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chrollohearttags · 9 months

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bake it

reiner can’t get enough of you or your sweet treats. Regardless of what anyone thinks.

themes: food play, reiner and reader both being nasty af, (and both have super country accents), lots of old southern colloquialisms, food play, oral (m. receiving), spit play, pet names (sugar, poundcake, daddy, pumpkin, sweet girl), spanking, backshots, squirting

📝: this may or may not be a lil series based off my fav album at the moment. I think it fits the cowboy!reiner x reader headcanon very well.

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“Chile, did you hear about what (y/n) did down at the Hole this weekend?”

“Girl yes. Being fast and actin’ all loose. Hanging over every man that’ll look her way.” “I’m tellin’ ya, honey. She ain’t nothing like her mama or her cousins. Girl’s a handful, I tell ya. Never seen a thang’ like it.”

“She was with that Braun boy from what I heard. Lord knows what she was doing..”

rumblings and rumors had spread like wildfire among about what took place at the infamous hang out spot and saloon in the small town in which you’d grown up. It seemed that not much had changed from the time you were a tiny child from now being a grown woman, returning to your stomping grounds after a couple years of higher education. Pearl clutching church ladies and snobby debutants with their noses in the air, disapproving of any woman who hadn’t settled down and popped out ten kids before the age of twenty five. It was how the customary traditions went in the south and sadly, wasn’t going to change any time soon. However…

“Yes and did you hear that I had him calling to the good lord after I fucked him seven ways to Sunday? He was a lot of fun. Boy’s got a third leg and a tongue like a serpent. Might have to keep him around.”

the very bold proclamation of your supposed actions had your coworkers of the Sweetie Pie Bakery; owned by the ladies in your family and had been a staple in the city for ten years, gasping and glaring at you disgust. The ones working there currently were a few new hires from the local church. The types to be sleeping with other people’s husbands by Saturday and running in and out of the pew on Sunday. Blatant hypocrites. Hence why you so casually admitted to your affairs and boasted about them. You didn’t give a damn what those uppity bitches thought of you! Especially when the man in question was all but obsessed with you…sneaking away at any opportune moment to have you since the first night you gave him a taste of your proverbial sweetness. Slurping you up, tonguing you down and pounding that little pussy sideways..letting him have a slice of you anyway he liked. It was no secret to anyone that you weren’t some innocent saint but if it’s gossip they wanted, you’d give those mouth breathing heifers something to bump their gums about. They’d feel how they want to about you regardless so it didn’t matter. Might as well have a little fun..

“Now if you ladies will excuse me, I have a delivery to make.”

“In that outfit?!” Referring to the very short, denim miniskirt wrapping your thick backside and halter top hoisting your ample breasts.“It’s ninety two degrees outside besides, a wretched jezebel like me has to look the part, right?” Mocking them with an overly done accent and a fake smile before waving and turning on the heels of your boots.

and where you were headed, you wouldn’t have it on long anyways..not once he spotted you…

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halfway across the tracks was a small office residing on the outskirts of town, right before you’d reach the dozen mile long stretch of fields and farmland. The moniker atop the building read ‘Braun Farms, Inc.’ owned and operated by the prominent family for several years and generations. Providing fresh vegetables, poultry, cattle and everything else to many local diners and families. The hardest working man in the entire company may have been the next line to take it over, Reiner Braun. A young, handsome, determined guy who was always about his business before any sort of pleasures. Of course, that all changed when his new fling came around..a girl by the name of (y/n) (l/n) who had a grip on him in more ways than one. After some whisperings, he discovered that you too had grown up in this area but was carted off to school elsewhere in your adolescence. You at sone private Christian academy and him homeschooled, hence why your paths never crossed. But that was a thing of the past and so was hiding the promiscuity you both harbored.

“Damn, poundcake. You keep suckin’ on me like that and I might hafta’ give you my credit card and last name.”

the words escaping in a guttural groan from Reiner’s half parted lips. His chest was heaving, so much so, it looked as if it were about to pop from his chest. Going mad with pure unadulterated lust as you licked on his shaft from underneath the desk. He had been assigned to records keeping today so you decided to pay him a little visit on his lunch break. And what was a better meal than your delicious cupcake and the chance to eat his dick up?

“Don’t say that too loud, pumpkin. Someone might get the wrong idea about me..think I’m trying to take ya’ money.”

“To hell with them. Only thing I want right now is to fuck that pretty lil’ throat.”

and he did just that. Bobbing your head up and down with a spread palm resting atop your freshly done lace front; feeding you every inch feasible of that long, erect cock. Gliding it to the back of your mouth until it damn near reached your esophagus and drummed up strings of spit. Loud gurgling noises filled the room and Reiner nearly lost his shit. Clawing at the arms of the chair and cursing like a sailor. You had this man doing and behaving in ways unbecoming of his character but he could give a damn less. As long as you kept letting him use you like this. Sticking your tongue out, you’d smile and request that he spit into your mouth..adding to the pre existing strings saliva and cum covering your face. It didn’t help matters any when you decided to take some of that frosting and place it on his sensitive tip before slurping it off. “W-whatever you want, sugar. I’ll give you whatever you want just keep —oh shit!” Earning yourself another warm load of his nut all over your exposed tits and pretty face. “You taste so good..” Those deviant eyes and sultry voice luring him in. By now, you had to be dripping so he’d tug you out from under there and place you at the edge of the desk before saddling up behind you with that hard dick. Hoisting that mini skirt to your waist, letting it bunch up around that soft, pudgy tummy, he was pleased to find that you wearing no panties but was wetter than the lake he frequented.

“Want you to fuck this pussy so good…stretch it out f’r me, Rei…” begging with your decorated nails placed on your round cheeks as you pulled them apart to reveal that puckering hole and soaking entrance…making him hungry for both. Wasting no time, he’d grab a handful of that thin top and your waist to reign you in. With his teeth grimaced, he’d whisper in your ear with growls; feeding you heavy handed smacks to your ass in the process. Spanking you like a bad kid but doing so because you enjoyed every second. “That’s what you want, sugar? For me to fuck ya’ like a lil’ slut? Make you come all over this dick? That right, baby?” To which you’d nod profusely, never craving something so badly before in your life. Of course, he was happy to oblige..but you’d have to beg a bit, just because that sexy voice turned him on so bad. “Yes, daddy. Need you to fill my shit up too..nut all in this pussy. I ain’t come all this way for nothin.” And of course, that all but sold him. So with your inviting heat waiting for him and those Wranglers ruffled around his waist, Reiner pulled you in close before impaling you on his cock.

“Damn right, baby..so take all this dick.” Pressing a thumb to your tight little asshole as he pumped you full..one long, deep stroke after the next, coaxing out sticky cream and soft cries as you scratched at the wooden surface he had you planked across. Sliding in and out of that warmth like a perfectly fitting puzzle piece. The tight clutch you put around his shaft had him mesmerized. It didn’t help your case any when you constantly doted and bragged on how good he fucked you. “I swear you’re the only one who can get this pussy wet like this..” “..right there, daddy. You in my fucking spot..gonna make me come.” Of course, Reiner was loving every bit and only wanted to please his lady so as that big ass bounced against his pelvis and rippled like waves, he’d give you more slaps and try to maintain his pace. Even going as far as to make that tip kiss the inner corner of your cervix.“Give it to me then…nut f’r me, sweet girl. Let it all go.” And the second you did, juices flooded the floor as you squirted all over him. “Shitttt! That’s what I’m talking about, pretty girl. Make a mess of me..” grinning from ear to ear before housing his own seed inside of you. That pulsating cock still inside of you minutes later. Turning you around, he’d mark your lips with a sloppy kiss and look down at the aftermath.

“I swear, I ain’t never gonna be able to quit you, sugar. Just too damn sweet..”

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ghouljams · 9 months

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We haven’t touched on Cowboy!Ghost’s, well, ghosts before, and I literally couldn’t get this out of my head last night. I’m going to treat this like actual fic, I feel so fancy...

Warnings:

Hurt/Comfort, Graphic depictions of animal death, PTSD, Ghost going through it

Pairing:

Ghost x OC (Goose) [can be read as x reader]

Summary:

Early days of Ghost and Goose’s relationship. Ghost has always prided himself on his ability to handle any situation, no matter how bleak. So why does he find himself so ill equipped to handle something as small as a couple chickens death?

A coyote got into the henhouse last night.

You can hear its yips and snarls, the aggressive barks of your cattle dog as it darts at the chicken wire, the starling lack of clucking. You whistle for the dog, and it races to go check on the other animals. The last thing you need is for the coyote to get into it with Mav when you pull its sorry ass from the chicken pen. You yawn, trying to hold onto the hope that at least some of your ladies got somewhere safe before the carnage started. You’ll stop by the tractor supply later and grab some chicks to bolster your flock again.

You stop. Watching Ghost stand frozen in front of the pen, shoulders tight, barely breathing. His eyes a million miles away.

The pen is littered with half shredded chickens. Feather and muscle strewn about. The wild frenzy of a half starved predator laid out in front of you. The loose organs and scent of death turns your stomach, you can’t imagine what it does to a fresh soldier. Ghost’s finger twitches, beating a rapid tattoo against his thigh, his gun is still neatly holstered. You suppose that’s for the best, or maybe a signal of the worst.

You think about your first fourth of July after your Daddy’s second tour. The way he’d disappeared into the house like a ghost. The way your momma handed you off to your granny and followed after him. How your granny had told you: sometimes you see something so bad it never leaves you.

"Go wait in the house," you tell him as soft as you can, pulling at his arm to try and pull his attention. Ghost nods mutely, eyes still glued to the blood soaked earth and torn limp bodies. "Go on," you press a little more firmly, you lead him away from the henhouse, out of sight of it, "I'll be in shortly."

Ghost follows your direction, ears ringing, head stuffed with cotton. Everything feels far away and yet so brightly present. He can smell gunpowder and burnt flesh, can feel the wet warmth of blood on his clothes where he knows there isn't any. Can hear the shouting. He pushes the front door to the house open and holds the brass handle tight in his fingers for a long moment, just standing, waiting. As if he'll hear the pang of gunfire over the infinitely patient silence.

He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Stares at the black iron as it sits on the burner and waits for the yip of the coyote, the last gunshot. It doesn’t come. You take his hand in the silence and turn the burner off. Lead him to the table and sit him heavily in one of the wooden chairs. Ghost keeps his eyes forward, his shoulders rigid. He waits. He doesn't know what he's waiting for. For the memories to stop.

His hat is removed, set carefully on the table. A warm cloth touches his face, wiping gently at the crease in his forehead, at the stern set of his brow. Your fingers reach for the edge of his mask and he grabs your wrist, eyes finally darting to yours in a panic. He can't. It's too much, too hard. He can't.

Somehow you seem to understand, fingers sliding instead to cup his jaw, to rub your thumb against his cheek over the soft cotton. The washcloth wipes his brow again, still warm and soothing.

"You're safe," you murmur, "Safe and sound right here with me. And Daddy.” You tack Price on, as if you might not be enough to convince him. As if it isn’t your touch that’s bringing him back, your eyes that hold his with such kind patience it makes his heart hurt. “We won't let anything hurt you."

Ghost doesn’t say anything, can’t make his lips move or conjure a thought as to what he might say. If there is anything to say. Is there anything to say?

You tip his head forward, press the lightly damp cloth against the back of his neck. He lets his hand drop from your wrist as you move your hand from his cheek to scratch your fingers through his hair. Gentle, calming touches. Never asking more from him than his comfort.

He settles his hands on your hips, and for a moment he can pretend you’re his.

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