked up on the way here is gone when your neighbor gets close enough to see the stubble you liked so much is back.

“I hope the Au Cheval burger helped with that.” He breaths with a smirk, his eyes landing on the to go box that’s threatening to succumb to the iron grip in your hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

Too caught up in how his eyes seem to light up when he asks, it takes you a minute to register that he’s talking about the fish tacos in your hand.

“Oh!! - Sorry - Yes, I didn’t know you had company tonight. I have cannolis in my bag too, I don’t wanna interrupt anything - I can, I can just leave them with you.” Bandit jumps onto the gate while you stutter your words suddenly feeling sixteen again, the feeling of his friend's stare making you shuffle around in place.

Steve opens his mouth ready to protest but he’s interrupted before he gets a chance to say anything.

“Harrington! You gonna invite the pretty girl up for a drink or what?”

The heat rises to your cheeks as you busy yourself with scratching Bandit behind the ear with a free hand. Steve lets out a breath through his nose before pinching the bridge of it. His ears turning red like the cherries on the ends of the cannoli’s in your bag.

“Sorry about my friend,” He takes another beat before he looks up, his eyes smoldering against yours, hope hidden inside the golden specks. “I was going to actually ask you if you’d like to come up for a drink, I promise he’s harmless. He met his wife shopping at Trader Joe’s.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

Oooo how about; "what black magic are you using to look so adorable in my band tees?"

But also Eddie buying Steve all the sweaters in pastel colors 🥰🥺

Not my firm belief that Steve likes to tie-dye all his band tees

Eddie doesn’t even notice his shirts missing at first. He’s pretty bad about keeping up with laundry, so he just kind of assumes they’re dirty. He washes just enough to get through a week or so and the cycle goes on.

But then he sees his Iron Maiden shirt on Steve. And it’s been cropped.

And then he sees him in his brand new Judas Priest shirt, the one he got from tour. Not cropped, but a lot tighter on him than it is on Eddie.

He doesn’t say anything until he sees him in his Metallica hoodie. He made it himself when he saw the price of one at the concert he went to. It was huge on Eddie, but it somehow looked even bigger on Steve.

Same for the matching t-shirt.

And that t-shirt was his final straw.

“What black magic are you using to look so adorable in my band tees?”

“Hm?” Steve was focused on the recipe in front of him, homemade chocolate chip cookies.

“Walking around here, no pants, just my shirt. Might give a man ideas.”

“Like what?” Steve was still distracted.

“Like how fun it would be if you were wearing that shirt in bed. Nothing else.”

“You’re gonna have to take that away from this room. I’m making cookies.”

“Okay, but after?”

“After, you can do whatever you want to me. One request.”

“Anything.”

“You buy me this shirt in pink.”

“Pink?”

“Pink.”

“Anything for you.”

He didn’t have to see Steve’s face to know he was smirking.