#reader-inserts

[taloumina]

Unfulfilled Dream

Barry/Female Reader

Angst, breakup

Spoilers: set after season 3, episode 5

Summary: You’ve had enough of Barry’s obsession with money.

In an angst mood this time for Outer Banks! I wanna write a Rafe one too!

= = = = =

“Baby!” Barry yelled. “Where you going?”

You whirled around to face him and his—not yours anymore—house behind him, and yelled back, “What did you think, Barry? That I’d stay here with you?”

But you knew that was exactly what he’d expected: for everything to be right as rain between you and him. But that couldn’t be any more false than it was now.

You couldn’t stand living here any longer with him. You wanted to leave immediately, and yet, a part of you knew you couldn’t without saying anything to him.

“You told me you were done with Rafe Cameron,” you said, piercing him with your eyes, “but you just couldn’t resist, could you? When he dangles money right in front of you, you’ll do anything.”

“Don’t act like you never knew that,” Barry said, a tiny dangerous glint in his eyes, but it disappeared a second later. All you could see was the same love he always had for you. “All this money’s for us, baby! So we never gotta worry about a thing. Hell, we could move outta here if we wanted!”

He laughed, but you saw no humor in what he said or what he’d done. “Bullshit! With your business—and by that, I mean your legitimate business,” you clarified, “you were doing just fine. Money was never a problem for you, Barry.”

“It was when them Pogues stole 25k from me,” he reminded you, recalling the incident with disdain. “But what we have now... we’re set for life! You and me.”

He made it sound like he and you were fulfilling a shared dream together, but that dream wasn’t yours. Yours was simply to have a little more than enough to live a comfortable life, splurge here and there, and maybe even start a family one day. His was to live like a king in the way he wanted, not like Kooks with their enormous houses and boats and extravagant lifestyles.

You and Barry had joked about it before: having so much money that you turned into Kooks. But you never truly wanted to be one. Being with Barry, you’d thought, would always make you happier than being with people who were used to spending money like they were drinking water. You didn’t even want to be like those Pogue kids, running around and chasing treasure like it was their job.

“It’s all yours,” you told Barry, your voice falling to a whisper. “I was never gonna be more important to you than money, huh? At least now you don’t have to worry about sharing it with anyone.”

“(Name), don’t,” he said pleadingly. “I can stop. Starting right now, I’ll never work with Rafe Cameron again.”

“Yes, you will. You always do.” You turned and started walking away again, determined to leave while you still had the resolve to.

“Wait.”

You couldn’t force your legs to keep going. You looked over your shoulder at Barry. “What?”

His eyes were hard. “The cross... It’s better if—”

“No one knows?” You laughed bitterly. “I won’t tell anyone, even if you two deserve to be caught for doing something so fucking stupid. Goodbye, Barry.”

“Goodbye ... (Name),” Barry whispered, but you never heard him as you walked out of his life forever.

[keulixeutin]

All I Know Are Love Songs

a/n: got love songs - bonus by kaash paige on repeat and it inspired this.  tried a different approach to narration style and i definitely don’t think i did what i set out to do, but i hope u enjoy it anyways <3

summary: aizawa apologizes for missing the release of your first album. aizawa x fem!reader.

cw: gender neutral pronouns used, but fem!reader in mind while writing.  aizawa-centric.  18+.  suggestive.  established relationship. reader is a musician. talks of food; mentions of guilt, shame, insecurity (on Aizawa’s end); fluffiness; showing love through action with an attempt at words.

word count: 1,676.

These days, Aizawa has been listening to love songs.  Only love songs, and all kinds of them.  From an older century—Frank Sinatra, Adele, Miki Matsubara—to this era—Idla, Jack Wan, Renho Nakamura—to random bits he makes up on the spot, some sweet amalgamation of all his favorite notes.

He whistles absentmindedly under his breath while reviewing the grades given to him by the other teachers at the end of the week.  He hums faintly while patrolling the streets at 3 AM, the late night illuminated by romantic stars and silver light.  He sings softly while he does laundry and dishes, lips easily curling around each sentimental sound as though he were a lovesick old man.

Embarrassingly enough, despite the love you’ve cultivated in his chest, he doesn’t realize that your album had dropped that day until he walks into his homeroom class in the morning.  He overhears Jirou talking to Kaminari about the genius way you had organized the tracks on your album, and Aizawa freezes at the podium, realizing that the midnight release date was that midnight.  

He thinks back to last night.  After his patrol, he had returned to your apartment, eyes heavy with sleep and body weighed with the need to bury himself in bedsheets that smelled of your shampoo and perfume.  He had seen the light glowing from underneath the door of your at-home studio, but he had thought that you were simply revising your songs, not that you were awake for the release.

Fuck.  He’s an idiot.

To say that guilt has the biggest chokehold on his windpipe all day would be an understatement.

No one understands Aizawa’s foul mood, and he’s not interested in bringing up his immense oversight.  He spends every moment reading articles and reviews and tweets about your album.  He listens to Jirou break down the dreaminess of the tracks, analyze the poetry techniques interwoven with your songwriting, and your use of silence to build emotions.  His chest swells with pride, even as his shoulder sink with shame.

He listens to the songs on repeat in between classes, comparing the final versions to the various iterations he’s heard the past eight months.  He adores the entire album, but his favorites are the first, the fifth, and the eighth tracks.  There’s something about those three that tug at his heart, make him think—or hope, or wonder—about whether or not they were written about him.  It’s a selfish thought, but if they weren’t, then you did a stunning job of putting into words the jittery and flushed feelings he has towards you. 

Despite how much Aizawa loves your album, he refrains from texting you.  He refuses to start any new conversations until he’s properly apologized, and he won’t apologize over the phone because it’s cowardly, so it’s quiet in your chat.  Even Hizashi recognizes that Aizawa needs space after seeing him slump into his chair, trying to merge together with the wood to cease existing while he listens to your music still.

Even though he doesn’t text you, Aizawa still hopes you’d text him. 

You don’t, of course.  Obviously, you’re extremely busy, considering your album just exploded onto the scene to high praise. Not only that, but, with your work ethic and your passion for music, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were already locked in the studio, working on new songs. It’s less likely that you’re avoiding him out of anger, though. 

You’re rarely mad.  Whether he arrives to reservations late, forgets special occasions, or cancels last minute, you’ve never once yelled.  He doesn’t know if it’s because you give him such grace due to his occupation, or because you have such low expectations of him.  He’s too scared to ask, terrified that, if he brings it up, he’ll break whatever spell has made you stay with him despite his many, many, shortcomings.

After UA lets out, Aizawa sits through a teachers’ meeting with an anxious shaking of his leg.  He doesn’t have patrol that night (and he plans on calling off patrol for the next few nights to make it up to you), so he just needs to get through this one last thing.

When they’re finally done, Aizawa’s the first out of his chair.  Once he rounds the corner, he breaks into a sprint, rushing off to the nearest store to buy fifteen copies of your album.  Then, he buys the biggest bouquet of flowers he can find—a beautiful arrangement of red and orange roses, interspersed with long green leaves—and gets take-out from the Thai place you love on the other side of town.

When he finally makes it back to your apartment, he spends ten minutes standing outside the door, gathering his thoughts and his hammering heart.

He’s nervous. He doesn’t think you’ll be mad, but he wants you to be.  He wants you to yell, to call him out for his fuck-ups, to tell him you expect more, that you deserve more.  It’s worse, sometimes, having you smiling sweetly at him in understanding.  It makes him feel like he’s taking advantage of your big heart; it makes him feel like you know he’s not good enough for you, but you keep making concessions every time he doesn’t meet the simplest of boyfriend requirements.

Holding in a big and heavy sigh, Aizawa unlocks the door and enters as you step into the living room, hair wet from having just finished a shower.

There’s an amused expression on your face as you take in the big bouquet, as heavy as the take-out bag in his other hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly.

You tilt your head, eyeing him closely.  “It’s okay, Shouta—”

“It’s not.”  He clears his throat, eyes darting away from you to stare briefly at a chipped corner before he forces them back.  He needs to do this right, he thinks, scolding himself.  “Your album—I… Your album’s great.  I—I wish I had been there to celebrate the midnight release with you.  I’m sorry that I wasn’t.”

“I—care about you,” he continues.  “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel otherwise—or if you feel like you’re not a priority to me.  You are.”  His mouth is dry; the hammering heart that he had collected outside the apartment comes back in full force.  “I’ll do better at making sure I show it.”

You smile gently at him, but he can see a dewiness glaze over your warm eyes, and the sight of it makes him want to kneel on the floor at your feet.

“I appreciate it, Shouta,” you say finally.

Aizawa hands you the flowers, watching you carefully as you smell the roses.  You don’t cry; you don’t scream.  You simply murmur about how beautiful they are and how thankful you are for having grabbed the vase off the table from your cousin’s wedding four months ago.

He doesn’t release the breath in his chest.  He’s nervous still, afraid that what he’s done isn’t enough.  He can do more, he thinks; he’s just not sure what else.  You deserve the whole world, yet here he is, only able to carve out a little bit of roses and greenery for you.

As you rearrange the flowers in the vase, making sure they all fit, Aizawa says, “I took off this weekend.  Let’s go somewhere, spend the weekend together to celebrate.”

“All mine for the weekend,” you remark playfully.

“All yours forever,” he says.

If you’ll have me, he thinks.

You don’t answer, but he notes the pink on your cheeks and let himself relax a bit (just a bit).  

“You bought dinner?” 

Your question reminds him that he needs to set out the food.  

“Yeah, from the Thai place,” he replies.  He puts the bag down on the floor and pulls out the many food boxes; he lays out a full take-out feast on your wooden coffee table.

You shake your head as you take a seat beside him, immediately recognizing the origin.  “Shouta,” you began, your voice already chastising him.  “That place is an hour away, and this is a meal for eight people.  You really need to stop punishing yourself.”

“I felt shitty all day,” he mutters, making you a plate.  “I even put it in my phone and forgot.”

You reach out to squeeze his knee. “You need to know when enough’s enough.”

He doesn’t respond.  You may be that forgiving, but he isn’t.  He focuses on filling your plate with curried rice, crab wontons, and seared green beans; he’s tempted to make you a second plate with the rest of the food that doesn’t fit.  He gives it to you, not getting food for himself until he sees that you’re satisfied with the first few bites.

“It’s good,” you sigh, pleased, and he lets himself relax a little more.  As he fills up his own plate, you suddenly ask, “What’s in that other bag?  Near your foot?”

He glances down and flushes.  “I—they’re your albums.”

“Albums?”  You emphasize the s.  “I only released one album.”

“I bought—multiple copies.”

A grin starts growing on your face.  “How many?”

He coughs.  His stomach flips.  “…Fifteen.”

You laugh immediately.  “Shouta, you are so in love with me.”  It’s said teasingly, a running joke between the two of you due to the sharp contrast between the harshness he shows to others and the softness he shows to you.

But nothing is truer, he thinks.

“I am.”

—And he says it without stuttering or stammering, without his usual pause or air of nonchalance.  He says it as though there was no other option, as though there was nothing else he could be in a world where you existed.

You beam, cheeks a sweet rosy color, and then you lean forward to kiss him.

Later that night, he’s in between your legs, having you sing breathily into the night.  He still hears the melody of you—a saccharine blend of moans and pleas—weeks later, another love song he can’t get out of his head.

[penguiduck]

2023 and On Writing Plan!

Hello, Dear Readers!

As I’m combing through comments and emails, and responding to as many as I can, I am overwhelmed by the supportive community. So, to those who reached out to me via whatever channel or commented on my works while I was out of commission, I appreciate you. <3

Now, I’m trying to come up with a strategy. Basically, how am I going to get back into writing after being gone for so long?

Well, I’ve come to some possible conclusions, so I figured I’d share them with you:

Some of my behaviors will be changing to make my time more efficient. For example, I used to wait until I was about to post an update to respond to comments. I may be doing this throughout the day now as I have a bit of time on my phone, maybe while the baby naps or between appointments at work. Things like this!

I will try to keep to the current chapter length for each respective piece of fiction consistent, but going forward, chapters will likely be longer. I generally can get updates out faster in smaller segments, but I’m not looking for speed now, per se, as much as consistency. This will allow me to save time in the posting process, and I can stick with a story longer so I don’t forget what transpires when switching back to it from updating something else. My memory is not what it used to be, embarrassingly enough.

Unfortunately, I will be indefinitely discontinuing my Expression of Thanks raffle. I hate doing this, but it’s a huge time-sucker that I could enjoy doing when I had fewer responsibilities—just not with a baby! I am sincerely sorry about this. I hope to do this again in the future.

I have a few active projects currently:

Armistice

Taming a Dragon

Star Forger

Chasing Autumn

Jaharaan Love

I will be prioritizing Taming a Dragon and Chasing Autumn first as TaD is almost finished, and CA is short and sweet.

Next, I will focus on Armistice and Star Forger. Both are projects that I am passionate about. Armistice is outlined quite far out, and I actually already have content written in future chapters for key plot events. Star Forger is huge undertaking for me, but I am so, so excited about bringing a quality WWYFF to the YYH world, so I’m going to do my best!

Afterward, I will pour all that I have into updating the rewrite of Jaharaan Love, which is my first love and brainchild. I might sneak some work into this project even amongst the other updates, but I really want to bring this to life for the readers who have stuck with me since the beginning. Its sister story, Dalanten Hope, is likely to either be updated concurrently or after I finish the revamp.

Lastly… well, I don’t really know. I always have ideas for reader-inserts and WWYFFs. I have a dream to be published one day, but who knows? I have a daughter now, and she will be my focus for the next ten years until she decides she’s a big girl and doesn’t want constant attention from Mom all the time. I’ll do my best to keep up with writing until then—it’s a skill I’m going to have to continue to flex.

Of course, I ask for your patience. I understand the prospect of getting updates so scantly is not appealing. But if you’re still a reader-insert-lover like me, that desire to read high quality fiction never really goes away…

Much love to you all! Thank you for all you do to support me!

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[thatboisus]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

[idreaminphosphorescence]

what if ghost and you were on the same team. and you know, you guys acted like normal teammates. except that one time soap caught you and ghost leaning into each other after one particularly hard mission. gaz saw you kissing ghost on the cheek one morning when you think no one saw you both. price noticed how you both always managed to find each other in a room full of men.

and then one time when the team were hanging out at a bar. you all were pissed. soap asked if you guys were shagging each other and you answered with,

"oh, we're actually married!" you'd said with a bright smile and flushed cheeks.

and the way the men instantly sobered up after that and stared at you, mouths hanging open. soap managed to spit beer on gaz's face. price's cigar hung loosely from his open mouth. you bursted out laughing at the ridiculous sight.

and simon? well, simon thought it was about bloody time they tell the team. (he was getting tired of soap constantly making up conspiracy theories about you and him.)

— masterlist.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Vampire lover that can’t drink your blood without you keeping his cock warm.

He has to be balls deep in your pussy, otherwise he gets all hard and cums in his pants just from one sip of your blood.

It’s just way less messy to already have his cock buried in your cunt, and he doesn’t like to waste his seed. He’s a powerful vampire that needs an heir, that sperm is valuable!!

So every time he needs to feed, he pushes your expensive panties to the side and sits you on his cock, content to cum inside of you.

[deathc-re]

oh, how he just wants to make a pretty little house wife of you. leave you with absolute freedom and autonomy over your time.

you want to go shopping? here's his card.

you want to join a yoga/ pilates/ kickboxing class? let's register you together!

you want to renovate the kitchen? my buddy knows a guy.

he wants to come home and smell the amazing cooking you have for him. or on lazy days, plop on the couch with you and eat take out.

he wants to smile at his phone while at work because you sent him a selfie of you eating breakfast at noon, or taking the dog for a walk, or with shopping backs in the trunk or with the people you're volunteering with or whatever it is your heart desires.

he wants to see you on the porch, barefoot and pregnant, rubbing your belly and waving to him as he pulls up in the driveway.

he wants to hear you ramble on about the new book you read and hated/loved. or help you brainstorm ideas for your passion project.

he wants to brag about you to all his work buddies and bring you to all the corporate dinners and stroke his own ego while you bashfully tell his coworkers that you "don't have a job, my husband takes care of everything."

NANAMIN, BAKUGO, KIRISHIMA, FATGUM, IZUKU, aizawa, yuuta, armin, iida, iwazumi, sugawara + whoever else you want!

[rxmye]

" 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐂𝐊 — a confident athlete who turns into pathetic putty at the thought of you . . .

nsfw / sixteen + content / smut / gender neutral reader / yandere content / sub!yandere / masturbation / pervert yandere (he literally breaks into the locker room for your shit) / olfactophilia/osmolagnia (scent/smell kink) / dacryphilia (kink for crying) / breath play / yandere oc x reader

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: haven't wrote smut in awhile, so im a bit rusty . . .

Lucas dangled the keys in his hands, a grin playing on his face as he walked towards the locker room—using the key to unlock the door—it was pretty easy grabbing the keys from the janitor's room, not that this school was particularly secure with their locks. It would be pretty easy breaking in, if he tried hard enough . . 

Lucas scanned the area, looking through each locker trying to find which one was yours . . he had your lock combination memorized, though he did get a little help from a friend in order to figure it out.

His hands reached for the clothes that you had left in your locker, lifting it up to his face, eyes going half lidded as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, he felt his face growing warm and his body growing weak. Lucas leaned down onto the lockers for support, almost losing balance as he slid down onto the floor.

Lucas pressed the flimsy piece of clothing further onto his face, engulfing himself in your smell—so much so that he could almost taste you—all the while his other hand travelled downwards, clumsily unbuckling his pants in a hurry . . hasty movements contradicted his rational mind, not bothering to care if he'd get caught.

He slid his pants down, just enough to reveal his semi-hard cock—a soft whine escaped him at the feeling of the cold air—his free hand now teasing his tip, as he relaxed his body, closing his eyes shut . .—imagining how disgusted you'd be seeing him in this pitiful state— . . that really turned him on, he cussed under his breath at how pitiful and pathetic his thoughts were . .

Lucas wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, slowly moving his hand up and down—his vision growing hazy—as he let out breathy sighs of pleasure—whines growing louder when he moved his hand faster.

Lucas stuffed the clothing he took, and pushed it into his mouth—drool escaped the corners of his mouth—blocking his ability make a sound, as he moved his hand faster around his cock—little tear droplets stinging his eyes, as he felt his legs shake slightly at the sheer pleasure—he used his now free hand to pinch his nose, closing his only source of air . . .

All he could taste was you, the clothing taking away all the moisture in his mouth, as tears begin to escape his eyes, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his clothing—his legs began to convulse—his back arching slightly, as he finally came, all over the floor . . .

Lucas spat out the fabric, "fuck", the bell rang . . How is he gonna clean up this mess fast enough? . .

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[rissouu]

“the fuck are you doing, woman? you keep wakin’ me up,” sukuna woke up to your tossing and turning in bed. you’d been rolling around for the past hour now, not finding much comfort in the small breeze coming from the window. it was so god damn hot you felt like you were on fire.

the irritation in your boyfriends voice was clear, you almost felt bad for keeping him up, even if it wasn’t intentional. “‘m in pain ryo. i told you i started my period yesterday, my cramps are jus’ now showing up.”

your body was sprawled across the edge of the bed, a shaking mess. you couldn’t stop moving or the pain in your lower stomach would get even worse. you learned that over the many years of being cursed by this cycle all woman had to go through.

“tch,” he took one look at your shaking body through the darkness. the demon would never admit it, but he actually felt bad. he knew about women and how they usually endure this torture every month, but yours had never been this bad— from what he’s seen at least.

“y’think you’d feel better if i..” sukuna trailed off while staring at the pitch black ceiling. “cuddled you? i think that’s what they call it,” his hand played with the hem of your shirt. even though it was dark, he could still feel the gaze of your addicting eyes.

“you don’t have to ryo! i know that’s not your type of-”sukuna cut you off so quick, almost as if he already knew what you were going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it.

within a blink of an eye he gripped at your waist and pulled you closer to him, hands wrapped around you so tight that there was no room for escape. “shut up brat, n’ just let me do this for you.”

you gasped at the quick change in position, still shocked by how fast he moved. sukuna’s body heat was enough to put you at ease and before you knew it, the shaking had finally stopped.

it was probably because of the rather large hand rubbing at the skin of your lower stomach, or the soft hint of cologne engulfing your senses. you didn’t know what it was, but sukuna fixed your problem in an instant. the cramps were still there, coming and going here and there but they weren’t as painful anymore.

maybe now he could finally get some damn sleep.

©rissouu 2024 :D

[v1x3n]

[bwabys-scenarios]

When Sanemi finally broke the news about having a wife, many of his colleagues seemed almost… worried for the woman. If you had been there, you may have been upset, because they didn’t know the Sanemi you knew.

Your Sanemi spent his nights fighting demons and his days in your arms, covering you in kisses and worshiping the ground you walk in. He was the most gentle a husband could be, holding your hand when you walked down flights of stairs and kissing the top of your head every chance he got.

Every single morning when he came back to you, he had something to show for it. Sometimes it was as simple as a piece of candy he bought while patrolling, or as extravagant as a shiny new hairpin or silk kimono. You would call yourself spoiled, but Sanemi would tsk and say you weren’t pampered nearly enough.

No one knew the gentleness of his hands, the soft caress of his lips like you did. Those hands that had slain so many demons held your hips down ever so gently as he fucked into you, promising that this time he’d give you that baby you so desperately wanted.

He’d kiss your temple after you were thoroughly stuffed with cum, then hold you close, tracing his finger along your belly. “That’s where our baby will be, sunshine.”

You couldn’t necessarily blame others for assuming your hulking man of a husband was a brute, he was covered in scars and had a resting bitch face to match, but you can’t judge off of appearance alone. That angry face melted into a content smile every time you held it in your hands, his arms moving to wrap around your waist.

If only they could see him through your eyes, maybe they wouldn’t judge so quickly.

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[penguiduck]

Hello! I'm back!

Hello, Dear Readers!

First, allow me to offer my sincere apologies for vanishing these past 18 months.

I welcomed my daughter in October of 2022, and ever since, I've been incredibly busy with her care and development.

Before then, you would think that I could have alerted the world to my condition, and I had full intentions of doing so—but any time I thought about it, I had neither the energy nor the willpower to bring myself to do it. My pregnancy, while a healthy one, was absolutely fatiguing to me. I, no joke, slept an average of 12-15 hours a day. I'd wake up, feel sick, attempt to eat, go to work, come back home, attempt to eat, nap, do a chore or two, and then sleep. That was my life for about 9 months. Lol.

Then, come October, I said hello to the most beautiful girl. Over eight pounds, ten little fingers and ten little toes, she made my fourth trimester life awful, but such are newborns. She is ten months old now, and she is thriving, crawling and babbling, and almost walking!

We read at least 20-30 books most days (there was one day she read 70!). She is cutting teeth, so she gnaws on a lot of frozen fruit and crusty bread. We have the most wonderful nanny who watches her while I work during the day—I was blessed to be provided 6.5 months of maternity leave.

She is my moon and stars, and I am incredibly blessed to have her.

That being said, I strive for work/life balance. At this point, I'd like to get back to writing a bit more. I have that writing itch that feels all too familiar to me, a tingling in my fingers. I can't promise I'll be as prolific as before my pregnancy, but I'm going to do the best I can, even if that means writing a couple hundred words here and there.

Thank you for reading this and for sticking with me through this very challenging (and rewarding!) time in my life. There will be more updates about my plans to come as I consolidate my thoughts, respond to emails, messages, and comments; and continue my writing journey again! I appreciate all of you and your patience and flexibility!

Penguiduck is back. <3

[sunsburns]

guess

smut 18+, age gap, fem reader, underwear fixation

logan howlett loves to swear up and down that he’s too old to mess around with a pretty young thing like you. you’re out of his league in everything you do, from the way you can get up early in the morning and stay out late at night, stumbling back into your apartment in a fit of giggles, humming the last song that played at the club you were returning from.

he acts like he doesn’t notice, and he acts like you don’t exist. but the moment you bumped into him in the laundry room it’s been hard to ignore you.

it was wade who’d introduced the two of you to each other when he was giving logan the grand tour of the apartment complex, and they’d run into you while you were unloading a drier, tossing your clothes into a basket.

you in your tiny shorts and tight tank top, one earbud in and the other dangling by your chest. he tried hard not to stare, especially when you slowly straightened yourself up, holding your basket of clothes to your side, hair messy and sticking to your face a little bit.

it was hot in the laundry room, hell, the whole fucking building felt like a furnace now that the a.c. refused to work in the peak of summer.

but there you were, wide smile and open arms when wade shoved logan in your direction. you didn’t take it personally when he merely grunted at you, a slight nod to his head as a greeting. to logan’s surprise, your lips curled as you looked up at him, and you stared up at him like he was some kind of tree you wanted to climb.

no shame about it either.

logan’s eyes were drawn to your basket as wade spoke, retelling the whole story of how the two of you became ‘neighbour besties’, as he had put it. how you helped wade keep up with the ‘youngsters’, as he called them.

no, logan was too busy staring at a lacy black pair of panties sitting at the top of your basket. pretty little thing, pretty little bows to adorn it.

he slowly tore his eyes away from them and looked at you, then down to your hips where he could see your bright pink underwear, peaking out from the denim.

and maybe, in a dream or two, he imagined what those cute pink ones looked like in full. how it would be like to push you against your door before you could even unlock it, unbutton your shorts and dig his hands into them just to feel the soft fabric of your pretty pink underwear, soiled and ruined from how wet you were with want.

but for now, he’d have to do with the black lacy ones, he almost didn't want to take them off. running his hands over the fabric, grinning when your back arches against the bed, a little desperate, way too needy.

you’ve soaked them, all ruined just from him touching you, from the way his teeth teased you, pulling at the bows, running his nose over your clothed pussy.

logan hooked his fingers over the fabric at the center, pulling it to the side, tongue poking into your cunt, drawing out a whine from you. with an open mouth, he pulled back to see your slick, coated lips with a satisfied grunt.

logan pulled them back just to stare. fuck, they were so pretty. you were so pretty just sitting under him, in nothing but those pretty panties. yeah, logan might be old, but he can keep up for a night.

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media