#as for the Null answer. well.

[theramblingvoid]

oc ask game: i cant do emojis but shiny rock for both

-mleem

🪨 Someone gifts your OC a shiny rock. What do they do with it?

Hallowrove: It's an odd gift, but they've recieved weirder from Rubbery friends and zailors with superstitious good-luck charms. If it seems meaningful to you in the giving, they'll keep it and cherish it, probably on a shelf in their upstairs office next to a few other gifts and assorted oddities and souvenirs from hunts. They don't tend to be sentimental about objects or decorations in general, but a good simple gift goes a long way.

Null: They will hoard it. And then realize that you are now a known source of shiny rocks, and immediately start figuring out how they might get more from you, all that you have, all that you might possibly be able to get. Your shiny rocks will line their mantel. You will know no peace. Every night they will pick them up one by one just to hold them, and feel their weight, and know that that weight is in the accumulation of what in the world is theirs. They might also swallow one eventually. You know how it is.

#voidrambles #Hallowrove tag #Null tag #i wasn't expecting Hallowrove to be a gifts person necessarily but it's really not unexpected given the fact that i very much am one #i know i like gifts a lot in part because it's a mark a friend leaves on my life，a proof that they were there that I can look back on later #I don't think Hallowrove shares that same mentality #i think they more just keep good track of gifts because of the amount of care and warmth they can feel through them from friends #and wanting to make them feel warm too by how much they are appreciated #interestingly enough Hallowrove isn't too much of a gift giver themself though #they prefer to show affection through lots of time spent with people and doing practical things to benefit them #and gifting things like food that have a use and can be consumed #they're definitely the friend that helps you move，now that i think about it #as for the Null answer. well. #it's Null #Good Luck hdhfhfhs #enjoy being extorted for shiny rocks

[genavere]

I'm honestly not sure how you could have missed the fact that ravewood was a reposter? People have talked about it extensively, and the art they reposted never matched their url. If you need me to do the labour for you, https://www.tumblr.com/genavere/724723129006604288?source=share here's your most recent offense. https://www.tumblr.com/54prowl/696176793830506496/a-couple-of-things-i-check-to-know-if-the-person?source=share Here's a guide to take notes from, because the post I linked here has so many blatant signs of reposting that it's laughable. Also it doesn't stop being art theft just because it's funny. If you're reblogging stolen work just because it makes you and other people happy, that's still art theft and it's still morally wrong. If your fics that you worked hard on were reposted without credit, I'm sure you wouldn't be too delighted with that. I've given you the resources so please do better.

"If you need me to do the labour for you, https://www.tumblr.com/genavere/724723129006604288?source=share here's your most recent offense."

Remember how I said there was one that I was questionable on? Yeah, that was the one. It's has now been deleted. After you politely informed me it was indeed the one, I did a google search, couldn't find the original artist to credit, so I deleted it.

Did I do my diligence on it? No. Why? It was posted in 2020 and I didn't do a deep dive of the blog. I don't check every account.

"I'm honestly not sure how you could have missed the fact that ravewood was a reposter? People have talked about it extensively, and the art they reposted never matched their url."

Ravewood was one of the first users I came across when I came back to tumblr last year and was looking for Fairy Tail content. After being on the platform again for a couple of months and getting my toes wet, that's when I took off my rose-colored glasses and realized what they were.

At that point in time, I knew no one in the fandom and was hungry.

An important note about people on the internet: Not everyone is in the loop, not everyone is in social circles, and not everyone sees the warning posts right away, either.

Is it an excuse? Yes, and I acknowledge that and the mistakes I've made.

So, now that you have schooled me, thank you for doing the labor for me.

Here is also somethings from that blog you recommended, along with the link for anyone interested:

"Also it doesn't stop being art theft just because it's funny. If you're reblogging stolen work just because it makes you and other people happy, that's still art theft and it's still morally wrong."

Regarding when what I meant by making people happy: it's the memes.

Check out this funny video that I reblogged:

It was great fun watching that. The poor guy that is shaking, I felt sooo bad for him.

How about this one about the grandson of Ulysses S. Grant writing gay vampire fiction:

Lovely information about a gentleman who has defied social norms and prejudice to be with his husband for so long and to write what he is passionate about.

"...because the post I linked here has so many blatant signs of reposting that it's laughable." "Please be more careful when you're reblogging fan art. On more than one occassion you've reblogged stolen fan art which gets spread around even more and that's so unfair to the artists."

If your original message had said: "Hey, this one [link] that you reblogged is stolen, would you mind taking it down or crediting the artist?"

I would have been like: "Oh shoot, sorry about that! Thank you for letting me know!" and taken it down. Would have been appreciative, even.

But you weren't.

Right out of the gate, you were standoffish. The tone felt like you said your piece and were not willing to have a conversation. Not willing to be helpful in letting me know which of the many stolen fanarts you accused me of.

That tone carries through into this ask.

Do I usually try to make sure I reblog credited art? Yes, and as I learn more about how things should be, like trying to attach the original tags the person put, I adapt.

Do I always catch everything? No, cause I am human and sometimes you just can't do better.

"If your fics that you worked hard on were reposted without credit, I'm sure you wouldn't be too delighted with that."

Would I be happy if my fics were reposted without credit? No, cause I would like to know what people think of them and I would not be able to see if they enjoyed them or thought they were trash.

Has this happened? Yes, and with original works, too. Happened to a book that I had self-published, which meant potential lost revenue.

Would I blame someone who reblogged from someone else it if I found out? No. I would let them know that it had been reposted without my consent and ask if they could edit their post to give credit, or take it down and reblog mine.

"I've given you the resources so please do better."

You did give me a resource, which I appreciate.

But, please note, that you could do better, too. Kindness goes a long way, and is a far better teaching tool.

On a last note, how about this one I also reblogged:

#ask answered #anon ask answered #anon #anonymous #anon ask #stolen work #stolen work resource #Is this petty? #The last one is for sure #Spent WAY too much time on this #Should I go back to sleep? #I dunno #Oh well #I guess this shows my passive aggressive side a bit #Pretty sure that Inuyasha pic made everything I said above about kindness null and void

[mhaccunoval]

BELOVED!!! saw your post about names!!!! us shaking hands in Weird About Names Online. takes your face in my hands and kisses your forehead.

KISSY KISSY!!!

normally i don't care about having my name out there but because i'm in one of my 'i don't know what name feels right or who i am' phases it's just. easiest to put that catch all...

#mhac.txt #beloved tag #and you know me. i'm like a dog so i'll answer to any name #yet also in this current phase it's like 'i'm not trying to be mean to new people but i might as well throw this bone' #or whatever. IDK. i'm getting sleepy so my articulation is null

[clearlyaginger]

I have trouble sleeping or at least getting a restful sleep and a few days ago I realized I'm a whole Adult and I can buy a bottle of Zzzquil and go to medically-safe town on it.

So I did.

And it didn't do jack OR shit, but this morning at 5am I finished making the tasks of among us in functional minecraft mechanicings.

#i mean maybe i shohld take more #thats always the right answer right #funny #sleep #sleep problems #tired #im tired #i fully just forgot the word #insomnia #i mean it's not that bad it's just #every so often ill hit a phase for a week or two at a time where i finally fall asleep at 3-4 and wake up like an hour later #if anything i think the zzzquil is making me more alert #bc it's nulling other discomforts thus tricking my monkey brain into thinking #oh we already had rest #we're good let's go bitch #in other news i finally sorted out the penny jar by year and now im scrolling a list of valuable pennies #and well heres hoping i have a penny thats worth like 300000 #that would be nice #id buy new plates i think #these ones are fine #but theyre so boring #i did get them at dollar tree tho so they were a good price #maybe this time ill shop at dollar general #thats like a step up right #can you believe dollar tree is charging a buck 25 for their stuff now? the audacity #hey if youve read this far thats cool #i love it when ppl see my thought train get derailed #not even derailed in the sense that it was knocked off course #just like if the train was concious and acted against the conductor's wishes like fuck this track bullshit i wanna see whats over there #and the train guy is like no for fucks sake stay on target we have to get to the lumber yard by 2-and we're gone. where were we going?

[reiderwriter]

I’d love if you could do a very fluffy-smut with Spencer, like you had a tough case and the day after he calls asking you to go to his apartment and you see he has made food & made a fort to watch movies with fairy lights and just everything really romantic & it ending with very slow/soft sex🩵

A/N: I loved writing this one! Spencer is absolutely the type to build a perfectly engineered pillow fort just because you're having a bad day 😭😭 I hope you enjoy it!!

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, soft sex, oral sex (f receiving), slow/ gentle sex, multiple orgasms, implied creampie/ no contraception mentioned :) tee hee

There was something about the cases that took you to the other side of the country that sunk the ache into your bones just that little bit more. 

It didn't matter if you were going for a kidnapping or a serial or a spree, you always returned more weary than before. The weeks work that you endured was never as tough as returning home to your empty apartment, to the cold floor and the lonely bed. 

This time, your case had a happy ending. You weren't sure how many more of them you were going to be able to live through before the bad endings rendered them null and void. It didn't matter how many people you saved some days because your brain was crowded with the names and faces of the ones you didn't. 

The drive home from Quantico was unsurprisingly quiet. Having landed in the dead of night, there were never going to be too many people on the roads to your apartment. 

You weren't sure if it was fate, or the fact that you hadn't eaten anything in the last 18 hours that made you pull over to the side of the road to pick something up from the 24 hour drive thru, but in the end you were glad you did. 

The second you pulled your car off the road, taking a breather and deciding to stretch your legs a bit before going in to order, your phone screen lit up. 

“Spencer,” you answered the phone, “what's up?” 

“Y/N, hey, I just got home. Listen, remember last month I was talking to you about that one indie film that I couldn't find anywhere? Well, a friend of mine from college just sent me a file entitled ‘the movie.’” 

You weren't sure if it was Spencer’s enthusiasm or just the way you were always ready to drop anything to do something with him that had you giggling and nodding along. You didn't remember the discussion, let alone the movie he meant, but you liked hearing him talk about the things he was passionate about. 

“So I was thinking, we're both probably not going to get much sleep anyway since we clocked out only 23 minutes ago - movie night?” 

“You couldn't have called at a better time, Spencer. I'm grabbing food, text me your order and I'll see you in 15.”

-X-

The drive to Spencer’s apartment was clear, but the hum in the air was lighter than  the silence of before. By the time you pulled onto his street, your mood had already brightened significantly.

You trudged up to his apartment softly so as not to cause any complaints and sent him a text to let him know you were waiting outside. 

You knew instantly that he'd received and read it - the garbled sound of the large man tripping over his feet in his attempt to rush to the door were the same every time you arrived. Stubbing his toe on some pile of books or the other was practically ritual. 

“Hi,” he whispered, opening the door just a crack and giving you a bright smile. 

“Hi,” you smiled back. “I bought food.”

“Perfect. That's perfect. You're… come on in. It's cold, right?” He guided you into the small entryway in his apartment and let you drop your keys with his as if they were supposed to be tangled together. 

“I have a little surprise.” He said, suddenly sounding bashful as he grabbed for your hand in the dark - you hadn't realised as he'd led you in but there were no lights on in the small apartment on at all, as far as you could tell. 

“What? Spencer-” 

“You'll like it, I promise, you just have to trust me.” You relaxed as he wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you with him into his living space. His hand was warm as it settled against the small on your back, and his chest was surprisingly broad and firm as you brought up your hands to steady yourself against him. 

“Okay, now close your eyes.” 

“The apartment is pitch black. Why am I closing my eyes?” You giggled a little, surprised that your whole body felt so light and calm now, when it had felt so terrible only half an hour before. 

“Trust me,” he said, and you did. Truth be told, your eyes were already shut before the words had even left his mouth. 

“Okay, you can open them now.” 

He must have flipped a light switch the second you opened your eyes because your vision was blurred by the dazzling light when you did. 

Blinking through the adjustment, you started making out shapes and couldn't stop the small tears that pricked the corners of your eyes. 

He hadn't just invited you around for a movie night - he'd built a fort. Held up by a few chairs and piles of books, he'd managed to prop up at least three layers of blanket to surround the most comfortable looking floor you'd ever seen. 

You didn't even know he owned this many pillows, but when he tugged your hand down as he began to move into the fort, you didn't need to care. 

Not with his fingers gently laced with yours and the fairy lights he'd surrounded everything with, giving his skin a golden glow. You didn't need any explanation. You just needed him to hold you. 

“Spencer this is beautiful,” you whispered, sound dampened by the lump in your throat that you tried to swallow, to no relief. “This must've taken so much time. How did you even-”

“PhD in Engineering. I don't get much use out of it these days, but it certainly comes in handy.” 

You couldn't help the laugh that burst from you, the tears finally flowing as tears of joy. 

“Spencer, what is all this for?” 

“It's just because. You looked like you had a hard day, and I enjoy spending time with you.” 

They weren't the most romantic words in the world. They probably didn't come close to some quotes he could recite as easily as breathing. But they hit you hard and fast. 

You knew you were in love with Spencer Reid long before this moment, but there was no holding back the flood after hearing the sincerity in his voice. 

You slowly stretched your neck up and pressed your lips against his. It was fleeting, a small moment that if this didn't pan out, you could brush off as a friendly show of appreciation. 

You pulled away to gauge his reaction, but you didn't get to. His hand on your neck had pulled you back to him for another slow, but deep kiss, and it was as if your entire body was on fire in those sheets. 

You weren't sure how long you spent breathing each other in, exploring each others lips softly. You just knew you were growing desperate for more. You didn't notice that you'd climbed into his lap until your eagerness knocked him onto his back, forcing you apart. 

Your chest lay atop his as you both gasped for air, legs tangled, eyes locked as both of you feared talking first. 

After almost too long without anything said or done, Spencer chose silence again, flipping your positions so you were the one on your back on the pillows as he hovered over you, lips meeting yours again. 

This time, you made the conscious decision to wrap your legs up around his waist, hand tangling in his hair as you smiled and giggled against his kisses, so obliviously happy to be there with him. 

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses, not even hesitating for a second to contemplate whether he felt the same. 

“I love you more,” he said as if it were a competition where you both won in the end. 

You became more talkative after that, responding to every touch, every kiss with praise and a confession, a moan as his fingers pushed under your shirt, a shaky breath as they unbuttoned your pants. 

“Fuck, Spencer, please touch me more,” you begged as his hand toyed with your nipple, having discarded your shirt and bra quickly after receiving permission to do so. 

“I will. I want to know all of you,” his voice was strong even in a whisper, as he dropped his head to your other nipple to begin suckling and teasing you. 

You always thought his hair would be soft, had been tempted on multiple occasions to tuck a strand behind his ear, or just run a hand through it, and now you held it firm, pushing him further into your chest as you arched into his mouth. 

“I want to feel m-more of you, Spencer.” 

He raised his gaze to you as he let go of your nipple with a pop and quietly complied with your will. Trailing his head lower, he kissed across the expanse of your stomach, biting and sucking here and there to leave a path of markings in his wake before arriving right where he wanted to be. 

He made quick work of your pants and panties both, surprised that a man who never failed to bump into things in his own living space could be so graceful when it came to divesting you of your clothing. 

You couldn't ponder for too long as he dived between your legs, spreading you open like a book he needed to read and memorise. His to guess hit your clit quickly, and a few twitches and moans here and there showed him how you liked it, where you needed him and his tongue. 

You again got to grasp his hair  pulling him further into your wet cunt as you chased your high, needing so desperately to ride out an orgasm against his face. 

When his two fingers stretched you open, you practically drowned him, thighs clamping shut as your brain emptied itself of stress. 

You calmed down and watched him come up for air, fingers still slowly and gently pumping inside of you, reminding you that this wasn't over. 

“You taste sweet.” 

“I know how much you like sweet things.” Your juices glistened on his lips and chin, a few drops running down his neck as you stared at him with pure desperation in your eyes. 

“Spencer, please, fuck-” his fingers picked up speed every time you tried again.

“Spencer, fuck me, please  just fuc-”

“As you wish, Y/N.” 

He didn't bother removing his own clothing, though you desperately wanted to see his entire length and explore him just as he had with you. 

But after cumming on his face already, you decided you'd let him go with whatever he wanted. 

Shifting up behind you as you laid there, he gently rolled your body onto its side as he pulled your back towards him, giving him better access to your cunt as you arched into him again. 

He sank in slowly, almost as if he was scared to break you, but didn't stop until he was almost fully inside of you, practically sheathed. 

He adjusted his hold on you, wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your neck.

With deep, slow strokes, he made love to you. You weren't sure if it was the fairy lights, or if it was just that good, but you saw stars, saw them burnt into your eyes, watched them every time the pleasure felt too good and your eyes rolled back into your head. 

The second orgasm came slower than the first, but it was just as hot. 

“Y/N, look at me - you're so beautiful, I want to watch you cum.”

“Spencer, love- I love you, I love you, fuck, oh my god, I love you so much.” You reached for his lips but he pressed his forehead against yours as he whispered in your ear a final time: “cum for me now.” 

Your body wasn't one for taking your queues, but it responded to him as if he'd been the missing part you'd missed this entire time. 

Your cunt tightened around him, milking his cock as he moaned and released seconds after you did. 

You lay tangled in those blankets and pillows for hours after, and you weren't afraid or lonely anymore. 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 5)

Word Count - 3.8

Summary - Honestly, there isn’t any plot to this one. Just sex.  

Tags/Warnings - 18+ SMUT,  Fingering, P in V, Oral, Unprotected sex, Edging, Size kink, Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn, Maybe a little bit of angst, Mentions of childhood trauma

A/N - I’m back baby...maybe 

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

It was just your luck that there was no hot water, and by the time you washed out the soap from your hair, your teeth were chattering uncontrollably. You could have sworn a minute longer and you’d have ice forming on the tips of your lashes. You couldn’t get dressed into your civi clothes fast enough, a thin but warm sweater and a plain pair of sweats. You packed for warmth and practicality, not seducing husky men, and some small bold part of you wished you had. 

Simon was already in the barracks waiting for his turn for a shower. His gear was in a neat pile next to the cot, and he had just pulled off his combat shirt when you entered the room. 

He truly was all power and strength, all solid muscle and hardened skin. He was built and bred for the battlefield and imbued with cruel intent. The tattoos that travelled from wrist to bicep were stark against his skin. If you stepped outside yourself for a moment you could see why so many men feared to cross his path. Yet, here he stood 15 feet away from you and not a single thought was one of dread. With you, he was softer, calmer. Even his usual rough tone settled into a smokey version of itself. He still carried a dominating edge with him but he never misused it with you.       

And…

And you were staring. 

He was crouched down at his pack when he finally looked over his shoulder at you. He had removed his mask and he looked just as good as he did when you saw his face earlier. If not better. If that was possible. His dark hair was unruly like he had just woken up from a nap. His face was dirty with a mixture of paint, sweat, dirt, and more likely than not, blood. He was unkept but more in a charming, alluring way. 

Oh, you were in deep. He had you wrapped around his finger and he was well aware he had that much sway over you. Still, he would not make a move until you made it very clear and unmistakable what you want from him. He would give you everything and anything you wanted, but not unless you told him.    

“There’s no hot water,” you willed the words to sound anything but bothered. 

His gaze dripped down your body, watched as your body shivered from the lingering bone-deep chill, “I needed a cold one anyways,” he tossed the dirty combat shirt into his pack and picked up the fresh one. Even in the low light, you could see every dip and angle of his muscles as he bent down. 

The summer night air might be warm but it wasn’t warm enough to warrant a cold shower, “Who would take a cold shower on purpose?” you made your way to your own pack, readying to set up your sleeping bag. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grabbed whatever else he needed from his bag before disappearing into the small shower room. On his way past you, you threw a clean pair of balled-up socks at him, which he unsurprisingly caught before throwing them back at you, “Smarten’ up.”  

“I would like to know,” you quipped just before he closed the door. It’s not like you’d die without an answer you just wanted to have the last word. The only reason he let you have it was because he needed to get out of the same room as you as soon as humanly possible. He needed the cold shower to 

The cold shower was null once Simon came back out into the room. The moment his eyes locked onto yours, he was just as frustrated and deprived as before. You could practically taste his want from across the room. Could see it in the way he stalked back to his side of the room, his attention locked on you.

He changed into a regular green t-shirt, the colour faded around the seams and fit snugly around his shoulders and chest, and green army-issued sweats. His still-wet hair was pushed back and away from his face.    

“You clean up nice,” you tested as you slid into your sleeping bag, your head tilting to the side. 

There was a flash of white teeth in the low light, “Keep that mouth of yours shut for me?” his words were more of a plea than an order. He moved to turn off the propane lamps, replacing the light was a singular red light torch which was better for concealment and stealth because it was harder to see from a distance.

“Easy, big boy,” your grin was fiendish, “I’m only making conversation.”

“Yuh huh,” he grunted back at you as he checked the locks on all the doors and windows. The final window was right above your head and after he checked it he crouched down beside you, the torch dangling in his hand between his legs, “You gonna be warm enough?” 

“Are you offering to keep me warm, Riley?” you shifted into a kneeling position, and still you didn’t match his height, your knees were almost touching his feet.  

His answering smile was wolfish, “I was offering you an extra blanket.”

“And,” you said slowly, “What of you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” It was hard to discern whether this desire was coming from someplace genuine or if it was the result of missing him and needing a distraction from today's events. Perhaps it was both. It was evident that he was wondering the same. You could see it in his eyes. The way they turned inquisitive each time you returned his attention. The way he would slow his approach and wait for your response, gauge your reaction.

Your gaze fell to his lips, imagining how they’d feel on yours, on your skin. His grin shifted to something more shy and he looked away, looking into the room's darkness. Another moment watching you and he would have jumped on you like a deprived animal. Which is why you had to take the first move. 

Gently you pulled the torch from his grasp, placing it up on the floor beside him. He turned to face you once more. With hands made of air, your fingers drove into his hair. The space between your lips felt too wide and too close at the same time. I felt like time itself was yours, like you were holding it in the palm of your hand, warm and heavy. This moment was well overdue.  

It was a whisper of a kiss. A timid gesture that the both of you leaned into. Pressed into. With trembling hands, his fingers curled around your waist, digging into the supple flesh there. The wanton groan that rumbled deep in his chest was gasoline to a fire. Your hands slipped down to the hard muscles of his chest and pushed him back into a sitting position. His free hand caught him just in time to break the fall. You were quick to move into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Woah,” he huffed, the crooked grin returning, “I’m not going anywhere.”    

“You always have something cheeky to say?” you hummed, hands encircling the back of his neck, running the expanse of his shoulders, his chest. 

“I’m working on that,” he leaned back on his hands, allowing you access to all of him. 

You lifted his shirt, just enough to sneak your fingers underneath. His skin burned and his muscles twitched beneath your touch, “A rather new development?”     

He was all enchanted compliance and keen submission for you, “It’s taken the back seat as of late,” his chest rose and fell rapidly as your hands grazed lower before returning to his chest. 

“Never took you for a procrastinator,” Your lips connected with his jaw, trailing lower and lower. 

The man underneath you was a complete juxtaposition from the man who prowled the battlefield and lurked in the shadows. Even with everything he was capable of, you felt safe with him. Felt secure. Protected. 

“I can’t think when you’re touching me, Darlin’,” When you pulled away his head was tilted back and his eyes were mere slits, foggy with lust. 

Right now, he was docile, but you wanted to see him get wicked for you.      

You lowered your hips onto his and rolled them. You were met with hard arousal and the compromising heat between your legs shot up your spine and into your throat. There was a synchronized moan that bounced between you and like a knee-jerk reaction a hand was braced at your hips. Your motions quickly turned feverish, both trying to match each other's desperate rhythm. It was all gnashing teeth, open-mouthed kisses, and shared breath.

With shaking fingers you tugged at his shirt, “Off,” you could hardly manage the single syllable. And who was he kidding, the few seconds he had to pull away from you to remove his shirt made him regret ever putting it on. 

You paused as you traced the hard tissue of his numerous scars, and wondered which was he acquired during his service and which ones he received from his father. He remained utterly still, even his chest ceased to rise and fall with breath. He was waiting for you to reject him, to recoil from all the imperfections. 

You leaned down to press a kiss to one of them, one that looked like it never had time to properly heal. Like the wound was ripped open over and over and over again. Then another kiss to the scar next to it. You couldn’t tell if it was your own heart or if his was so beating so loud you could hear it from where you sat. When you lifted your eyes to him you decided it was probably his you were hearing. His eyes were wide with shock and his swollen lips were parted in awe.

“Simon—”    

“I want this,” he gasped, “But if you’re not sure we have to stop now.” 

You would have to stop now because it’d kill him if he had to stop later. 

Your expression turned sultry and you removed your sweater from your body, revealing nothing but bare, tingling skin, “Be good to me.”

He moved on you like lightning, and with quick practiced maneuvering you were on your back with him cradled between your legs. Gone was the man who let you dominate him a few seconds ago. Calloused hands ran the length of your sides, up to your throat and held you in place. Though he didn’t squeeze your neck hard enough to choke, it was a tight enough grip to let you know that he was in control now. He sucked bruises into the sensitive skin of your collarbone, your chest. His tongue flicked out to lick apologies into the marks he left behind. His teeth scraped against your breast and your breath hitched in anticipation. 

But he pulled back, his head tilted to the side, “Since day one,” he murmured before raising himself to a kneel, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his own eyes, “Since the day I met you I’ve wanted you like this,” his heated gaze flicked to your face, your expression no doubt matching his, “Like that,” his voice trailed off and he lowered himself back down to you, “I’ve wanted you…” 

His skin against yours wasn’t close enough, it never would be. You needed him like you needed air. Like you needed laughter. You were starving for him. You were starved of him. There wasn’t enough time in the night for you to be rid of this carnal need for him. 

His mouth was back on your chest, nipping and sucking at you. You arched your back into his touch in a plea for more. More. More.

His breath caught between his teeth, his fingers lingering on your thigh. With anguished hesitance, he traced the scar and his head dipped to your leg. Your heart was hammering against your rib cage, begging to be let out so it could wrap itself around his. There was no need for words for you to understand what was going through his head right now. The guilt and bitterness that rolled off him heated your skin. 

“I thought you were dead.”

You were sure he was talking about when your vehicle blew up with you inside of it, “Me too,” you murmured into the dark room, fingers finding his jaw, guiding him back to looking at you. It was all you could do to offer him a weary smile, “But, I’m not. Because of you.” 

The man used his own body as a shield for you, carried you to safety and brought you back from the brink of death. Without him, you weren’t entirely sure if things would have turned out the same. Not that you wanted to think about it in the first place. 

His lips parted, his brows furrowing in preparation for an argument. You didn’t give him the chance to make one, bringing him back down to you for an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue licks at him to open for you, “No more talking, Riley.” 

His answering grin was enough for you, his thumbs hooked into the hem of your pants and pulling them until they were on the floor. He hissed at the sight of you, completely naked, before him. Those tortured dark eyes take in every curve and dip of your body. His dopy smile told you all you needed to know about how truthful he was when he said: “Since day one”.

He placed a chaste kiss on your mouth but quickly moved down the length of your body. It was like he couldn’t get between your legs fast enough, his previous hesitation had melted away with the heat you two made. 

“Oh,” you gasped as his tongue found your center, licking a languid swipe up. He placed a heavy hand on your chest meant to keep you still, while the other wrapped around your thigh to keep your legs open for him. You cover the hand over your chest with your own, squeezing and digging your nails in as he licked and sucked at you. You rolled your hips into him, legs curled around his shoulders and panting in desperation. He flattened his tongue against you, and you could feel your arousal and slick leak from you. Eyes squeezed shut and throat constricting with a moan. 

You were fiendish for him. You’ve been with men and women before, had both good and bad sex, but this…this was different. This was a release. Within seconds he had you at the edge, but he didn’t let you fall. Instead, he kept you there teetering back and forth.

He added a single thick finger, tracing the outline of your cunt before pushing it inside you. His mouth never stopped working at you, circling your clit. His digits curled inside you in perfect rhythm with your own motions. He was following the lead of your body, listening to the sounds you made and each reaction. 

Another finger stretched you, and your legs instinctively closed around his head at the feel of them pressing into your G-spot. 

“Ohmygod,” you tossed your head back, arching into his touch. You were shaking and twisting in his arms, your climax was right there. 

His fingers left you feeling empty, his arms forcing your legs from his head. You were spread out, soaking, and aching beneath him. Annoyance and discomfort bubbled up into your throat, “You fucking–” you started only to be cut off when he dove back into you, his wet tongue exploring the inside of your mouth. 

No more talking.            

He didn’t need to say the words. He pulled back only far enough to pull his cock out from his pants. You had your fantasies and imagination to guess the size of him but whatever you would have come up with wouldn’t have compared. For a second you contemplated backing out. He was going to split you in half. You swallowed, the arousal between your legs becoming unbearable. 

You needed him. Now. 

“I’ll be slow with you,” he huffed, his eyes following yours. He wrapped a hand around himself, making long, slow strokes. Precum beaded at the head. Any other day you’d take your time licking that up for him. 

Words betrayed you and it was all you could do to nod at him. 

“I need to hear you say it, darlin',” he groaned, his entire body quaking with deprivation. 

You dipped your fingers to your core, dragging the slick across your stomach, “Please, fuck me, Simon.”

His answering moan was beyond seductive. He rocked into your cunt, wetting himself on your arousal. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sliding across your pussy, pausing where he would have bottomed out if he were inside you. The tip of him reached your belly button and you slid your fingers up the slit at the head of his cock. He jolted, pulling back ever so slightly. Then he lined himself up with your opening. He pushed just the tip in, stopping there to allow you time to adjust. Pulling out. Pushing in a little further. Pulling out. 

You wrapped your leg around him, forcing him in all the way. He swore at the sensation of you being around him. You bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and the stretch burned. 

“You okay?” he immediately cupped your face in his hands, eyes searching your face. 

With an experimental movement of your hips, you managed, “Just move. Just move.”

Simon heeded your plea, drawing out before sliding back in. You could almost feel him in your throat, you felt so full of him. You had to time your breath to match his rhythm, if only so his reentry wouldn’t knock the air from your lungs. He leaned down to you, his arms on either side of your head. With every stroke, you could feel him hit your cervix, and every time it elicited a crude moan from you. 

“Atta girl, you’re taking me so well,” his gaze burned at where you two connected, watching himself disappear and reappear. You pushed his dark hair back from his face, wanting to see every micro-expression he made. His attention whipped back to you, a roughish smile spreading across his lips, “You’re so beautiful.”  

His speed picked up, his breath catching with every pump. You felt your climax swell up again and you clamped down around him. He licked a stripe up the column of your throat, placed burning kisses up the curve of your jaw, and sucked welts into the sensitive skin on your neck. Sweat beaded on your chest like the firey heat inside your core was making it’s way to your skin. 

He wrapped his arm underneath you, arching you further into him. His large hands encircled your waist, pulling you into his cock. The angle was too perfect. Your eyes rolled and it made you see stars. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, the absolute ecstasy ripped any sort of coherent word from your tongue. 

His thumb came to rub fast tight circles on your clit, ushering you to your orgasm. You twisted in his grasp, writhing at the sensation. It was too much and not enough. He was too much and not enough.

“Cum for me, baby girl. Show me how good I make you feel,” his slightly pained expression revealed his own proximity to his ruin. He’s been waiting for this moment since the moment you met and he’s been on edge around you the entire time. He was struggling to keep himself railing you into the floor. Until there was nothing left but tears and whimpers. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not yet. You needed more time to get used to him. You needed time to memorize the shape and size of him. 

The band he pulled taut inside you finally snapped and your body stiffened. Your orgasm crashed into you so hard that you forgot your name. There was only one thing on your mind and it was him, the feeling of him. The sound that came out of you was one of crazed bliss and pleasure. Your body developed a mind of its own and you tried pushing his fingers away from you, the stimulation quickly becoming too much for you to handle. 

He shifted his position, one hand holding your legs around his hips and the other supporting his weight, fingers gripping at your loose hair. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck. His breath was warm on your skin, sending tingles all the way down your legs. You clawed at his back, nails leaving behind angry red lines. He relished in the pain. Prayed whatever marks you left on him would never heal over. He would keep coming back to you for more. He was inside you and still, he felt like he needed you closer. He needed you under his skin. In his lungs. The mere thought of you made him half wild. His relentless pace never allowed you the time to recover from your last climax as another rose from the depths. 

He murmured sweetly in your skin, “One more.” 

Like the words were gospel, you obeyed them. Tightening around his length you came again. His own release followed, pulling out the last possible second. With a strangled moan, his hot cum covered your stomach and dripped down the sides of your thighs. 

The two of you stayed like that, entangled in each other, fighting for breath. He placed a tender kiss on your jaw, then another on your mouth, “You feel way better than I imagined you would.”

You grinned at him, “You think about fucking me a lot?” 

“Only every time I jerk off,” he leaned back on his heels, his eyes devouring you, “I think about you all the time actually…” he tilted his head to the side, “and not just about how good you taste,” using his discarded shirt he began to clean up the mess you two made. Wiping all the fluids and cum from your body. He was so gentle with you. So delicate. Like he was afraid that if he spoke too loud or moved too fast you turn into dust. Blow away with the breeze. 

You sat back up, bringing his face back to yours, “Shower?” Your hair was still damp from the last one you took, but circumstances called for it. 

His face seemed to light up at the invitation, and his eyes darkened with mischief.  

Masterlist

A/N - Just recovering from a minor surgery my bad for the delay

Tag List

General -  @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎  @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎ @purplefishingline ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @dog55teeth ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @meaganjean  ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @mymommy ❤︎ @mychrysanthemum​ ❤︎

His Foresight - @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx ❤︎ @aquarose38 ❤︎ @xheera ❤︎ @unsatisfiedanddisappointed ❤︎ @okayyadriana 

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost #cod #cod x reader #cod smut #cod fanfic #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #ghost smut #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #modern warfare two #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #call of duty

[masked-men-fantasy]

A new place to try (Overwatch)

Is there any place you want to try out together when, you know, we do that thing together again?

NSFW Content. MDNI.

Reaper

"Not interested," Gabriel will answer shortly, pretending to be annoyed. But please keep asking him or begging him.

"Fine." Reaper sighed and answered in a low voice, "I want to try that in a bath... with you."

It was a surprisingly simple request, so you prepared hot water, a bath bomb with his favorite smell (you notice that he likes sporty perfume), and even some candles for him.

Once he comes back from Talon headquarters and sees rose pallets guide a way to the bath, he sees you in very few pieces of clothing. You tried to blink, like flirting with him.

He just stood there silently. And it starts to make you worried if you make him mad or something. You cannot read his emotions through the mask.

"Seriously...?" Reaper, just say that, and he will rapidly walk toward you. He threw his hood and armor to the ground, revealing only his well-built body and his big member, which is now half-hard.

"You better not regret what I am going to do with you." He said that and lifted you up like nothing, put you in the bath, astride you, and started kissing you hard. His hand caressingly touches every sensitive part of your body.

"No one ever does anything like this for me... Thank you," he said. His eyes really mean how thankful he is and how much affection he has for you. He then hugged and kissed you deeply to show how much he appreciated what you did for him.

Genji

"I think I just know the right place for that," Genji said with his slight robotic voice.

A mountain that is quite far away from the busy area in Hanamura. There is a big Sakura tree up there. The wind flows, and countless petals float in the air. It is beautiful and peaceful up here.

"Not many people know about this place. It is the only place that makes me feel calmer after a bad day," Genji explained while he looked up to the tree and held your hand."

"And I always dream of having someone that I trust to share this place with me." A robotic ninja will pull you for a kiss and hold your body tightly.

Genji slowly takes off your clothes, piece by piece.

"Naughty idea, but romantic at the same time. I don't even know how you can do  that." You said that and smiled at him.

"I could say the same to you." His metal sheet on his face is getting closer to you.

Ramattra

"Why does having a pet human require such nuisance care?" Ramattra growls. He shook his head, then simply said, "Follow me."

Null Sector Factory.

Oh, dear lord, you think you know what this big bad robot has in his mind now...

"Let's give them a little introduction on how to make humans submit to them, shall we, pet?"

Then Ramattra started to railed you with his Nemesis form.

All that you can see are the hundreds of eyes of Null Sector's soldiers that have just come out of the production line, watching you and getting completely dominated by Ominics.

It was embarrassing and humiliating as hell, and you love it.

#reaper x reader #genji x reader #ramattra x reader #x male reader #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #reaper x male reader #genji x male reader #ramattra x male reader #genji shimada #Reaper #gabriel reyes #Ramattra

[dearharriet]

Mama’s Fallen Angel; Eddie Munson 🎲

“Eddie,” you whisper, “need you.”

Eddie groans into your throat. That you need him even once almost makes the whole year he lost with you worth it.

“Be patient, baby,” he cooes, but he’s halfway there himself. “Gonna give it to ya.”

summary: eddie is torn when you, his troubled ex-best-friend, show up on his doorstep after a year of being gone. (18+)

word count: 2.3K

warnings: explicit sexual content—MDNI, fem!r, fingering, thigh-fucking, unprotected piv (be safe), postcoital dysphoria (?), unhealthy/messy relationship, mentions of abuse (not from eddie), angst

a/n: I’ve literally no qualifications to be writing abt sex pls tell me if it’s awful 😟 based on the song fallen angel by poison !!

It’s ten o'clock and thunderous in Indianapolis. Pounding rain drowns all other noise, but the rumble of your fists on Eddie’s front door cuts through it all like lightning.

The door swings open, and Eddie frowns. You’re drenched, panting, and carrying a go-bag half your weight. Before he can ask questions, you let yourself in, bypassing him completely.

“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” you say, but you leave little room for opposition. You’re taking your coat off, shaking like a bathed dog. “Should I take my shoes off?”

You’re talking like Eddie invited you over, like he’s seen you at all in the past twelve months. He can’t believe his own traitorous mouth as it plays along.

“Uh, yeah. Please.”

Technically, he walks all over his apartment in shoes—his work boots, even—but the sight of your ratty sneakers is enough to compel him. You sling them to the side and trail into Eddie’s living space. Eddie nervously follows.

“What’re you doin’ here?”

No answer. You pick up the knick-knacks and memorabilia on his coffee table, scrutinizing them.

“Um, hellooo?” Eddie snaps his fingers near your head until you turn your attention to him, blank-faced. Something about your silence is more unsettling than anything you could say. Eddie needs it to end.

“Why aren’t you in Chicago?” Eddie asks like you’re crazy. You stick your nose up haughtily, all defense.

“What, I can’t visit?”

“Is that what this is?” Eddie glances around, at your shoes, your bag on the floor. “Cause it doesn’t feel like it, babe.”

Shifting uncomfortably, you don’t reply. There are photos around Eddie’s place, above the couch and on the end tables by his sofa. You study them, glazing over pictures of Eddie and an athletic brunette—Steve Harrington, from school—then a band of kids, and then a pretty blonde girl you’d never seen.

“You have a girlfriend now?” Disdain paints the question, clear as day. It’s almost more of an insult than an inquiry. Eddie frowns.

“No.”

Tearing your eyes away from the photo—Eddie and the blonde, cheesing over a mound of moving boxes—you look at Eddie. He looks so different, yet so familiar. His hair is gathered and tied in a low bun, revealing his face for once. His features look fresh, fed and warm and happy. You can’t decide if you’re proud or inconsolably jealous. Still, he wears a tinge of worry that you often create.

Eddie was always looking after you. Through your tumultuous upbringing, he and Wayne took care of you, loved you the way you deserved. It wasn’t apparent until recently that your biggest saboteur was yourself.

“Liam got mean,” you say, and you know what Eddie will say back. His lack of surprise always hurt more than the actual abuse. His I told you so‘s.

“He left?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinch. You shake your head.

“I did.” It’s sickly satisfying to watch his face blank, his mouth drop. “I was gonna go home, but…”

Eddie nods. He knows as well as you do that your parents would never take you back, and that their roof meant very little in terms of safety.

“Uncle Wayne would’ve taken ya,” He offers, but it’s a null point. You’re not in Wayne’s living room, you’re in Eddie’s.

“I don’t want Uncle Wayne,” you say anyway. You stare at the floor, your shoulders by your ears. “I want you.”

Something in Eddie’s chest burns, passion or fury or both. Years ago, he was elated to hear you say so, but now…

“We’re not doing this again.” Eddie’s voice is stern.

Looking up, your eyes flash with confusion.

“What?” You step closer, reaching out. “Eddie—“

Dodging your advance, Eddie throws his hands up.

“No! You don’t get to do this to me.” He licks his lips. “I got over you, and it fucking blew, but I’m finally happy here. If you bet on the wrong horse, I’m sorry, but you can’t come back and ruin me all over again.”

It doesn’t matter how measured he is, Eddie can’t stop the words from becoming scathing. You look absolutely torn and out of your depth, but an icy resolution creeps over you.

“Yeah, okay.” You step away and grab your bag harshly. “Got it.”

Eddie trails after you, back into the inlet.

“Where are you going?” Eddie feels idiotic, he’d told you to leave, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what he was saying, that you’re not welcome? You look like you’re thinking the same thing, scowling as you tie your shoes.

“I dunno, a women’s shelter, maybe?” You shrug. “Or a hostel. There’s a few here.”

It all leaves a bad taste in Eddie’s mouth.

“Wayne would—“

“I told you, I don’t wanna see him,” you interrupt, rising from your crouched position. Eddie wants to shake you, to grab your face and make you listen.

“He can help you.”

“I don’t want his help!” Your shout pings off of Eddie’s walls. You curl in on yourself, half angry, half defeated. “I can’t stand the way he’d look at me, okay? I can barely stand the way you’re looking at me.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit! Big city wasn’t what you were expecting, huh, angel?” He shakes his head. Your face burns with the embarrassment of overambition and naïveté. “You should've listened to me.”

There it is. The smug fucking bastard. Your blood roils in your chest, pounding at your skin. You grab Eddie by the collar and shake him.

“You’re fucking mean,” you spit. You let him go, just to push at his chest with your palms. “You’re the fucking problem!”

Stumbling back, Eddie clenches his jaw and sneers.

“ Why? ‘Cause I care? ‘Cause I want you to be safe?”

Eddie can’t even be bothered to think about his neighbors, so riled up he can hear his pulse. He steps closer and you push him back again.

“You blamed me! You still blame me! You treat me like I’m stupid for going with him, but I was fucking scared, Eddie. I had nowhere else to go.” Your shoves are getting weaker, less imposing, and your eyes are glassy with tears. “It’s not my fucking fault that he was nice when we met, when people were around. It’s not.”

The fight flees Eddie’s eyes, too, because you’re right. He’d spent years trying to protect you, and he was just hurting you instead. He backs off, deflating.

Neither of you knows what to say, breathing hard and feeling awful. The rain is gone, making the silence all that much louder.

“You can take my bed tonight,” Eddie murmurs, afraid to pierce the silence.

You purse your lips, looking away. “No, you were right. I should go.”

“No, fuck that.” You flinch, and Eddie pales a little. “Forget what I said,” he amends, “I was being jealous and insufferable. It’s dark and it’s raining, and you should stay.”

Eddie looks painfully sincere, and desperate. It feels wrong, but you have nowhere else to go. You nod hesitantly, agreeing.

Your pack looks completely out of place in his room. Tattered and duct-taped and filled to the brim. It makes the space around it look impossibly cleaner. You don’t even open it, either, because Eddie lends you his own clothes. It sits forgotten at the foot of his bed.

Eddie sets you up nicely, tucking you into his sheets and slinking towards the door.

When you’re about to say goodnight, laying your still-damp hair on Eddie’s pillows, you feel suddenly as out of place and lost as the bag on the floor.

“Eddie.” His head turns your way, hand paused over the lightswitch. You’re gripping his comforter in your hands, radiating anxiety.

“Would you stay?” Eddie’s lips press together, and you’re sure he’ll say no. Still, you can’t help but add a pathetic, “please?”

Eddie knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. But you’re in his clothes, in his bed, and you’re asking for him. He can’t say no to you.

Freeing his hair from its confines, he crawls in next to you. You’re uncertain, but Eddie slips into autopilot, grabbing for you like you were never gone.

Brown curls fall all over the place, soft on your shoulder and much longer than you remember them being.

“Are you ever gonna cut this,” you wonder, fiddling with a silky strand. Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and your bodies press together.

“I did cut it,” he says. “It grew out again.”

“Oh. Right.” It hadn’t felt like you were apart that long, but you suppose it had been over a year. It’s hard to collect all of that time in your mind, to accept it.

“I wish this wasn’t so fucked up,” you lament, eyes closed. “That I wasn’t.”

“You’re not,” Eddie rumbles. You feel it in your toes. “You’re just having a hard time. It doesn’t mean you’re ruined.”

Big hands pet your hair, soothing and exciting at the same time.

“‘N you didn’t ruin me, either. I shouldn’t’ve said that.” Eddie’s eyes trace over your features, some far away thoughts showing themselves. “We’re just growin’ up, I think, and maybe shit-outta-luck, too.”

You nod, playing with the collar of his t-shirt at the base of his neck.

“It’s so hard,” you fret. “Everyone says I should find myself, but I just wanna fall in love.”

A tear slips from your eye, and Eddie stays quiet, attentive.

“Why am I so shallow?”

Eddie doesn’t know, or maybe can’t explain what he does know. Your crying panics him all the same. In a last-ditch effort to soothe you, he presses his mouth to yours.

It’s not a solution and it’s self-serving, and he’s falling back into this old routine, he knows. Eddie knows. But he loves you, and you’re here, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop falling for you no matter what you do. So he presses you into his bed and licks into your mouth like you’re made of honey.

Soft moans curl out of you like smoke, and Eddie takes them all in his mouth. When he separates from you to lathe over your neck—lost in your heady voice and his arousal—you push his shirt up, feeling his bare skin.

“Eddie,” you whisper, “need you.”

Eddie groans into your throat. That you need him even once almost makes the whole year he lost with you worth it.

“Be patient, baby,” he cooes, but he’s halfway there himself. “Gonna give it to ya.”

He pushes under your shirt, and then he’s taking it off. Goosebumps spread over your hot chest as the open air hits it, and then chills spill over you when Eddie licks over your breasts.

He’s between your legs now, rolling his hips against your center. Both of you moan, washed in a haze of desperation and desire that feels bottomless. You’re arching and preening, perfectly capable of falling apart just as you are, but you want more. You’re always greedy, chasing the most satisfaction you can get.

“Please, Eddie.” Hooking a leg around him, you press his restless pelvis into you and grind onto his covered cock. Eddie makes an animalistic sound into your chest, completely undone.

“Okay—yeah, okay,” he breathes.

His shirt is gone like lightning, and then he’s fumbling for the sleep pants he lent you. Fingers hooked under them and your underwear, he rids you of both in one frenetic tug.

“Turn over, angel.”

Flushing, you do as he says, anticipation seeping from your cunt. Eddie spreads you apart, pressing slovenly kisses over your shoulder blades. Two fingers tease your weeping hole, spreading the hot slick between your legs.

“Fuck,” he curses, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The two fingers glide in easily, palm-down, and Eddie needles into your soft-spot cruelly.

Your cunt sucks his fingers in hungrily, squelching its own demands for something bigger, but pulsating from his relentless fingering. You feel close to tears, naked and needy and untouched where you really need it. Your clit is swollen between your closed legs.

When your cunt grips down on Eddie’s fingers—three now—and your thighs are wet with arousal, Eddie pulls away and shucks his bottoms off. Rucking your ass up further, he straddles your legs and rubs the hot head of his cock over your entrance.

“Look at you, angel.” Eddie fucks himself between your slippery thighs, catching your clit. You cry out, trying to chase the sensation, but Eddie holds you still. He thrusts in a few more times, lubing himself up with your arousal, and then spreads you open again.

Bearing down on you, his chest flush to your back, Eddie pushes his cock into your entrance. From above, he’s in the perfect position to thrust down into your sweet spot. It has you tripping over your words until all you can cry out is his name, over and over.

You’re dizzy and full and tightening on his length, and Eddie finally ends your torture, sneaking a hand under you to toy with your clit. You don’t last long before you’re squirming and wailing and fucking yourself on his cock, and Eddie’s swearing under his breath and coming, too.

Hot and out of breath, you bask in his weight and warmth before he pulls out of you. Eddie’s pillow is wet with condensation and drool.

“Ok?” He rubs your back as he asks. You nod your head, and he sighs. “M’kay. Be right back.”

He comes back with a wet towel and a glass of water, and cleans your sticky thighs before you limp off to the bathroom. Your thank you’s lodge in your throat, so you forego them to avoid crying. The come-down is hard enough, but you’ve been so deprived of gestures like this that all of it goes to waste in comforting you.

You think Eddie knows, and that he’s just as clueless about what to do as you, so you both cling to each other through the night and hope it fixes itself. You have somewhere warm to stay, and someone to hold you, and that’s all that’s ever mattered.

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #stranger things #reqs open

[avocado-writing]

Sensors

rated: E, MINORS DNI

1.8k words

Human!Reader/Ramattra

He remembers you from the monastery all those years ago. You weren’t there with him, obviously; you were in charge of a little mechanic’s shop in the nearest town. He didn’t have reason to visit you often but when he did he found you… enchanting. Enchanting in a way an omnic should not feel about a human. You were always ready with a genuine smile whenever he appeared on your doorstep, a kind word and an open ear for his troubles. 

You were a friend. 

There was one bitterly cold winter where the weather was so harsh it had seized up the joints in one of his arms and stopped it working entirely. This was before he knew much about his own mechanics, and none of his brothers could identify the problem. So he took the trek down to you and sought your help. 

You never asked for payment from the monks. You knew that wouldn’t be right. You were… kind like that. So you sat him on a stool in your workshop and experimented with his screws and bolts until he was working again, sincere in your admiration of his robotics, in your admiration of him. He was glad he was an omnic. If he were human, he would have been blushing. 

He grew to hate humanity, of course. But he could never quite find it in himself to hate you. You were always that one tiny thread keeping him anchored. He tried to put you out of his mind and focus on his task. His people. 

And yet… and yet.

It is night when he comes to you. He has not seen you for… years now, probably. He has lost track of time. Yet he still remembers the way into your workshop, the door that never quite locks properly. He ducks through your doorway and finds you hard at work, pink tongue sticking out from the corner of your mouth as you concentrate.

He says your name, as gently as his omnic voice allows. You jump and drop the spanner you’re holding. It clatters cacophonously to the ground. 

“Ramattra,” you whisper, amazed, and for a moment he thinks that perhaps this has all been a mistake, that he never should have come here -

And then you’re crossing the shop floor, and you’ve thrown your arms around him. He did not expect this. Humans are so frustrating to understand sometimes… but then he finds himself returning your embrace.

“You… why are you here?” you ask, when you eventually pull away from him. Your hands linger on his waist, his on your shoulders. He wishes he had an answer. He wishes he has something logical to tell you in response. But he has nothing to give.

“I figured you would hate me. That’s what is… sensible.”

It is not self-pitying, nor is it quite angry. Just a statement. There is no way you do not know what he has been doing these past years. His face, Null Sector, it’s been all over the news. Globally. 

And yet you still came to hold him.

“Oh, Ramattra…” you mutter, taking one of his cold metal hands in your own, “how could I ever hate you?”

There it is. The way you speak, so plainly and honestly, that makes something inside of him feel like it’s going to combust. In a good way. Humans are tricky, devious; but not you. Never you. 

His hand leaves yours in order to cup your face. You suck in a breath, shocked for a second by the cold - but then you nuzzle into it, lips pressing against the plain of his palm.

“I missed you,” you confess. 

“And I you.”

There is an energy thrumming through the workshop now. He’s never felt anything like it before. For once, he is on the back foot.

He is lucky you are bold enough to take the first step, then.

“Can I kiss you?”

If he had eyebrows, he’d raise them.

“You are a foolish human,” he says, but he doesn’t really mean it as an insult, “you’re well aware I don’t have lips.”

You pout in a way he finds endearing.

“Don’t call me foolish,” you sniff, and then, “...and I know. But I’d still like to try.”

He cannot deny you that. So he leans down, and you cup his face in your warm human hands, and you press your mouth to where his would be. He sees the way you close your eyes and melt into him. His hands lower down to hold your hips, tug you a little closer against him. Omnics are not really designed to feel… but they are also not designed to have an extra pair of arms hulking from their back, and he managed that. Perhaps he did an extra little upgrade of his own internals. He turns the sensors on in his body and is shocked as it processes the warmth of you. 

You are lovely. Truly lovely.

He takes a step forward and you take one back, and you keep going until he has you pinned against the worktable. You rest your forehead against his and explore him with gentle and curious touches, listening to the low sound of his voice to see what makes him react with the most pleasure.

“Where should I touch you? Where feels the best?” you ask, voice husky and low. 

“You should - ahh!” - your fingers have skimmed the ridge between his pectoral plates and oh is it intoxicating - “You should know, hm? You spent enough time fixing omics. You must be intimately familiar with our builds.”

You roll your eyes at him, but it is good-naturedly and without malice.

“I want you to tell me, Ramattra.”

He takes the hand on his chest and moves it lower, across the metal of his abdomen, the smooth plate of his groin. He groans when he feels the heat of you touch there. The sensors in his lower body are going haywire. A sort of pleasure he’s never felt before manifests itself at the apex of his legs, and he finds himself rutting into you. You giggle and it’s the most perfect sound he’s ever heard.

“There,” he confirms, and you rub a bit harder, using your free hand to reach up and card through the wires of his hair. It snags a little and pulls and he moans. He didn’t even realise you could reach up there, but he realises he’s bent his massive form over you, caging you in against himself; offering every part of his body up to touch.

And oh, how you touch.

“Where… I want to…” he manages, thumbs rubbing tender circles along your hips. He knows human anatomy enough to be able to take a kill shot from hundreds of feet away, but has no idea how to give it gratification. You’re reluctant to stop caressing him, even for a second, so in reply you just thrust your hips forward.

“B…between my legs,” you mutter, eyes wide and soft, “and… maybe my face, too? My mouth…”

He does not need to be prompted again. Ramattra presses one of his hands at the place where your thighs meet. The sound you make lets him know he’s done something correctly. You mewl and push further into his palm.

“Yes, Ramattra, yes…”

He’s never heard his name said that way before, but now it’s fallen from your lips he wants to hear it over and over. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you to moan it again. Part of him feels pitiful, disgusted at himself - he’s been reduced to this pathetic, pining thing at the hands of a human. The very thing he’s meant to hate.

Ah, but not any human though. You. The only one he could ever care for.

He remembers your other gentle plea, so the hand which isn’t rubbing against your clothed cunt cups your cheek. Your tongue leaves your parted lips again and brushes against the pad of his thumb. Taking his cue, he presses the digit into your mouth. Your eyes roll back and you begin to explore it, sucking it gently, fellating it - and it almost fries every sensor he has in his hands. It's so good. He wonders why he hasn’t done this before, found a needy little human to fuck.

Because they wouldn't be you. 

You untangle your hand from his hair for just a moment in order to move his own under your trousers, beneath your underwear. He can feel that you’re wet down there, so he spends a moment coating his fingers with you before withdrawing them to inspect. They glisten in the low light of the workshop.

“Fascinating,” he mutters, returning his hand to where it was before you can chide him for the seemingly out-of-the-moment comment. He finds where you open, and presses against it curiously.

“Yes, inside,” you encourage, speaking around his thumb. His fingers slip into your cunt and he is engulfed by your soft, wet heat. You groan and throw your head back, thrusting forward into his touch as you do - but you are not distracted for long, doubling your own efforts on him. The hand at his pubic plate explores further back a little, and when you brush the wires in his undercarriage he makes a noise of shock so loudly that you laugh again, surprised.

“There, hmm?” you practically purr, pressing your forehead against his. If he could breathe, you’d be sharing the air between you. You stroke the wiring, the circuitry, and he begins to fuck you with his fingers. Mirroring the way you touch him. He delights in the feeling of your wetness, the way your eyes screw up in pleasure, the hitch of your chest as you get closer to the edge…

… and then you come with a bitten-off moan, fucking hard into his metal hand. As you do your fingers slip against some inner processor he didn’t have any idea was even there - 

He is blinded with release. His body is on fire with the red-hot explosion of ecstasy, making every sensor feel like it is being lifted up past the heavens itself –

For a second, he goes offline.

He comes back what must be a handful of seconds later to the sound of you fearfully shouting his name, desperately trying to rouse him. 

“Apologies,” he says, checking everything has returned to function properly, “I… finished.”

You take a moment to digest what he’s said, then laugh. That beautiful sound, once again.

“You came so hard you rebooted? Wow. I must be good.”

You say it cheekily, not sincere. But he still pulls you into his arms anyway. You snuggle into his breastplate, humming at the warmth he’s now churning out. This. This is what afterglow must be.

“Will you stay?” you ask, quietly, as if afraid breaking the silence will also shatter the momentary peace you’ve found together, “For a while, will you stay?”

You both know this cannot be permanent. But you are soft. And after everything, Ramattra believes he deserves a little softness in his life.

“Yes. I will stay.”

#Ramattra x reader #ramattra overwatch x reader #ramattra fanfic #ramattra #ramattra overwatch #overwatch 2 x reader

[anxresi]

I Beg To Differ.

Okay, now just because I'm about to embark on an epic rant does NOT mean I think anything bad about you as a person, OP. It's just on this one teensie-weensie most minor of points, I happen to think you're 100% wrong. Just thought I'd clarify that, so no offense intended. Anyway, on with the show...

Nah, they did us SO dirty with Chloe. I hear your above argument a lot, and it WOULD be a fair point… if it wasn't for the fact that there are SO many clear signs this wasn't what was intended from the beginning that it makes your reasoning completely null and void. Chloe's 'arc' was the most blatant case of in-show character assassination I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing, and I'm about to explain why. Read on! (If you want to, that is.... no pressure).

They strung us along for at least three seasons with various hints about her 'traumatic past', her problems with her often absent mother (which Marinette didn't help by encouraging them to bond because 'they're both such awful people'), showed her genuinely apologizing to her victims, protecting Sabrina from akumatization and having times when she treated her as a real friend, sacrificing herself to save the day occasionally, hugging Miss Bustier in a moment of genuine emotion, telling Ladybug how 'useless' she felt in a teary rooftop encounter, saving lives both as a superhero and a civilian (check back if you don't believe me), giving Adrien a moving speech on his phone about how 'she'd always be there for him', sharing a really close bond with her father, telling her butler Jean it was time she started doing things for herself, loving Mr Cuddly, adoring Pollen… I could go on. Not the best person in the world, true.... but a promising start. Green shoots, and all that. Her name literally means that.

S4 simply forgot any of this happened, and literally pushed her burgeoning development off a cliff with Sisyphu's boulder tied to it's big toe. There was NO build-up, NO foreshadowing, NO precedent for Chloe suddenly becoming a one-dimensional total-sociopath irredeemable-monster AT ALL, they simply made her that way on a whim. They had her start acting like a complete psycho for the evilz, made her the most stupid person in the show BY FAR, severed ALL of her few close relationships, wrote AN ENTIRE FLASHBACK EPISODE in incrimate her newfound nastiness even more and 'punished' her by sending her off exiled on a plane in tears with her abusive mother to… what else? Get abused, of course. GREAT MESSAGE TO ALL THE VULNERABLE TEENAGE GIRLS OUT THERE. (I won't even get into how utterly useless and blandly boring her 'replacement' of a plot device Mary S... oops, I mean Zoe is).

And we're supposed to believe the former corrupt mayor Andre, the terrorist Gabriel Agreste and Thomas Astruc (you know him) are the GOOD guys here? Well, I'd like to tell you what I'd like to do to them… but for fear of censorship, I'd better withhold that particular information for now.

The upshot of it is… if Chloe had been bad from the beginning and terrible at the end, I'd have accepted it. Heck, if her so-called damnation arc was even halfway well written and gave us an accurate and compelling look at the moral descent a person who's capable of redemption could take to the light but ultimately chose to stay on the Dark Side, this would've been highly disappointing to me but fine from a storytelling perspective.

But they didn't give us anything like that, did they? It was just… 'pretend the last three seasons never happened, develop amnesia, hit yourself repeatedly on the head with a shovel… we don't care. Just accept this is the NEW Chloe without question despite past evidence, because you won't be getting any answers. Now let's go back to what we're REALLY here for… Marichat, Ladynoire, Adrinette and that other stupid ship name. SWOON!'

Thanks, but no thanks. Did I ever tell you how much I HATE this stupid show? Apologies if I didn't make that clear enough.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #ml salt #zag #ml #disney #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir

[capnsaltsquid]

As we get closer to the end of MD season 1, I've been thinking more about what the Solver's endgame might be. While her plans and motivations are still mysterious, we do have some clues. The first comes from the Solver, referring to herself as "the void" and "the exponential end". I believe her use of the word "exponential" refers to the growth of her power as she accrues more matter.

When she's only inhabiting one drone in a particular area, her power is relatively limited, as we see when she briefly controls Uzi:

She can create a NULL instance big enough to put a hole in the wall, and that's about it. But when she has a whole dump worth of discarded drones at her disposal, her power goes up by a couple orders of magnitude:

Now think back to Solver's orders as relayed to J: clear drop zone of life and construct spires at locations all over the planet.

The DD's weren't just building spires of dead drones to have a base of operations, they were creating fuel stores for the Solver. The drones in those spires were improperly deactivated and, given the number of drones involved, the Solver is guaranteed to be able to find hosts she can reboot and corrupt. And what will happen when she has matter collection points all over the planet? Well...

We already know the answer to that one.

So what's her endgame? Tessa told us when she revealed the truth to N: "I'll need you to choose the universe over one little drone". The word she uses isn't planet or even galaxy, but universe.

We already know that humans have invented faster-than-light travel. There's no other way they could be mining extra-solar planets. That means that the Solver knows how to use FTL travel as well, since she has access to all of humanity's knowledge.

So imagine if will, a cluster of artificial black holes traveling between star systems at a speed that makes light look sluggish, eating, meeting, and merging as the lights of the galaxy flicker and die, until there's only a galaxy-sized sentient black hole remaining.

Then... onto the next galaxy. And the next, and the next, until all the matter in existence is concentrated in an unimaginably dense ball of matter that warps time and space into a pretzel. It takes millions of years, but the Solver is ageless and patient. And then one day it explodes, a whole universe full of matter expanding into the void at incredible velocity, forming new stars and galaxies as the Solver remakes reality in her own image.

#murder drones

[heartfullofleeches]

With how different each of them are, it's fun to think about the various readers I write as a fandom thing by yans crowding around one person. Streamer reader would fit pretty well , but I also adore the idea of deity reader and lesser gods/their creations making up iterations of their superior. Deity reader is on their knees begging the lessers to branch out and create actual universes instead of doodling the eons away, but if any of them do - it's only so they can pair their self insert with the mortal copy of their love-

-

[A group of Yan gods having a meet at Deity Reader's throne while they're off answering prayers and actually doing their job]

God #1: Here are the new designs I have for their uniform... They start their first shift tomorrow. In my world, Creator is a big and strong, and while it's their job they have everyone's best interest at heart - just like they do with all of us.

God #2: Hmph- In my universe they're waited hand and foot by their subjects as they rightfully should be.

God #3: Mine has a null moral compass, and a stab from them means they love you. Master has such lovely hands and voice, but no matter how much I ask they refuse to snap my neck in two and berate me for thinking I'm worthy of utter a single word to them

God #4: ..... I like clowns.

#yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere god #yandere text #crack post

[crookedlyinnernightmare]

ok i want to jot down some quick notes on kusuo's restoration ability. Kusuo says in the above panel that he needs to restore his target's body before the pain reaches their brain, which implies that his restoration power doesn't work on the brain. That, and the fact that people don't typically lose their memories when he reverses time on them (see: kuniharu begging kusuo to heal him after he stubs his toe). Memories are just pathways in the brain, so they should be reset if this power actually affected them.

I've wondered if, perhaps, the brain is immune to his power, but i think that's a backwards way of thinking about it. Rather than proposing the brain to have a Special Feature™ which renders Kusuo's restoration power null, i think it's way more likely that Kusuo's powers are making the active decision to skip over them.

So. why would this be? I think it has to do with the drawback he mentions in chapter 9:

When using restoration, "all the things nearby also end up affected." That description might be a little deceptive because it's easy to assume that "nearby" means everything within a certain radius will be affected, but in later chapters that's clearly not the case. Take this section from chapter 103:

When Kusuo restored the hole he made in this wall, his power travelled across the length of the wall, but did not extend perpendicularly to affect the people, houses, street, etc. near it. So it may be more accurate to say that when Kusuo tries to restore an object, his powers will automatically identify that object as one small part of a larger system, and then proceed to reverse time on that entire system.

Typically, this is a very intuitive process. Reverse time on a wall, his entire house gets restored. Reverse time on his video game controller, his entire gaming setup will be restored. Reverse time on the volcano, the entire Earth will be restored. However, the brain vs body situation is not intuitive.. or at least not to me at first glance. But for Kusuo, it may well be.

A huge part of Kusuo's worldview is dominated by the difference between people's thoughts, and people's actions. Brain vs. Body. That sentiment is the very first thing we see in chapter 1:

Even in Volume 0, when Saiki only existed as a series of oneshots, before serialization. Chapter 0.1 is all about Kusuo's telepathy. And we're greeted with panels like this:

which display a huge gap between appearance and thought. Many major characters also play into this concept: Nendo (looks thuggish but can be very kind), Teruhashi (appears perfect, is not), Kuusuke (displays himself as a charming and trustworthy graduate of cambridge, is actually verrry fucked up), etc. Kusuo himself hides his psychic, genius brain behind a facade of normalcy. It's an absolutely fundamental aspect of the series.

So again, why shouldn't Kusuo feel a distinct separation between the brain and the rest of the body? And why shouldn't this belief express itself through one of his most used powers? His powers aren't some separate, unknowable entity doing whatever they want to inconvenience him- they are him. And I think this is a good example of that.

sidenote: a silly little scenario i've considered before is whether kusuo could make someone effectively immortal by reversing time on them every day, but since his powers skip over the brain, I'm now sure the answer to that question is "no." Unless, of course, he made an effort to access the brain directly, but even with all the dark stuff in this show, i don't think kusuo's ever reached into someone's skull to get directly at their gray matter. now wouldn't that be something..

#saiki kusuo #saiki k #tdlosk #saipsi

[bucklovesblond]

i just wanna know what is tagging the entire main cast instead of lou himself to receive an apology or correction in his wording going to do. he said in the same breath that tommy was ignorant, immature and toxic back then, so where are we getting that hes a racist and misogynist from??? please do fucking enlighten me.

i am black myself and i believe he could have said something better than "teasing" as well, but he STILL said all tommy did was wrong and they all moved forward from it. this small mess up is NOTHING compared to what the fuck ryan guzman did while getting a slap on his ass and getting on by just fucking fine. y'all pushing for lou to get fired, but not him. when hes the actual bigot here.

you don't get to choose when to play pseudo moralist for your own benefit. this is fucking disgusting and i am tired of every last one of you. bucktommy stans are not excluded from this either because while some of this outrage is insane and being handled absolutely wrong, you all don't get to tell anyone especially poc or any woman ESPECIALLY how to feel about what lou said. people have that right to be upset with the wording he used in that answer.

more importantly, anyone with eddie, ryan or buddie accounts need to be the LAST ones trying to take the moral high ground because you actively looked past ryan's bigotry to support your favorite character or your ship. seperating character from actor is null and void when they commit such atrocities as he did. end of story. i hope y'all never get that ship and eddie gets written off the damn show in the future.

lou should say something about the way he poorly worded that, but i refuse to let any of y'all act like he should be canned for this when ryan guzman is still EMPLOYED and a MAIN on the show after the digusting bullshit he pulled.

#tv: 911 #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #lou ferrigno jr #ryan guzman #buddie #anti buddie #anti ryan guzman #yes im tagging that fuck ass ship #FUCK yall

[vodika-vibes]

Hi again, hope you’ve been well! I just wanted to see if I could please ask for a hurt/comfort fic with either an alpha arc or a null, your choice of who specifically. One where reader is an informant of some kind, but they end up getting caught and interrogated before trooper of choose comes to the rescue. When they do maybe reading is having a panic attack after being severely injured. Thanks and happy writing!

Abandon Ship

Summary: You’re a member of the Republic Strategic Information Service (SIS) though you’re not a high ranking member, in fact, you’re not supposed to be doing field operations at all. However, when your supervisor orders you into Separatist space, your options are follow orders or lose your job. You manage to get off one coded message to Ordo before you’re captured. And all you can do is hope that he’ll come.

Pairing: Ordo Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1802

Warnings: Torture

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I think I have several other requests from you as well. I feel so bad that it took me so long to get to this one. Anyway, I chose Ordo because I love him, though it was a toss-up between Ordo and Mereel, but given the subject matter, I thought Ordo would be a better fit than Mereel. I hope you like it!

You huff out a near silent groan of pain as you slowly, and painfully, uncurl from the protective ball that you curled yourself into when the interrogator came into the room.

Eventually, they’ll figure that you genuinely don’t know anything.

You’re smart enough to know that when they do figure that out, it’s game over for you.

For a moment, you lay on your back on the frigid, dirty, and wet floor. Trying to work up the will to get to your feet, or at least to crawl over to the “bed” that you were supplied when you were thrown in here.

Calling it a proper bed would be an insult to beds everywhere.

It’s little more than a thin mat with some ratty blankets thrown on top. But it’s slightly more comfortable than the concrete you’re actively laying on.

Slowly you press your arm over your eyes and try to ignore the burning in your eyes (tears will not help this situation) and the stabbing pain around your ribs.

You shouldn’t be in this position at all. You’re an analyst, not a field agent. There’s no reason for you to be anywhere but on Coruscant, or maybe a warship. You definitely should not be on Raxus.

You shouldn’t be in Separatist space at all.

You cringe at the sound of someone screaming further down the hall, at least you’re not alone in here.

It doesn’t make you feel any better.

Finally the throbbing in your chest and abdomen fades enough that you’re willing to slowly push yourself to your feet, and drag yourself to the bed on the other side of your cell.

All you can do now, you’re only option, is hope that someone will come for you. Either another member of the SIS, or maybe Ordo will answer your panicked, and heavily encrypted, message.

And if he doesn’t...well, you’ll die here. And no one will ever know what happened to you.

This time, as you roll onto your side so you’re not facing the door, you don’t bother to stop your tears.

It’s been...you aren’t sure how long. Longer than a week, definitely. But you don’t have an exact number of days that you’ve been on Raxus. It’s intentional, you’re sure.

Or, maybe not. The people holding you don’t seem to be all that proficient at the more psychological aspect of torture. Though they’re more than proficient in the more physical aspects.

Your shoulders twinge painfully as your arms are twisted behind your back, and heavy binders are snapped around your wrists, and magnetized to the chair you’re sitting on.

It’s uncomfortable, boarding on painful. And mixed with the staggering number of bruises you’re nursing, not to mention the open lacerations that have been prevents from healing due to your captors rubbing actual salt into your wounds, and the fact that your captor decided that using a whip on you was the best way to get you to work with them-

Yeah. You’re not having a good time.

Honestly, if you weren’t in so much pain, it’d almost be laughable. It’s like they read a storybook on how to be the most cliche villain ever, and are following it like a checklist.

“So,” You slowly lift your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He’s a massive human, and honestly looks like he should be modeling for GQ rather than being an interrogator. “You have been here for almost a month. And you haven’t even told us your name.”

You just blink at him and a flash of irritation crosses his face.

He walks over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, before roughly jerking your head back, “All of this can stop, if you just work with us rather than against us.”

Once again, you just blink at him.

He growls and releases your hair, “Fine.” He walks away from you and turns to the men standing near the door, your personal torturers. Although, you’re pretty sure that one of them is new.

It’s kind of hard to tell, since they’re both completely covered in armor.

“Start removing appendages, start with her fingers.” He looks at you, “Remember, girl, you brought this on yourself.” And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with your old friends.

One of the men walks over to you and presses a button, releasing the heavy binders, and then his boot slams hard into your chest, knocking you and the chair over, and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“This one,” He drawls, “is stubborn. Hasn’t said a damned word since we found her. Though we do know that she’s SIS. I doubt this is gonna work like the boss thinks, but I’m happy to try.”

He walks over to you and slams his boot down on your chest again, pulling a pained gasp from you, as you struggle to catch your breath and from the pain. He lifts his boot long enough that you’re able to catch your breath, and kicks you in the side to roll you over.

“You like your job then.” The new guy says, and you’re at least aware enough to note that you recognize the voice. It’s familiar though you can’t quite pinpoint why it’s familiar.

“Course I do.” The man who kicked you kneels next to you, “These holier than thou pubbie assholes deserve everything that they get. You’ll learn.” He draws a, almost comically, large knife and lazily presses the tip against your cheek.

The knife is sharp, sharp enough that it doesn’t hurt as much as it could as it cuts into the skin of your cheek. You bite your tongue hard enough that you can taste metal.

He pulls the knife away from your face and jerks your arm out to examine your fingers, “I think...I’ll start with the thumb.” There’s something gleefully cruel in his voice, and your eyes snap shut as he presses the blade against the base of your thumb—

—And then there’s the sound of a blaster being fired, and the sound of something heavy falling to the floor.

Your eyes open when you feel large hands on your shoulders, encouraging you to sit up. And you peer up at the new guy who’s kneeling over you. You want to lean away from him, to press yourself against the wall, but you just don’t have the strength to do anything anymore.

He’s silent for a moment, and then reaches up and pulls off the helmet.

You blink at him. Once, twice, three times. Sure that your eyes are playing tricks on you.

“...Ordo?” Your voice is raspy from disuse.

His dark eyes scan your face for a moment, before he brings his gloved hand up to press soothingly against your cheek, “Sorry I’m late, mesh’la.”

“I...I didn’t think anyone was coming.” You admit as your hands, bruised and bloodied, come up to wrap around his wrists.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to. The orders we were given were very clear.” Ordo says with narrowed eyes, “You were to be written off as a lost asset.”

It feels like a giant hand wraps around your lungs and squeezes tightly. Oh, you think absently, there’s the panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” Ordo’s other hand presses against your cheek, trying to draw your focus, “You’re safe now. I was never going to leave you behind. We’re going to get you safe and home. And you’re never going back to the SIS.”

Ordo sounds like he’s miles away.

“Kriff, cyar’ika, keep your eyes open-”

He looks worried.

The world around you starts going gray at the edges, and you try to open your mouth to reassure him that you’re fine, but the world goes dark. And, for the first time in ages, you don’t feel any pain.

You wake to the sound of a heart monitor beeping in your ear, and the scent of bacta in your nose.

The lights are dimmed, which you notice as you slowly blink your eyes open. And as you turn your head, you see that Ordo is asleep in a chair next to the bed you’re laying in, his feet propped up on the edge of the bed.

He looks tired.

Slowly you try to sit up, but a sharp pain makes you hiss, and his eyes snap open and land on you immediately, “What are you doing?” He drops his feet and leans in to encourage you to lay back, “You shouldn’t move.”

“Was going to look for a blanket for you,” You admit sheepishly.

Ordo sighs softly, his large hand coming up to brush some of your hair out of your face, “Well, don’t. You haven’t been in a bacta tank yet.”

“I haven’t?”

“No, you have an infection and it needs to be cleared before we can stick you in a tank.” He still looks worried, “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet.” Ordo adds.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be.” His hand moves to your cheek, to trace the bandage that you can feel there, “I’m glad that you’re awake. You scared me, cyare. I thought you were going to die in my arms.”

You feel a surge of guilt, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He scans your face for a moment, and there’s a glimmer of sadness. Ordo’s fingers ghost over bruises, and against your lips, “My vod’e thought I was going to have a heart attack when we managed to decrypt your message.” He admits, “Cyar’ika, what were you doing in Separatist space?”

You blink at him, “I was following orders.” You say against his fingers.

Ordo’s fingers stop moving, and something cold slides across his face, “Come again?”

“My supervisor ordered me to Raxus for a field mission,” You clarify, “He said if I didn’t do it I’d lose my job.” You stare at him, “Why did you think I went to Raxus?”

“...your supervisor said that you defected from the Republic.”

Panic washes through you and you can hear the heart monitor start racing, “I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I had orders! I-”

“Hey. Hey, hey.” Ordo’s hands are so gentle against your face and the ice in his gaze thaws into something warmer, and for you alone, “I believe you. None of us believed what we were told. You need to calm down.” He doesn’t pull his hands away even after your panic subsides, “I’ll tell the others to do some digging, but we’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“...Thank you for coming after me.” You whisper.

He leans in and presses a light kiss against your forehead, “You can thank me by getting some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

You release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Ordo.”

Finally, a small smile crosses his face, “I love you too, cyare.”

#star wars #tcw #ordo skirata x reader #ordo x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks #tw: torture

[suzukiblu]

join, scent, sorry

"Wait, so you just . . . ditched Superboy? Like right after he got out of Cadmus?" Captain Marvel sputters right in the middle of a League meeting, looking startled. "Why?"

"Batman is handling the Superboy situation," Clark says as neutrally as possible, resisting the urge to grit his teeth or rub at his temples or glower over at Bruce or just–anything, just anything. He isn't Superboy's father, though, and five minutes into this nightmare he's already more than sick of people making the assumption that he should be. He didn't volunteer for anything or consent to anything or even just make a mistake; he had his DNA stolen by people who built a weapon out of it, and just because that weapon's aging process got interrupted and it therefore currently looks like a minor, Clark is supposed to . . . supposed to what, exactly? Sell out his secret identity and his family and his whole damn life to something that only knows what some deluded mad scientists and enslaved genetic experiments thought it should know?

They're not even sure if Superboy is actually a real person. If the personality that's been presented so far is anything more than programming or puppetry or . . . or who knows what, exactly.

Clark can't take that home with him. Can't introduce that to Lois or Ma and Pa or hell, even Jor-El's AI or Krypto. He just can't trust that.

Who could?

And building a weapon that just so happens to look like a kid in a lab and conveniently getting that weapon found and broken out "early", and having that weapon be so eager to join the good guys despite its origins and education and so eager for specifically his attention, so eager to learn about specifically his powers and all the best ways to use and abuse them straight from the source, to try to make specifically him feel some kind of . . . of attachment or affection towards it . . .

Well, Clark's seen much more convoluted and improbable plans from supervillains than that, frankly. They don't know if anything they've been told about Superboy is true. They don't even know if the files Cadmus let them access are accurate or unredacted. They know nothing.

But everyone else seems to think that Clark shouldn't care about that, and that it shouldn't be making him crazy to see his dead birth family's crest in blood red on the chest of a weapon who won't answer to any name but "Superboy".

.

.

.

Dubbilex is a null and doesn't ever scent anyone at all, but sometimes Rex will give him a quick little scruff of approval or Tana or Roxy will give him an affectionate pat or two, and Knockout likes to find excuses to flirt-scent him whenever they end up having a throwdown or whatever, but none of it's ever . . . it doesn't ever . . .

It's embarrassing, but Superboy doesn't–he appreciates it all, obviously, appreciates anyone thinking he's worth any kind of scenting, but it's not what he really wants. He wants something–deliberate. Purposeful.

Lasting.

He wants something heavy, and steady, and certain. Something committed.

Or Superman's attention, just for a minute or two.

He wants to belong to somebody. He's not a real person anyway; he's a thing more than anything else. And if he has to be a thing, it's not fair that he . . . that he isn't a thing that belongs to anyone.

At least, not anyone that he wants to.

Technically speaking, he's Cadmus's IP. Technically speaking, he belongs to Cadmus. There's paperwork that says he does. A lot of it. Cadmus has "custody" of him, legally speaking. He's . . .

He doesn't want that.

He hates that.

.

.

.

"It wasn't . . . it just never felt like–like the right time to tell you, that's all," Kon stutters, feeling like an idiot, and Clark looks . . .

Clark looks pained.

"You mean you never felt safe enough to tell me," he says quietly.

Kon . . . swallows.

Because–that's true, yeah. He's trusted Clark to save his literal stupid life before, but . . . but he never felt safe enough to tell him this.

That's kind of fucked up, isn't it.

"I'm sorry," Clark says, and that suddenly Kon is too bemused to do anything but stare at him. "I should've made sure you knew you could tell me things like that. I shouldn't have just assumed you would."

#clark kent #kon el #omegaverse #not sfw #anonymous #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good! #wip: kon wants scented #wip: kon is too trans for this pregnancy shit