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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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Warrior. Outcast. Rebel. Jedi. AHSOKA | Coming August 2023
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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i don’t remember the name of the artist but i’m looking for the fan art of echo and tech and in the reflection there is pre skako minor echo and fives 😭😭 i need to find it and the artist 😭😭
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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need to go home
Din Djarin x fem!Reader | w/c: 241
Warnings: porn without plot, floor sex, unprotected PiV sex, breeding kink, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
It’s not rough, but it’s desperate and hard.
Wide hips that pin yours to the ground, your legs spread apart for the man donned in beskar, barely freeing himself of his armour before he slides home.
The sting is welcome. Open mouthed kisses swallow your cries as your eyes screw shut. Desperation fills you.
Everything is so hot, the only respite coming when you press your hands against his chest plates and then over his shoulders as they look for purchase.
‘Din…’ you keen, arching your back.
‘I know—fuck, I know—‘ he grunts against you, hips pushing in and out of your tightness. His hands paw at you, your thighs, hips, waist…as if never getting enough. Never getting the full satisfaction that you’re there.
It’s the sounds you make and the hands that feel him too that draw him in, make him shake and cry into you, so willing to do everything you ask of him. And you, so pliable in his hands. So utterly and completely his, just as he is yours.
The release is devastating. He rocks you against the floor, methodically paced thrusts drawing out your shared orgasm. One…Two…Three…and then he holds.
You shudder against him, thanking him with your tightness, clenching around his shaft. He gasps, then pins your hands together above your head as he continues thrusting. Evenly paced, whimpering ‘thank you’s as he fucks his cum into you, deeper and deeper.
He hopes it takes.
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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say yes to heaven
Soap 'John' MacTavish x fem!Reader | w/c: 206
Warnings: none(??), another drabble
If you dance, I'll dance
And if you don't, I'll dance anyway.
Give peace a chance,
Let the fear you have fall away.
I've got my eye on you...
He might be stupid, he thinks, to think that you wouldn’t be able to resist him just as he couldn’t resist you.
Not in that dress. Not ever, actually.
He doesn’t know what to say—never would’ve imagined the sight nor ask God to be blessed with such an image. He had no idea you even owned a dress, let alone waste it accompanying him and the team to the nearby pub.
You look like you should be somewhere else, not sitting against a dark, creaky bar, soft eyes climbing his outstretched arm to meet his pleading gaze.
‘I don’t think dancing is in your skill set, Johnny,’ you kindly reject, though your hand itches to take his.
He smirks at you, not retreating despite your jab. ‘Might surprise yer, bonnie.’
Charming, you think.
‘One dance,’ he gestures again, ‘I’ll make it worth yer while.’
You believe him, not that you needed much convincing anyways, but it’s still a surprise to him when your hand clasps over his, the other smoothing down your dress as you stand, letting him lead you to the open space.
Maybe one day you’ll admit how much of a sucker your are for those eyes. But for now, you continue your little dance.
...I’ve got my eye on you.
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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that would be enough
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!Reader | w/c: 288
Warnings: none i think, just a lil drabble
The hallway light is on, and with the spot next to you in bed being cold, it’s easy to guess he’s just come back. It’s quiet though, and while he is Ghost, the silence—and the fact that the light seeping below your door is partially blocked by his shadow—suggests that he’s planted himself out there, reluctant to move. Possibly debating whether to go his room or yours.
You slide yourself out of your bed—the linen drab but a known sanctuary when shared with the man outside and his warmth. Light fills the room when you swing the door open, and you have to squint in response. He’s there, just as you suspected, and neither of you are surprised to see the other. His eyes meet yours instantaneously, but no words come out.
‘Why are you out here?’ you ask, throat dry from your interrupted sleep. The question is asked silently, conveyed only through the softness in your eyes. Why don’t you come in?
‘Just got back,’ he nods. The question dodged, Why haven’t you asked me yet?
You blink. Disappointing.
‘I see that.’
Another moment of silence. Then he moves, floor creaking below him as he begins to turn. His lack in subtlety here is uncharacteristic. It’s a plea, Ask me. Ask me to come in. “Goodnight, [Name].”
“Simon-” you stop him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Come to bed?” you ask softly.
He smiles, in that Simon Riley way of his—the tilt of his head, the twinkle of his eyes—turning back to you. “You gonna say please?”
That earns him an eye roll, though he knows you love his taunts. “You gonna join me or not, Riley?”
And you know he loves yours.
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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If your prompts are open can I request “two characters look at each other. silence. then. BOOM BANG LIPS CRASHING CAN'T RESIST YOU ANYMORE BAM BOOM THERE'S A WALL LET'S PIN YOU AGAINST IT” from the list with Sev? 👀
Sev rubbed his eyes.
Stopped and rubbed them again.
He was tired.
Probably more tired than he’d ever been in his life. And that was saying something. He’d fallen asleep standing up on more than one occasion but that was different. That was his body needing rest and his mind needing to reboot. This, what he felt now, was beyond tired. It was a weariness in his soul, an emotional sort of exhaustion that he’d never experienced before.
Sev had never been one to stop and question himself or his motives. He had an objective, he completed it and then when he was sure it was done, he turned himself off.
He couldn't turn this off, the destruction of the Republic, the object of the loyalty that had been bred and beaten into him until he knew nothing else. The loss of his brothers, not knowing if they were dead, if they were part of this new regime by choice or by force. Not knowing if they had left him of their own accord or because they’d not been given the choice.
Losing you was something he’d thought he understood. It wasn’t going to be forever, how could it be? WIth him being who and what he was.
But in the end it hurt more than he thought it would. He’d never been very good at understanding emotions and what to do with them. They caught him by surprise and made his head spin and feel fuzzy or spiked his adrenaline until all he could focus on was his fists and his weapon in his hand.
Finding the rebels had been a blessing, or rather, them finding him.
He could focus on something tangible and their intel was at least as good as the Republic's had been. They had spies everywhere, he was certain he would learn about his brothers eventually. If there was anything left of them. But he purposely avoided trying to find news of you. That was too much to hope for.
He preferred to imagine that you were still in your apartment on Coruscant, that you went to work and came home and made yourself dinner. That you watched the holo and went out with your friends and continued your hobbies. That you lived as comfortably as you could. He couldn't bare to think of anything else.
He looked up.
You were still right there, right where he’d first seen you, surrounded by rebels wearing the same informal uniform of comfortable but practical attire, a hodgepodge of beings from around the universe with a wide array of skills and training and one common goal. Not at all the army he was used to.
You couldn't be here. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be home, safe and happy and living.
But you were. You were here.
Sev knew that his mind couldn't make up the sound of your voice when he’d heard you speak to Steela or the familiar scent of you when you stepped closer to him, or the feel of your touch on his face.
He knew because he tried so many times to recreate these things but he could never manage it. Which meant this had to be real.
His instinct was to tell you to leave, to go back and go home. To forget about the rebellion.
But he was weak, he’d been more worn down by loss then he ever had been before and he couldn't bear it again.
Instead, for once in his life, he let himself be weak and he let himself kiss you.
Or maybe you kissed him first, it was hard to tell in the moment, both of you moving so quickly and with the same purpose. His hands were on you, hard enough to bruise and your fingers tangle in his hair. Your body leaned into him, forcing him to step backwards and press into the side of the ship that had just landed in the hanger.
Maybe people were watching or maybe they discreetly turned away and went about their business. He didn’t know and he didn’t care.
The only thing he cared about was the weight of you pressing into him and his hands trying to tug you closer by the hip.
Your mouth was warm and soft and inviting against his own. Something wet touched his cheek and in the back of his mind he understood it was a tear but the meaning didn’t sink in.
You were here and he had you again. Finally, something worth fighting for.
@leias-left-hair-bun @lucyhelena @halzore @icanbringyouincold @generic-geek-girl @coruscant-commander @chewychewyque @remadster @marvel-starwars-nerd @thirsty-void @lottemopple13 @badbatch-simp24 @haloangel391
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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STAR WARS: EPISODE VII - THE FORCE AWAKENS (2015)
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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got you (again)
Hunter x gn!Reader | w/c: 519
Warnings: stress, struggling to sleep, fellatio (oral sex, m receiving), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: as y'all know I haven't written for SW in a long while and so I also haven't used my tag list recently. please mssg me if you'd like to be taken off or fill out this form to be added/ update your preferences. thank you <3
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He wouldn’t ask—that much didn’t surprise you, not when he thought you were asleep, along with his brothers in the surrounding bunks, where they currently still are. But with every shift in the pilot's seat, every loud creak underneath the worn-down cushion, you would think you were the one with heightened senses as you struggled to fall asleep. Your concern was something else though. Something was bothering Hunter.
And there he was—sitting in that pilot’s seat with the backdrop of hyperspace halo’ing his silhouette. The strong shoulders that signal his reservations, a wall shielding the man beneath, the pillars that hold the weight of the galaxy.
And there you are—with soft footfalls following you to the cockpit, where you find Hunter, restless and tense.
It’s a conversation neither of you are fully equipped for at this time, to unload your grievances about your lives and the state of the galaxy, not while the both of you are so low on sleep. But there remains comfort in the few words you exchange that for now, are enough.
Then it’s the creak of the floor as you drop to your knees, settling between Hunter’s. The low moan he lets out as you snake your hand under his cod-piece, half suited up—always an eye out for danger. The clicks as you unfasten the plastoid and maneuver the fabric underneath to free his cock.
The way it gleams under the light afforded by the Marauder’s large windows. You can imagine arguing with Hunter at a different time about the best sights in the galaxy; you’d crudely argue in favour of his cock and he’d say it’s you in this position. Though you know it’s just to mask his honest answer—a cliché ‘you.’ The both of you can just agree on hyperspace.
Even as the Marauder almost suffocates with heat and exhaustion, Hunter shivers at your touch. The catch of your hands against every ridge and vein of his cock, thick and hard, every twitch of his hips.
A gasping ‘thank you’ when your lips wrap around his pretty, swollen tip, the swirl of your tongue catching his pre-cum as you consume him in more ways than one. A hum around his length as he moans for you. Hips bucking up, up, up, as you take him deeper.
I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re safe.
A promise.
Hands intertwining. Hunter breaking out of his pleasure induced stupor to meet your eyes—yours that watch him carefully, wanting to push him over the edge, to let him let go.
He moans your name as he comes undone, and you take from him what you so selflessly gave him. It’s the caress of your face with his big hands that cause you to flush, watered eyes adoringly gazing up at his.
He murmurs another ‘thanks’ before helping you to your feet. A kiss to his forehead, then one to yours, and then you’re wordlessly returning to your bunk to go to sleep. You have no doubt that Hunter will join you after his watch is over, and that you will find him next to you when you awake.
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@baroclinicinstability @kybacrystal @perpetual-fangirl900 @teletraan-meets-jarvis @foodandbooksplease @proadhog @sageislostinspring-pt2 @DwarfPlanet69 @ahsokatano-thetogruta @dinbeskarbaby @the-dreamy-mermaid @diagonallie5400 @Thotlympics @dolphincommander @99squad @bb-8 @ladykatakuri @shuttlelauncher81 @moonstrider9904 @14mcmd1122 @hobiiwan @kimageddon @incandescentlywarm @paige6768 @nahoney22 @techsnumber1simp @wolffeskitten @clonecyare @frietiemeloen @highladyofasgard @twistedstitcher27 @maddybrapsyo @rain-on-kamino (will be removing null tags)
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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NSFW but all i can think about rn is having hunter in my mouth lmao anyways might be something up about that later probably after i watch the new eps
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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🥺🥺😭
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i'm taking this moment—
Silco x fem!Reader | w/c: 2070
Warnings: some jealously, oral (f receiving)/cunnilingus, fingering, closet sex, biting, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: yes im back but no promises with what im back with. this has been in my drafts for ages. not fully proofread bc i just wanted to get it out there. for now have this.
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Your face hurts. Your body too—with the heavy dress weighing on your shoulders, and the scratchy faux jewels that embellish said dress—and your feet, strained in these god-awful heels that threaten you within an inch of your life every time you step forward. Fortunately for you, Silco has proven to be very effective in helping you maintain your balance by offering his arm for support, as well as being good company. Unfortunately, he seemed to have disappeared, and you're stuck talking to some topsider that doesn't care what a wink you say so long as you keep smiling and laughing with him. Yeah, your face hurts a lot.
And it doesn't help that this man has the most punchable face you've ever had the obvious displeasure of looking at.
Behave. Silco's reminder rings in your head. You're here so that he can keep good graces with the Piltovans—taking their greatness as his, and making sure that they do not intervene with his control in Zaun. So why is it that you're having the unpleasant conversations, batting your eyes at men who have far too much bravado for their brains to know what to do with. It's a surprise you haven't downed your entire glass of champagne yet.
'Say, what's a pretty girl like you hanging around sumprats for?'
You had forgotten that you also grew out your nails for this event. Your fist balls at your side, manicured fingertips digging into your skin as you refrain from yelling obscenities at this man and his audacity. You're appalled by his Piltovan-hubris and further baffled by the ignorance of this man - far too privileged to know that people cannot move to Piltover as they please, not that you would want to. But still, surely the council has more to offer than the man that doesn't seem to know the regulations he has a hand in approving.
Gritting your teeth behind a feigned smile, you respond. 'I'd hardly expect you to be a better company,' you joke, though there is no lie in your quip.
The man raises his arms in mock surrender, receiving your words the way you concealed them. He grins disgustingly, only emboldened by your attitude. 'Now there,' he laughs almost tauntingly, 'I only meant it as a compliment.'
That earns him an eye roll. 'Can't say the same,' you return, raising your glass to the jest and smiling into its narrow rim as you take a sip. But as you pull the drink away from your mouth and feel his fingers slide against yours around it, it takes everything in you to not smash the glass over his head.
Again, the audacity.
You don't protest as he takes the glass from your hands, but your mouth falls agape as he downs the rest of your drink and discards your cup. Is he expecting you to swoon at his bawdiness?
'What th—'
He offers his hand to you. You stare at it blankly. 'Let's start over. Salo, and you?'
—are about to tell him to shove his slimey fingers up his frivolous-looking a—
'Silco, charmed,' he interjects, an arm crossing the space in front of you to shake hands with your company. The other loops behind your back, squeezing your waist in a silent greeting. 'Darling,' he drawls, both eyes regarding Salo with no sign of impress or genuine intrigue towards your companion, 'You didn't tell me you've already made friends.'
'It's been a pleasure,' you retort coldly, not caring to stroke the man's ego any further than you apparently have.
Still, Salo doesn't get the hint and is rather emboldened by Silco's presence. 'Your lady has been keeping me very entertained,' he responds, a painfully obvious attempt to look you up-and-down paired with his words.
'Oh? Has she now?' Silco, smug as ever, raises his eyebrow at you, 'Have you been holding out on me, dear?'
You can feel your jaw clench under the pressure of the smile you are maintaining.
'Well, I—'
'I sure hope not,' Salo interjects, cutting you off rudely, 'Gods know how many men - or women! - I don't judge'—he winks at you and you roll your eyes when his returns to Silco—'are dying to get their hands on something like her.'
'You know, I really think we should get going,' you urge irritably, tugging at your date's sleeve. Your eyes meet his in a silent 'help me out here' and then widen to communicate a threatening urgency to him. As if to say that if you don't leave this instance, you will be dislodging your nails into Salo's eyes. Silco gets the message.
'I'm afraid she's right,' he smiles dashingly, eyes full of fondness. 'We have a little one at home,' he begins to apologise to Salo, excusing the both of you from the conversation and hopefully, the rest of the night.
'Nonsense!' he exclaims with a laugh, 'It was a pleasure mee—'
'Pleasure was all ours,' you rush, already pulling yourself and Silco away from that pretentious douche as fast as you can—not caring for your insincerity, not that Salo knew any better. Your feet scurry out of the ballroom, pulling you and Silco into an empty hallway.
'Darling,' he begins, 'Might I say—'
Silco grunts with the sudden impact of his back to the wall, the rest of his sentence morphing into a low groan with the way you push him backwards with forceful lips on his.
He entertains your eagerness for a moment, pushing back. 'C'mon darling,' he groans against you, mouth refusing to fully separate from yours. 'Let's get out of here.'
You're absolutely giddy with your ungraceful escape, hands snaking down to tug at Silco's belt with intent and refusal against his suggestion. 'Nuh-uh,' you chide, 'We can have fun right here.' Your hands fumble at his hips clumsily, as if you were teenagers both horny but unable to stop giggling.
‘Surely we can have fun in behind one of these doors,’ he suggests, knocking just to the side of the wall behind him, where there conveniently happens to be a door. ‘And look!’ he gasps dramatically, hand twisting around the handle, ‘It’s unlocked.’
You roll your eyes as he opens the door, walking past his outstretched arm in an exaggerated show of chivalry. 'We do this all the time at home,' you sigh, 'Can't we do something a bit more...indecent.' While you love the rendezvous you have with Silco at The Last Drop, this gala presents you with a fine opportunity to be naughty.
The door closes, prompting you to turn back to Silco as he makes use of its lock. When he faces you, his eyes narrow, capturing yours as he stalks over to you. He chuckles darkly.
'I'd be happy to defile you on every surface of this building—the whole fucking city—if you can prove to me you can be quiet.'
You inhale a steady breath as Silco lowers himself.
Ah. Only behind closed doors are you given the pleasure of seeing the Eye of Zaun drop to his knees so willingly. It's really a testament to your power over him.
He brushes slender fingers up your bare leg through the slit of your dress, your heart rate picking up against his unhurried movement towards your arousal.
'That pretty boy—What was his name?'
'Salo,' you grit, drawing in a shallow breath.
'Salo.' He tastes the name on his tongue, a bitterness in his tone. 'He's been gawking at you all night.'
'Hmm.' So he noticed.
His hand stops, too close to where you want him but not yet there.
'But he's not your type? Is he?' You shake your head at his question but he pushes on, not satisfied. 'Why not? He's pretty. Rich. Powerful—'
You scoff, cutting him off. 'He doesn't know power.'
He seems to be in agreement, though wants to hear more of your stance. The hand that presses against your thigh becomes a slight indication for you to continue as it remains unmoved.
'Elaborate.'
And the timbre of that voice. Yeah, that too.
'He's arrogant. Salo holds no true power—none over Zaun or even Piltover. Rich, sure, but he's never worked for anything. He might have a pretty face—'
A pinch to your thigh, your leg jerks at the pressure.
'Careful,' Silco warns.
'But you...' you can't conceal your grin as you hold Silco's upwards-turned gaze, knowing that this is how you get what you want. 'You... are devilishly handsome...'
'Wicked girl,' he comments.
'Rich. Powerful. Striking. And you know what else?' He quirks a brow and you drop your voice, a smirk tugging at your lips. 'He could never satisfy me like you do.'
A beat of silence. You swear the temperature rises. And then—
It's the sound of your yelp that cuts through the air of the closed space as determined hands separate your legs, forcing one of them over his shoulder. The skirt of your dress parts with your thighs, allowing Silco closer access to where you need him as he comfortably settles in between them. While the change in pace has you startled, you are not complaining.
'Hush, darling,' he croons, splaying a hand over the exposed thigh resting languidly over his shoulder, 'we wouldn't want to be kicked out of this fancy party too soon, do we?'
Well, not before you get off.
'—Not before I get to defile you on every surface in here. Like I promised.'
Oh right. Definitely not before that.
You shake your head at him, pointedly not responding with a sound but instead grinding your hips in a silent plea.
'Patience, girl.'
And then he inhales. You shudder as his nose presses against your panties, earning him a whiff of your cunt as he balls the fabric of your dress in his long fingers.
'Please...' you whimper, though it's barely above a whisper.
He flattens his tongue along your still-clothed cunt, then presses harder, as if your panties weren't soaked already with your arousal alone. Salivating. Tasting you.
It's not enough. For you or him.
A forgotten hand of yours snakes itself through his hair, parting the gelled strands, mirroring your dishevelment. Then, a tug.
Again, a silent plead. Please.
A hum in return. Okay. A tug of your panties, then a snap against your skin. A contained yelp from you. A 'you asked for this' as he frees you of the scrap of fabric.
There is no teasing this time when he pounces on your cunt. No warning as two fingers breach your opening and slide in with ease. None as his tongue, wet and wanting, separates your folds, lapping at the arousal already spilling out of you, and you—despite his desperation matching yours—aren't allowed to make a single noise even as he groans shamelessly against you, indulging in your sex.
You try to stay quiet, you really do. But for every dart of his tongue, every push of his fingers, every grind of your hips against him, there is a gasp, a squeak, an apology to every tug on his previously elegantly styled hair.
A beg for more, more, more.
And he is the one to indulge you. To make you cum as his tongue finally latches onto your clit; grinding, pushing, sucking on the delicate bud. A sensitivity that makes your toes curl in those absurdly uncomfortable shoes, numbing you in a state of euphoria rather than the strain of Piltover's exhibitions.
The obscene noises caused by the man between your legs are more telling than your whimpers; those high-pitched noises becoming echoes of your suppressed moans. And the noises echo, unwavering almost as his tongue laps and laps again, pushes against your clit, between your folds, even teasing your entrance despite the two fingers slick with your arousal with every push against your walls. Pushing and pushing until you're falling over the edge, only able to stifle your moans by sinking your teeth into the flesh of your own arm.
Well, nothing you can't survive.
And even if you do make a sound, Silco will just have to punish you. In which neither of you are particularly averse to. Especially not with his promise to take you on every clean Piltovan surface, leaving his mark as the king of its underworld with his queen at his side. More likely, you under him.
If you thought the night was long before, it's about to get delightfully longer.
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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i finished republic commandos the other day and my mind is constantly on the delta squad but ESPECIALLY sev i miss them so much
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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why have i seen nobody mention how andi ideating alpha in the glass onion bar is so nelson and murdock of her. the neon-lit bar and the napkin just echoed that daredevil scene in josie’s.
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murdertoothpick · 1 year
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i'm taking this moment—
Silco x fem!Reader | w/c: 2070
Warnings: some jealously, oral (f receiving)/cunnilingus, fingering, closet sex, biting, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
A/N: yes im back but no promises with what im back with. this has been in my drafts for ages. not fully proofread bc i just wanted to get it out there. for now have this.
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Your face hurts. Your body too—with the heavy dress weighing on your shoulders, and the scratchy faux jewels that embellish said dress—and your feet, strained in these god-awful heels that threaten you within an inch of your life every time you step forward. Fortunately for you, Silco has proven to be very effective in helping you maintain your balance by offering his arm for support, as well as being good company. Unfortunately, he seemed to have disappeared, and you're stuck talking to some topsider that doesn't care what a wink you say so long as you keep smiling and laughing with him. Yeah, your face hurts a lot.
And it doesn't help that this man has the most punchable face you've ever had the obvious displeasure of looking at.
Behave. Silco's reminder rings in your head. You're here so that he can keep good graces with the Piltovans—taking their greatness as his, and making sure that they do not intervene with his control in Zaun. So why is it that you're having the unpleasant conversations, batting your eyes at men who have far too much bravado for their brains to know what to do with. It's a surprise you haven't downed your entire glass of champagne yet.
'Say, what's a pretty girl like you hanging around sumprats for?'
You had forgotten that you also grew out your nails for this event. Your fist balls at your side, manicured fingertips digging into your skin as you refrain from yelling obscenities at this man and his audacity. You're appalled by his Piltovan-hubris and further baffled by the ignorance of this man - far too privileged to know that people cannot move to Piltover as they please, not that you would want to. But still, surely the council has more to offer than the man that doesn't seem to know the regulations he has a hand in approving.
Gritting your teeth behind a feigned smile, you respond. 'I'd hardly expect you to be a better company,' you joke, though there is no lie in your quip.
The man raises his arms in mock surrender, receiving your words the way you concealed them. He grins disgustingly, only emboldened by your attitude. 'Now there,' he laughs almost tauntingly, 'I only meant it as a compliment.'
That earns him an eye roll. 'Can't say the same,' you return, raising your glass to the jest and smiling into its narrow rim as you take a sip. But as you pull the drink away from your mouth and feel his fingers slide against yours around it, it takes everything in you to not smash the glass over his head.
Again, the audacity.
You don't protest as he takes the glass from your hands, but your mouth falls agape as he downs the rest of your drink and discards your cup. Is he expecting you to swoon at his bawdiness?
'What th—'
He offers his hand to you. You stare at it blankly. 'Let's start over. Salo, and you?'
—are about to tell him to shove his slimey fingers up his frivolous-looking a—
'Silco, charmed,' he interjects, an arm crossing the space in front of you to shake hands with your company. The other loops behind your back, squeezing your waist in a silent greeting. 'Darling,' he drawls, both eyes regarding Salo with no sign of impress or genuine intrigue towards your companion, 'You didn't tell me you've already made friends.'
'It's been a pleasure,' you retort coldly, not caring to stroke the man's ego any further than you apparently have.
Still, Salo doesn't get the hint and is rather emboldened by Silco's presence. 'Your lady has been keeping me very entertained,' he responds, a painfully obvious attempt to look you up-and-down paired with his words.
'Oh? Has she now?' Silco, smug as ever, raises his eyebrow at you, 'Have you been holding out on me, dear?'
You can feel your jaw clench under the pressure of the smile you are maintaining.
'Well, I—'
'I sure hope not,' Salo interjects, cutting you off rudely, 'Gods know how many men - or women! - I don't judge'—he winks at you and you roll your eyes when his returns to Silco—'are dying to get their hands on something like her.'
'You know, I really think we should get going,' you urge irritably, tugging at your date's sleeve. Your eyes meet his in a silent 'help me out here' and then widen to communicate a threatening urgency to him. As if to say that if you don't leave this instance, you will be dislodging your nails into Salo's eyes. Silco gets the message.
'I'm afraid she's right,' he smiles dashingly, eyes full of fondness. 'We have a little one at home,' he begins to apologise to Salo, excusing the both of you from the conversation and hopefully, the rest of the night.
'Nonsense!' he exclaims with a laugh, 'It was a pleasure mee—'
'Pleasure was all ours,' you rush, already pulling yourself and Silco away from that pretentious douche as fast as you can—not caring for your insincerity, not that Salo knew any better. Your feet scurry out of the ballroom, pulling you and Silco into an empty hallway.
'Darling,' he begins, 'Might I say—'
Silco grunts with the sudden impact of his back to the wall, the rest of his sentence morphing into a low groan with the way you push him backwards with forceful lips on his.
He entertains your eagerness for a moment, pushing back. 'C'mon darling,' he groans against you, mouth refusing to fully separate from yours. 'Let's get out of here.'
You're absolutely giddy with your ungraceful escape, hands snaking down to tug at Silco's belt with intent and refusal against his suggestion. 'Nuh-uh,' you chide, 'We can have fun right here.' Your hands fumble at his hips clumsily, as if you were teenagers both horny but unable to stop giggling.
‘Surely we can have fun in behind one of these doors,’ he suggests, knocking just to the side of the wall behind him, where there conveniently happens to be a door. ‘And look!’ he gasps dramatically, hand twisting around the handle, ‘It’s unlocked.’
You roll your eyes as he opens the door, walking past his outstretched arm in an exaggerated show of chivalry. 'We do this all the time at home,' you sigh, 'Can't we do something a bit more...indecent.' While you love the rendezvous you have with Silco at The Last Drop, this gala presents you with a fine opportunity to be naughty.
The door closes, prompting you to turn back to Silco as he makes use of its lock. When he faces you, his eyes narrow, capturing yours as he stalks over to you. He chuckles darkly.
'I'd be happy to defile you on every surface of this building—the whole fucking city—if you can prove to me you can be quiet.'
You inhale a steady breath as Silco lowers himself.
Ah. Only behind closed doors are you given the pleasure of seeing the Eye of Zaun drop to his knees so willingly. It's really a testament to your power over him.
He brushes slender fingers up your bare leg through the slit of your dress, your heart rate picking up against his unhurried movement towards your arousal.
'That pretty boy—What was his name?'
'Salo,' you grit, drawing in a shallow breath.
'Salo.' He tastes the name on his tongue, a bitterness in his tone. 'He's been gawking at you all night.'
'Hmm.' So he noticed.
His hand stops, too close to where you want him but not yet there.
'But he's not your type? Is he?' You shake your head at his question but he pushes on, not satisfied. 'Why not? He's pretty. Rich. Powerful—'
You scoff, cutting him off. 'He doesn't know power.'
He seems to be in agreement, though wants to hear more of your stance. The hand that presses against your thigh becomes a slight indication for you to continue as it remains unmoved.
'Elaborate.'
And the timbre of that voice. Yeah, that too.
'He's arrogant. Salo holds no true power—none over Zaun or even Piltover. Rich, sure, but he's never worked for anything. He might have a pretty face—'
A pinch to your thigh, your leg jerks at the pressure.
'Careful,' Silco warns.
'But you...' you can't conceal your grin as you hold Silco's upwards-turned gaze, knowing that this is how you get what you want. 'You... are devilishly handsome...'
'Wicked girl,' he comments.
'Rich. Powerful. Striking. And you know what else?' He quirks a brow and you drop your voice, a smirk tugging at your lips. 'He could never satisfy me like you do.'
A beat of silence. You swear the temperature rises. And then—
It's the sound of your yelp that cuts through the air of the closed space as determined hands separate your legs, forcing one of them over his shoulder. The skirt of your dress parts with your thighs, allowing Silco closer access to where you need him as he comfortably settles in between them. While the change in pace has you startled, you are not complaining.
'Hush, darling,' he croons, splaying a hand over the exposed thigh resting languidly over his shoulder, 'we wouldn't want to be kicked out of this fancy party too soon, do we?'
Well, not before you get off.
'—Not before I get to defile you on every surface in here. Like I promised.'
Oh right. Definitely not before that.
You shake your head at him, pointedly not responding with a sound but instead grinding your hips in a silent plea.
'Patience, girl.'
And then he inhales. You shudder as his nose presses against your panties, earning him a whiff of your cunt as he balls the fabric of your dress in his long fingers.
'Please...' you whimper, though it's barely above a whisper.
He flattens his tongue along your still-clothed cunt, then presses harder, as if your panties weren't soaked already with your arousal alone. Salivating. Tasting you.
It's not enough. For you or him.
A forgotten hand of yours snakes itself through his hair, parting the gelled strands, mirroring your dishevelment. Then, a tug.
Again, a silent plead. Please.
A hum in return. Okay. A tug of your panties, then a snap against your skin. A contained yelp from you. A 'you asked for this' as he frees you of the scrap of fabric.
There is no teasing this time when he pounces on your cunt. No warning as two fingers breach your opening and slide in with ease. None as his tongue, wet and wanting, separates your folds, lapping at the arousal already spilling out of you, and you—despite his desperation matching yours—aren't allowed to make a single noise even as he groans shamelessly against you, indulging in your sex.
You try to stay quiet, you really do. But for every dart of his tongue, every push of his fingers, every grind of your hips against him, there is a gasp, a squeak, an apology to every tug on his previously elegantly styled hair.
A beg for more, more, more.
And he is the one to indulge you. To make you cum as his tongue finally latches onto your clit; grinding, pushing, sucking on the delicate bud. A sensitivity that makes your toes curl in those absurdly uncomfortable shoes, numbing you in a state of euphoria rather than the strain of Piltover's exhibitions.
The obscene noises caused by the man between your legs are more telling than your whimpers; those high-pitched noises becoming echoes of your suppressed moans. And the noises echo, unwavering almost as his tongue laps and laps again, pushes against your clit, between your folds, even teasing your entrance despite the two fingers slick with your arousal with every push against your walls. Pushing and pushing until you're falling over the edge, only able to stifle your moans by sinking your teeth into the flesh of your own arm.
Well, nothing you can't survive.
And even if you do make a sound, Silco will just have to punish you. In which neither of you are particularly averse to. Especially not with his promise to take you on every clean Piltovan surface, leaving his mark as the king of its underworld with his queen at his side. More likely, you under him.
If you thought the night was long before, it's about to get delightfully longer.
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murdertoothpick · 2 years
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no promises
Adrian Chase x f!Reader | w/c: 1866
Summary: Peacemaker deals with his anger by locking you and Adrian in a closet together, you deal with yours in another way.
Warnings: closet shenanigans, lots of swearing, SMUT, grinding, fingering, mutual orgasms, talks of cunnilingus and PiV sex. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
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‘Hey! What are you—‘
The door closes behind you, trapping you and Adrian in the confined space of the storage closet. Immediately, a gloved hand goes flying to your mouth, muffling the end of your question with an apprehensive urgency.
‘Be quiet!’ Adrian rushes out, voice hushed to stay within the confines of the dimly lit closet.
You huff, still confused by his abrupt entrance and his dragging-you-with-him, but deciding to entertain the shenanigans he seems to be busying himself with for now The quicker you acquiesce the quicker you can get out of here, you hope.
‘Did you hear that?’ he asks, prompting your ears to tune into the footsteps on the other side of the door, increasing in volume and then gradually fading to silence, leaving the two of you alone once again. There is no longer a need to stay quiet.
You slap his hand away from your face, the "threat" gone. ‘What? Peacemaker?' you answer confusedly, the concern now filling you, 'What’s going on?’
'Okay so,' he begins, taking a breath, 'I took the liberty of doing Peacemaker's laundry because I knew he was having a bad day and I kinda-sorta-accidentally...shrunkhisclothesinthewash?' he rushes - voice inflecting like in a question and unsure of how you might react. 'And now his bad day is like a total clusterfuck of bad days.'
'Right...' you understand that much already, though it doesn't explain your current proximity to him in the darkened space. 'But, why'd you drag me in here with you?'
'Because you totally would have told him I was in here,' he answers without a hitch.
'I wouldn’t have,' you challenge him.
'Would too.'
'Would not.'
'Would. Too.'
Oh, seriously? You scoff, 'I'm offended.'
'C'mon,' he chides, obviously amused and smiling in the dark, 'You love messing with me.'
'I do not,' you're quick to refute - even though you know he’s right.
And it's like you can hear his eyebrow go up. 'Are we going to do this again?'
Cue your shit-eating grin. 'Do what?'
'Ha-ha.'
'Whatever,' you roll your eyes, 'Can I leave now?'
He thinks for a moment, deciding that it's probably safe for him,
'After you,' he shuffles minutely back, only able to allow you enough room to snake your hand far enough to grasp the door handle.
You twist the knob. Once. Twice. To no avail. It's locked...from the outside?
'What the f—'
'THAT's what you get Vij!' the sudden voice outside the door startles you and you find yourself jumping away from it. 'Maybe next time you'll learn to stay out of a man's dirty underwear!'
'Peacemaker?' you question, knocking against the door. 'LET ME OUT.'
'Mhmm, no can do. You can keep Vij company until I let him out. I promise—'
'Chris, I swear to fu—'
'—See you in a few hours.'
And then with purposeful footsteps, he's gone, once again leaving you and Adrian alone, but for real this time.
You inhale deeply, then sigh irritatedly at the situation 'FUCK.'
'Look I know you're mad—'
None of that. 'Move over,' you order him.
A beat of silence, then an awkward shuffle in the space. 'I can't exactly do that.'
'Fine.' You move anyways, wedging yourself between the door and Adrian's frame, facing little resistance despite the tight fit. 'I think I can pick the...Right. I can't do that from the inside. I'm just gonna—'
Adrian's hands go flying to your hips, keeping you in place before you can shift away. 'If you're gonna move back, don't.'
'What, why?' you push against him, hoping to—
He groans - and then you feel it.
The answer lies in the print of his erection against your ass, your bodies separated by the fabric of your clothes - usually comfortable but right now, suffocating.
Thimble, my ass.
You snort. What an appropriate choice of words.
'Is this funny to you?' Whoops. You freeze. Now's not the time to be frothing over your teammate's apparently not-so-small penis.
'What, no?' Still, you choke on a giggle in an attempt to stifle your bubbling laughter.
'Because I'm hard as shit right now, and your shaking isn't really helping.'
Ah.
'Right, sorry.' You cough, doing your best to still your movements, but make no attempt to keep anything to yourself. 'For the record though, it doesn't feel like a thimble.'
His head knocks back against the wall with a thunk.
'Shit,' he mutters, hands gripping your hips harder now. Then, with heavy breaths, 'Don't fucking say that.'
Your lips twitch as you fight the cheeky urge to smile at his state of...disarray. 'Why?'
'Because I really like you. But I also really wanna fuck you right now.'
And you wonder why it's taken so long for him to admit any of that; the catalyst being Peacemaker's shrunken underwear. How are you supposed to respond to that?
He saves you the trouble. Just momentarily before you manage to recover. 'Did I make this wei—'
You've decided to get the upper hand; grinding back against him, pushing yourself against his crotch, and cutting him off with a plea. 'What are you waiting for?' you tease, 'We don't have all day.'
'Well...' he corrects you, adorably ingenious to your eagerness, 'PM said we've got a few hours.'
'Adr?' you sigh, looking at him over your shoulder, catching those pretty, puppy-dog eyes of his.
He clearly has no complaints about being here with you. 'Yeah?'
'You gonna fuck me or not?'
And as quick as he had pulled you into the closet with him, his expression sobers and he nods vigorously, hands fumbling to undo his suit at the waist.
While you had hoped that he’d help you first - freed you from your pants before he’d help himself - you don’t let that faze you. Without his help, you shimmy your bottoms and panties down your thigh, making sure to wiggle your ass behind you. But the further push of his hips against yours stills you, his hands coming around on either side of your body and constricting you even more in the tight space.
‘Can I…’ he closes in on you, speaking so close and lowly that you can feel the heat of his breath on your neck —the rest of his body igniting you all the same— ‘Can I touch you? Here?’ he finishes. He cups your pussy with a still-gloved hand, and you’re unable to stop yourself from rocking into his palm in search of any gratifying friction.
You bite your lip in an affirmative nod, letting your head fall to his shoulder as he drags a finger through your folds; teasing your entrance and then your clit.
‘Oh…fuck,’ you moan as he slowly rubs between your legs. His fingers move leisurely but you find yourself getting wetter and wetter in no time, your pussy just aching to be filled by anything he’ll give you, mirroring your desire. ‘Adrian…inside, please.’
You sigh as he obeys and another finger slips in, but the soft noise doesn’t compare to the desperate moan Adrian lets out with the intrusion of his digits into your soaking vagina. ‘You’re so wet…’ he comments, retracting his hand oh-so-slowly and then thrusting his fingers back in again, ‘So fucking dirty.’
You moan. ‘Does that mean you don’t want to fuck in this dusty closet?’ you retort, turning your face into his neck the best you can and letting out a whimper. You also hope to capture some of his skin between your teeth and tongue - branding him as yours.
‘God, no,’ he grits, punctuating his response with another press of his naked length against your bare ass. You can feel all of him. ‘I’m so fucking hard for you right now. And you’re so fucking wet for me, right? Right?’
You can’t help the sharp intake of breath you have when he inserts another finger, or two — you’re not sure — stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Which is partly true. You’re sure he was opening you up so that he could quickly slide in his dick and give you the quick fuck the closet suggests, but then, with thrusting fingers, his thumb finds the hood of your clit.
Deliciously full with three - four? - fingers, you continue rocking into his hand, his digits sliding in and out of you while his thumb coaxes you into a blinding orgasm. Yeah, the room is dark, but as you crescendo into pleasure, you can only see white light behind your closed eyelids. You writhe against Adrian’s body, to which he provides a secure wall around you, but even him, with his solid frame and newly discovered power to induce the best orgasm of your life, is unable to control himself against the erratic movement of your body against his—and cums with a shout of your name.
As you attempt to regain clarity, you’re vaguely aware of the fingers in your cunt, acting as a plug to prevent your cum from dripping down your legs, but also the wetness staining your ass and lower back, signs of your’s and Vigilante’s mutual orgasm.
‘I—are you okay?’ you whisper to him, the both of you simultaneously trying to catch your breaths as you overcome your highs.
‘Better than okay,’ he breathes, to which you laugh in response.
‘I mean…was that enough for now? Because we can stop if you can’t…’
‘No.’ He hastily cuts you off, ‘I was going to fuck you, but I didn’t expect to cum so e—’
‘It’s alright,’ you reassure him honestly, ‘I didn’t mind. We still have time as well.’
Neither of you have moved from your position. His fingers are still inside you, and you’re clenching around him with an insatiable thirst. Probably soaking him down to his knuckles as well. But you can feel him behind you; he’s no longer hard and you don’t want him to feel pressured to—
‘Can I eat you out?’
Oh.
‘…You know, before I fuck you. While I get hard again.’
And the definitiveness of which he states his intentions almost makes your legs buckle underneath you. You manage to turn around on shaky legs, his hand leaving you to support you at your sides as you face him.
You swallow, somewhat flustered by his proposal. You can feel your cheeks heat up at the thought. ‘Have you ever—‘
‘No,’ he answers, though with the confidence he exudes as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you, you’d have a reason not to believe him.
He firmly grasps one of your legs, guiding it over his shoulder and balancing you against him. With his head so close to your cunt, he looks up to you again, waiting for your confirmation.
You nod, but then, ‘Wait.’
He holds your gaze, waiting for you to continue.
‘How do you know you won’t cum again?’
He smiles, breaking eye contact and diverting his attention to your awaiting arousal. He plants a kiss to your inner thigh, then trails his lips even closer to your pussy. ‘That’s the thing,’ you can feel him bare a Cheshire-cat-like grin against your skin as your leg prickles with anticipation, ‘I’m making no promises.’
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murdertoothpick · 2 years
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another milestone for me?!?!?!?!
so uni and work and everything have been a bit much lately but omg!!!!!!!! 1500 FOLLOWERS ahgsfdhavhgadvhga thank you so much im sobbing...i wont be able to do a follower celebration thing or anything since im still only a few weeks into the semester but im hoping to jump back on here more regularly to interact with yall because i love yousssssssss <3 thanks again so so much i literally dont deserve all you beautiful people
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murdertoothpick · 2 years
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I know someone always posts this but a small reminder to please tag your posts that are nsfw or nsft during Ramadan. This year Ramadan is expected to begin on the 2nd of April, and during this month we will be required to abstain from all forms of sexual content while fasting. Your cooperation would be appreciated.
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murdertoothpick · 2 years
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For all the less popular writers. For the writers who don't get much attention. For the writers who have a very small following, or no following. For the writers who don't get a lot of notes or comments.
You are valid. You are brilliant. You are creating something unique and magical and all yours. No one would create it better. You are creating! You're writing! That is a magic all its own, and all yours.
You are valued, and valuable, and good enough as you are.
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