My Name Means WARRIOR @18crazybutcutealsopsycho - Tumblr Blog

Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning

I have put my own spin on this. All the characters belong to the Mission Impossible franchise.

My OC is Lucy Jackson.

Ethan Hunt X OC! Reader

Steamy in the middle, planning on making more parts, I really want to show the development in the OC’s character joining this world, becoming a ghost.

Feedback Appreciated!

#mission impossible #dead reckoning part one #ethan hunt #Ethan hunt smut #mission

sweetpeaaquarius

Kinktober 2025

Let’s stay sinfully delusional in our fantasy world together.

Welcome to thirty-one days of sin!

Each day will bring a new kink, trope, or temptation, sometimes fun, sometimes a little painful, but always deliciously sinful.

Here you’ll find one-shots, drabbles, and pure chaos featuring our favourite ACOTAR men and women.

Taglist: comment below to be added.

Note: May be continued after October. | 18+ Only: Minors, please do not interact.

sweetpeaaquarius

Day 21. Modelling

Pairing: Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel x Feyre x f!reader

Summary: You’re posed, exposed, and they can’t stop tracing the lines of your body.

Warnings: nsfw, smut, rough sex, teasing, unprotected sex, foreplay/oral female and male receiving, girl on girl, multiple men, MMMFF group scene

Word Count: 2,212

Day 20 | Kinktober Masterlist | Day 22

angelshadowsinger

Illyrian Mating Season

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.3k

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: smut

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬:

mutual pining, friends to lovers, az is in heat, tiniest bitta gore, mating bond, heavy on the creampie, FITA, breeding kink, & cum play

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Trouble finds you when your Illyrian friends are away, and just as you’re about to meet your fate, the shadowsinger comes to save you. But now you have an entirely new issue at hand— he’s near-feral and in the peak of his heat, and you’ve both reached your breaking point.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

I don’t… have any words to explain myself. Do Illyrians have a mating season? Not that we know of. Does Az have a breeding kink? SJM hasn’t explicitly said anything, but… I’d like to imagine so, yes. At least, in this fic, I sure know he does ;)

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ꜱɪᴘʜᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

‘...Warm liquid splattered across the side of your face.

A sickening thud sounded before you and a gust of air and dirt washed over your trembling form. You held your breath, your arms still up in defense.

Another second passed before you slowly chanced a look… only to find a tall, winged figure looming over you, deathly silent. You could see the violent glint in his eyes even from your position on the ground, the sapphire of his siphons shimmering in the moonlight. They only reflected the light from the sky, not from the use of his power— no, he hadn’t needed to tap into that imposing, law-defying reserve— not in order to rip the ulf’s head clean off its shoulders; his brute strength had been enough for that…’

multiplefandomwritings

No knight in shining armour - but a cowboy will do

pairing: Rhett Abbott × reader

warnings: positive depiction of sex work (strip club), small-town gossip/sexism, non-explicit lap dance, no mentions of y/n

summary: Rhett doesn’t need to pay for attention - never has - but one night under neon he looks up and finds beauty in the last place he expects. You’re onstage: calm, controlled, running the room with good rules and better timing. He keeps his eyes where you ask and learns that consent can be chemistry. A week later he’s back, nervous as a teenager, and you make it easy: two songs, steady hands, the clean relief of being seen. Between shifts and small-town nights there are fries, quiet conversations, and a kitchen that forgives. You don’t need a knight in shining armour - but a cowboy who keeps his promises is nice to have.

notes: feel free to leave comments and/or feedback. likes and reblogs are always appreciated! also, feel free to send in requests!

disclaimer: English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes 😊

word count: 17.9k

You wait at a crosswalk even though there’s no traffic. He notices that and files it alongside a dozen other small rules you keep - how you tap the napkin, how you leave a beat before you smile, how you never crowd. The kind of careful he understands. “Just so we’re clear,” you say, eyes on the blinking hand, “public place, quick bite, then home. I don’t do complicated.” He nods, grateful you said it first. “Me neither.” “Good.” The light flips. “We’ll split the check or you can get this one and I’ll get next time.” The words hit him like a warm palm to the sternum: next time. He tries not to make a ceremony of it. “I can - yeah. This one’s on me. If that’s okay.” “That’s okay,” you say, like you’re letting him hold one end of something light. You pass a pawn shop and a closed barber and a mural that’s lost half its colors to weather. He keeps wanting to look at you and keeps doing it in small, respectful slices. Without the stage paint, your expressions read cleaner - surprise, then humor, then a faint caution that doesn’t feel like a wall so much as a gate with working hinges. He thinks about the lap dance last week - the heat, the rush, the absolutely human problem of his body getting ahead of his mind. He thinks about how you handled it like weather: named it, steadied it, let it pass. He’d been embarrassed then. Right now he isn’t. He just feels… settled. “You always this nervous?” you ask, light. “Only when I like something,” he says, then goes pink like a teenager who realized he said it out loud. “Something or someone?” you tease, gentle as a nudge. He swallows. “Haven’t decided how brave I am yet.” “That’s fair,” you smile. “Food helps with bravery.” He looks at you again, more open now. “You, uh… You do this a lot? Eat with customers?” “No,” you say. “I eat after work a lot. Sometimes alone, sometimes with girls from the floor. Sometimes” - you glance at him - “with cowboys who say ma’am and don’t make me remind them of the rules.” He takes that in like he’s been handed a certificate he didn’t know he wanted. “I can keep sayin’ ma’am if it helps.” “It doesn’t hurt.”

Perry nods like that was the makes-sense part. “And the job?” “It’s her work,” Rhett says, shoulders tightening, then loosening on purpose. “I knew it from the start. I’m not trying to fix it. I’m not… jealous. If it gets loud in my head, I step outside. We got a code for it.” He huffs. “I ain’t a teenager.” “Not for a minute now,” Perry agrees, dry. He leans back, chair creaking. “You worried what Ma and Dad’ll say.” “Little bit.” Rhett rolls the bottle between his palms. “Dad’ll grumble. Ma’ll… I don’t know. Pray creative.” He stares at the condensation on the table. “Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me still does, and I hate that I do.” “Caring what they think ain’t the same as lettin’ it drive the truck,” Perry offers. “You can care and still keep your hands on the wheel.” He tips his chin. “You treated her right?” “Yeah.” “She treat you right?” “Yeah.” “Then we’re halfway to done.” Perry’s voice stays kind, a thing he only let out in kitchens after midnight. “Small town’s gonna talk no matter who you bring home. Might as well be someone who makes you less stupid than usual.” Rhett laughs, head dropping. “She does that.” “Good.” Perry reaches for the ledger, then doesn’t. “Look, Dad’s gonna be Dad. He thinks the sun comes up because he’s got fences to walk. But he ain’t blind, and he ain’t cruel. Ma’s got more room in her heart than she lets on. You don’t owe ‘em a confession. You owe ‘em the truth when it matters.” “When it matters,” Rhett repeats. Perry studies him. “You scared of bein’ the punchline?” “Little.” Rhett shrugs. “Boys see me there, they hoot. Think it’s a joke to buy me a dance. It was funny ‘til it wasn’t. Then it was… somethin’ else.” He feels the small, private weight of your number in his wallet even now. “She’s not a joke.” “I figured,” Perry says. “You don’t bring jokes into the kitchen.”

You hold his gaze, feel the careful sincerity of it land where it should. “Whatever you need from me,” you say. “Tell me. I’ll do it. And I’d love to see you work, by the way. The rodeo. It feels fair, me seeing your world, since you’ve seen mine.” He blows out a breath he’d been pretending he wasn’t holding. “Okay. Saturday. I go on around three. We can meet after the chute dust settles, do the rounds if you want. Or I can run interference.” “Around three. We can meet after the chute dust settles, do the rounds if you want. Or I can run interference,” he offers. “I’m good with whatever,” you answer. “And the out if we need it.” “Always,” he promises, immediate. “We’ll have a code. If you use ‘weather,’ that means you need a porch and air.” “Copy,” you tease, amused. “And if you say ‘fence post,’ I’ll pull you out of a feed talk with a fake call.” He leans back, lets the headrest take some weight. Below you, a semi mutters along the highway. Above, the moon does its best to mind its business. “Also,” you add, a touch tentative, “can I cash in that offer to ask around? For morning work. Bookkeeping. Co-op, hardware, feed store - whatever’s decent. The late nights are… doable. But I’d like more days that end before midnight.” “Absolutely,” he blurts - too fast - then reins it in. “I’ll talk to my aunt at the hardware store. And Perry knows the co-op’s manager. We’ll keep it quiet until you give the go. You tell me what you want me to tell them.” “Thank you,” you murmur. “I like asking you for help and not feeling like it costs me something.” “It never will,” he promises, plain. You nudge his knee with yours. “You’re very good at the grown-up talk.” “I practiced on the drive,” he admits. “To the bag of fries.” You reach over and set your hand over his, palm to palm, the easy, steady fit you were both getting used to. “For what it’s worth,” you say, “you’re allowed to have feelings about my job. You’re just not allowed to make them my problem.” He barks a laugh. “Fair enough.”

You all eat pie that’s too sweet and perfect anyway. People drift by to clap Rhett on the shoulder; he fields it with his usual patience, always circling back to your side like he’s installed a compass for it. When someone asks if you’re his girl, he says, “Yes, sir,” without a flinch, and you feel the little click of a thing settling into one of its truest names. Cecelia does ask one more clumsy question about the club - some version of “how long do you think you’ll keep at it?” - and you just laugh again, gentle. “’Til I don’t want to,” you say. “And I don’t make big decisions when I’m tired. Right now I like the stage and the girls and the rules. I also like mornings. I’m letting both be true.” “That’s… very reasonable,” she admits, almost impressed with herself for hearing it. “Reasonable’s my brand,” you grin, nudging Rhett’s hip with yours. “His too.” “Sometimes,” Perry mutters. “With supervision.” They all laugh, even Royal, and then there are introductions to Aunt Jo at the table over - you tell her you “make a mean spreadsheet,” and she barks back, “Good, I make a mess,” and takes your number - and the sky settles toward late-day gold, and Rhett’s hand never really leaves you: fingers linked, palm at your waist, forearm brushing yours. Not because you need guarding. Because it feels good to have an always. When the band strikes up by the beer tent, Cecelia leans in and kisses your cheek, quick and soft. “Lemon suits you,” she says. “Sunflowers suit you,” you return, nodding at the stems peeking from her tote. “Thank you for seeing me and the rumors.” “Thank you for letting me learn out loud,” she thanks you, and pats your hand - an apology shaped like affection. Rhett looks between you like a man who’s brought the right horse to the right ranch. “Walk?” he asks, thumb pressing once at your side. “Walk,” you say, and you go - through dust and laughter and the easy goodbyes between family - his hand finding yours again like it’s been there all along.

pastafossa

Tunatober, Day 1: Hair Washing (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader, Fluff)

Based on my Tunatober Day 1 prompt: 'hair washing', combined with the prompt "Why'd you stop?" Cause lord do I want to get my hands into this man's hair, I just know he's never had the luxury of having someone wash his hair nice and soft and slow.

Ship: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings for this fic: fluff, no use of y/n, pet names, Rhett absolutely melting as you wash his hair

Fic Summary: Rhett's convinced there's nothing special about getting his hair washed by someone else. You're determined to prove him otherwise.

GIF by vivian-rutledge

You still couldn't believe you managed to talk him into it.

It started in your kitchen—you perched on a rickety old dining chair, and Rhett sprawled out on his back on your floor, his upper half buried beneath the kitchen sink.

"Why do you think half of us go?" you asked him with a snort. Rhett only grunted, far more focused on fixing the stubborn leak in the pipes you'd been dealing with on and off for a year now. "Sure, the main reason is getting our hair done, but it's also about how good it feels to get your hair washed. You have no idea what you're missing."

Especially not someone like Rhett, who'd been getting his hair cut by his ma and a trusty pair of kitchen shears since he was a baby. On top of that, short of the gel he used to slick his hair back and keep his curls tamed, you were pretty sure his hair hadn't been touched in twenty years by any product other than a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. It was an ongoing tragedy you were determined to stop.

"It can't feel much different than me washin' my own hair." Even from where you were sitting, you could see him wrinkle his nose. "Besides, I don't need some strange lady scratchin' my head like I'm a dog."

"It absolutely feels different. Also, I scratch your head like a dog."

And goddamn, was he pretty when you did.

"It's cause I'm your dog. Sure do make me howl for you," he muttered, low enough that you suspected he thought you hadn't heard him, his words mostly covered up by the sound of metal clattering beneath your sink. He adjusted his position on the floor, his worn t-shirt sliding up enough to show a tanned, freckled strip of skin along his belly. You spent a delightful moment staring at that tempting bit of skin and lean muscle before reaching out with one socked foot to poke it. He half-heartedly lifted his own socked foot, kicking playfully back at you with those long legs of his.

"If you won't let someone else do it, let me do it," you tried, crossing your arms on top of the chair's back where you leaned forward against it. "I've got everything I need in my bathroom right now."

Including some new shampoo and conditioner you'd bought specifically for him in hopes he'd let you do this, not that you'd give that away just yet.

"You wanna wash my hair that bad?" He tipped his head to squint at you skeptically around his raised arms. A single drop of water rolled off his stubbled cheek, courtesy of the leaking pipe. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

You drummed your fingers, trying to think of a reason that might convince him. "Because it'll make you feel good?"

A scoff. He went back to the leaky pipe.

Fine. Time to bring out the big guns.

You lowered your head onto your crossed arms, and blinked at him so very sadly.

"Please, baby?" you asked softly, your voice dropping into that quiet, tender little register that always made him fold. It was rare that you used it on him, but it had a ridiculously high success rate. Rhett may have had a scowl that could send a grizzly bear running, but he was soft as a kitten for you inside. "I really want to after you're done with the pipe. Just this once. Then I'll never bring it up again."

Silence from under your sink as he met your eyes.

Then—

"Fuck."

Thirty-two minutes and one fixed pipe later, you had a grumbling Rhett Abbott in your bathroom, his head in your sink.

Success.

stargrillzz

THE MORE WRINKLED THE RAISIN, THE SWEETER

SUMMARY: You know what they say, the more wrinkled the raisin, the sweeter it is. Oh and wasn’t he sweet...

NOTE: Peter is so hot, damn.xoxo

The storm outside cracked like a live wire, lightning flashing through the steel beams of Derek’s loft. Rain slammed the windows like the sky was trying to get in. It was late—past midnight—but no one in the pack was yawning.

Not with the way Derek paced in front of the makeshift war table, arms crossed tight, brow locked in that signature "someone’s gonna die tonight" furrow.

“We found claw marks on the walls of the clinic,” Derek started, tossing a photo across the table. “And not the usual kind. These went through concrete.”

Scott leaned forward, examining the grainy image. “So we’re not sure if it’s a rogue Omega or something… else?”

“It’s not an Omega,” Peter’s voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in honey—smooth, dangerous, and sharp. He stood against one of the support beams, arms folded over that fitted black Henley, looking deliciously bored. “No one that pathetic has claws like that.”

You were curled in one of the armchairs near the corner, chin resting on your hand, only half-listening.

Correction: You were listening—but not to Derek or Scott or whatever threat was clawing up buildings.

No. Your eyes hadn’t moved off Peter in the last ten minutes.

There was something about how he stood—casual, calculated, like he was in on a joke no one else could hear. The soft stretch of his shirt across his chest. The faint shadows beneath his eyes that made him look a little too wolf, a little too unhinged. God, he looked like the kind of man you could ruin your life with.

And you wanted to. Boldly. Repeatedly.

Peter caught your gaze mid-glance. One brow arched.

And then he smirked.

“I’m just saying,” Peter added dryly, loud enough for everyone to hear, “if the big scary monster lurking around town is stupid enough to leave claw marks like a trail of breadcrumbs, maybe we should give it a helmet instead of a fight.”

Stiles huffed from the couch. “You’re such a dick.”

Peter smiled wider. “Accurate.”

You tilted your head, biting your lip. “Maybe he just wanted to get caught,” you said suddenly, loud enough to make half the room turn to you. You shrugged innocently, meeting Peter’s eyes like you were peeling him open with your stare. “Some creatures like being chased.”

Peter’s smile twitched—amused, intrigued—and laced with that dark, wolfish hunger he tried so hard to hide. You saw it.

Scott side-eyed you, blinking. “Y/N—can we focus?”

“Sorry,” you said sweetly, standing up slowly. “I just… get distracted.”

You circled the edge of the group, careful steps echoing across the floor. The storm cracked again, and the lights flickered. You stopped right behind Peter, leaned close, and spoke into the back of his neck without touching him.

“I like when you’re cruel,” you whispered, voice silk and fire. “Makes me wonder if you bite.”

Peter didn’t move. But you felt his pulse shift. Like something ancient and hungry stirred beneath his skin.

His voice came out low, controlled—too controlled.

“Little girl,” he murmured back, still facing forward. “You really want to go there?”

You smirked and leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of his ear.

“I’ve been there. I live there. I set up a fucking tent.”

Peter’s jaw clenched.

“I’m going to murder her,” Stiles muttered from the couch, half-joking. “Like—just a little bit. Just a smidge.”

“You won’t,” Peter said out loud, cool and calm, but you felt the heat radiating off him now. “She’d haunt you in lingerie.”

You chuckled—soft, filthy.

Scott groaned. “Can you not flirt in the middle of a supernatural crisis?”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you said, rounding Peter and standing beside him now, all close and magnetic. “I was… observing.”

Peter finally turned to look at you fully, blue eyes locked on yours. “And what, exactly, did you observe?”

“That you’re dying to touch me.”

The room went silent.

And then Derek snapped, “Enough.”

Everyone flinched. Except Peter. And you.

Derek’s eyes glowed faintly as he glared. “If you two are done turning this into a goddamn mating ritual, maybe we can get back to planning before another body shows up.”

Peter gave a slow shrug. “Fine by me. I’m only here for the entertainment.”

You leaned against the beam next to him, casual, letting your arm brush his. “Well. I’m very entertaining.”

Peter didn’t respond right away. His eyes dragged down your body like a promise, slow and hot and filthy. Then he turned back toward the group, lips twitching.

You grinned, smug and glowing. Victory.

He was close. So close.

But for now, he turned his attention back to the others. Like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t just tongue-fucked him with a glance.

But his hand stayed pressed lightly to the edge of the beam—fingertips brushing yours, barely there.

Touch-starved. Hungry.

And yours.

Eventually.

The meeting had dragged. Thunder rolled low above Beacon Hills like the earth was growling, warning them about whatever new monster was crawling into town.

But the real storm didn’t break until after the pack started heading out.

“Y/N,” Scott called from beside his bike, keys jangling in his hand. “You riding with me or Stiles?”

You didn’t even glance at him. Your eyes were locked on Peter, who stood beside his black SUV with one hand on the door and the other in his pocket, smirking like he knew something no one else did.

Which—he usually did.

You smiled slowly. “Neither.”

Scott blinked. “What?”

“I’ll go with Peter.”

He straightened up slightly. “Why?”

You tilted your head innocently. “Why not?”

Behind Scott, Stiles made a dramatic groaning noise. “Oh my god. Here we go again. Just let her ride with Satan if she wants, man.”

Peter said nothing. He just opened the passenger door and stepped aside like a gentleman—or something that wore the skin of one. His eyes burned into you like a promise.

You walked past Scott without another word and climbed in.

The doors clicked shut. The outside world disappeared.

Inside, it was warm, dark, quiet—except for the low hum of the engine and the slow turn of the wipers dragging rain across the windshield.

Peter didn’t speak. He just drove, hands loose on the wheel, eyes forward. Focused. Dangerous.

You watched his profile—how the shadows carved into his cheekbone, how his hand tensed just slightly every time you shifted in your seat. You loved how he always tried to pretend you didn’t affect him.

But you did.

You always did.

And tonight… tonight you were done pretending you didn’t know it.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and crawled slowly—deliberately—into the back seat.

Peter’s eyes flicked to the mirror. “What are you doing?”

You spread your legs across the leather and leaned back on your elbows, smirking up at him. “Drive,” you said. “Or do something about it.”

Peter’s jaw clenched.

The car skidded a little to the right before he yanked it into a side lot, tires splashing into a puddle as he parked under a broken streetlight. The glow from it flickered once, then died.

Silence.

Then the soft creak of his door opening.

You stayed sprawled out, heart pounding as you listened to his boots hit the wet pavement, circle around the back, and open the rear door.

He got in.

The door slammed behind him.

And then he just looked at you—like a wolf who'd been stalking his prey for miles, and suddenly found her naked and grinning in his den.

“You,” he growled, voice low, fraying, “are a goddamn menace.”

You smirked, shifting slightly so your knee brushed against his thigh. “And you love it.”

His hand shot out, fisting in the front of your shirt and yanking you closer, your faces inches apart now. His breath was hot against your lips, his fingers flexing like he was deciding whether to pull you in or push you away.

He did neither.

“You think I won’t ruin you?” he hissed.

“I want you to.”

That broke him.

Peter grabbed the back of your neck and crushed his mouth to yours, tongue demanding and rough, devouring you with filthy need. You gasped into it, moaning when his teeth scraped your bottom lip, when his fingers tangled in your hair and pulled hard.

You kissed him back like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Your hands slid up under his shirt—god, he was burning, muscle under your palms, skin twitching when you scratched. He growled again, shoving you back until your shoulders hit the seat, his body following, crawling over you like a predator who had finally, finally taken the bait.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered against your throat, licking a slow line under your jaw. “To make the bad wolf snap?”

You whimpered, grinding up against him. “More.”

“More?” He nipped at your skin. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me,” you breathed, fingers dragging down to the waistband of his jeans. “Be the wolf, Peter. Fucking bite.”

And he did.

Your back hit the leather with a soft thud, legs still parted around him, his hand fisted in your shirt like he might rip it off, like maybe he should. The heat between you two had gone nuclear. Your skin was buzzing, your breath short, your mouth already wrecked from the kiss you barely survived.

And Peter was watching you—his blue eyes dark and glowing, fangs just barely peeking from under his lip. The wolf was there. Right under the surface. And you had called it out.

You brought your hand up, tracing your fingers down the front of his chest. “Come on, Peter,” you whispered, voice syrupy and shameless. “You know you’ve been dying to fuck the attitude out of me.”

He groaned—visceral, like the sound was torn from him. Then his hand was under your thigh, yanking your hips toward him hard enough to make you gasp. His other hand curled around your throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressing beneath your jaw with filthy reverence.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he muttered against your neck, but his hand was already sliding between your legs.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you moaned, arching into his touch.

His fingers pressed against the heat of your center—your shorts soaked through, no panties. You heard his breath catch.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed.

You smiled lazily. “Told you. I came prepared.”

Peter didn’t answer—he just shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers through your folds, slow and deep and filthy. Your head tipped back with a broken moan.

“Oh my God—”

“Not God,” he rasped. “Just the wolf.”

He leaned in again, biting softly at your lip as his fingers began to move—rhythmically, slowly at first, then harder, faster. His thumb circled your clit with the kind of precision that made your legs tremble.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, biting at your ear, “so fucking long. Every time you opened that smart mouth, every time you walked into a room like you owned me…”

You whimpered, rocking against his hand, clutching his shoulder. “Then take it. Own me.”

Something in him snapped.

He pulled his hand away for one agonizing second—long enough to yank your shorts down and toss them somewhere in the dark car—then he shoved your thighs up and apart, climbing between them like he belonged there. Like this was a fucking claim.

And maybe it was.

He shoved his jeans down just enough, fangs glinting now as he dragged his tip through your slick folds, teasing, eyes locked to yours.

“You want this?” he rasped, voice barely human.

“Yes,” you breathed, grabbing his jaw. “I want you.”

He slammed into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself fully. You cried out, arching, clawing at his shoulders. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ease up.

He fucked you—hard, deep, filthy—every thrust making the car creak on its suspension, windows fogging instantly. The smell of rain and sex and wolf filled the air. Your moans were ragged, high and loud, but he didn’t tell you to quiet down.

He wanted them.

Peter grunted as you clenched around him, biting into your neck—not enough to break skin, just enough to mark. His hand stayed wrapped tight around your throat, fingers flexing with every snap of his hips.

“You love this,” he growled. “You love knowing how wrong this is.”

You were nearly sobbing with pleasure. “Yes—fuck, Peter, please—”

“You wanted the bad wolf,” he snarled. “Now fucking take him.”

Your orgasm hit like a car crash "Oh my God, fuck yeah" hot and endless, your body convulsing around him as he held you down, fucked you through it, didn’t stop. You screamed his name, scratching down his back. Peter groaned into your throat, and with one final thrust, he spilled inside you, deep and possessive, a growl rattling from his chest like thunder.

You both collapsed, panting, your limbs tangled, hearts pounding like war drums.

His forehead rested against yours. He was still inside you. Still hardening again. Still hungry.

The bonfire cracked like it had secrets to tell.

Sparks flew up into the inky sky while laughter echoed from the logs surrounding it—pack members sprawled on blankets, roasting marshmallows and talking over each other. It was one of those rare nights when no one was dead or dying. Just warmth, woodsmoke, and the edge of summer in the air.

You were curled on a blanket next to Scott and Lydia, letting the heat of the fire lick at your bare legs while your eyes, once again, found him.

Peter Hale stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, the flames casting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones and the glint in his eyes. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just watching. Guarded. Calm. Until you looked at him.

Then something in him shifted—his mouth twitching into a dangerous little smirk, eyes dipping down your body in one unbothered pass before returning to the fire.

Your thighs clenched.

You had been teasing him all night—lingering touches on your way past him, sitting just a little too close on the log earlier, whispering filthy little jokes under your breath only he could hear.

And now, sitting across from him in that short skirt and that smug grin, one leg swinging lazily as if you weren’t driving him insane, you knew he was at his limit.

Time to push.

You stood up slowly, stretching—arms above your head, shirt lifting just a little too far—and you made sure Peter’s eyes followed.

Then, without a word, you turned and walked toward the woods.

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

You heard the crunch of his boots on the forest floor thirty seconds later.

By the time he caught up, your back was already against a tree, breathing fast from the thrill of being chased, of being wanted. Peter stepped out of the shadows like a goddamn wolf, eyes gleaming, mouth a flat line of hunger and restraint.

“I swear to fucking God—” he growled.

You grabbed his collar and yanked him into a kiss that stole the rest of the sentence from his throat.

It was filthy. Immediate. No teasing now—just mouths crashing, teeth clashing, lips parted and desperate as you gasped into each other. His hands were already under your skirt, grabbing the backs of your thighs, lifting you. You wrapped your legs around his waist without thinking, moaning when your back hit the bark behind you.

“Jesus,” Peter rasped against your mouth, grinding his hips against your center. “Do you ever stop?”

“Why would I,” you panted, licking into his mouth, “when this is how you act when I don’t?”

He chuckled darkly, biting your bottom lip. “You think this is me acting?”

You whimpered when he rocked against you again, the heat of his jeans grinding into your panties, soaked and sticking to you already. Your head thumped back against the tree.

“You’re such a little brat,” he growled, sliding one hand between you, cupping you through your underwear. “Getting me hard in front of the whole fucking pack. Whispering shit only I could hear.”

Your hips bucked. “Couldn’t help it,” you gasped. “You look so edible next to fire.”

Peter growled, shoved your panties to the side, and dragged his fingers through your slick, slow and filthy. You gasped.

“Jesus, you’re wet—”

“You did that,” you moaned, clenching around nothing. “Fix it.”

He didn’t need more.

Peter undid his jeans, enough to free himself, the sound of his zipper somehow the dirtiest thing in the woods. He lined up with you, looking at you like he could tear you in half and you’d thank him for it.

“Quiet,” he warned as he pushed in. “Or I’ll make you scream.”

You bit down on his shoulder to muffle your cry as he buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust, your nails clawing at his back.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “Peter—”

“Shh, baby,” he hissed, thrusting again, slow but deep, each movement shoving you higher up the tree. “Don’t want your little friends coming to check, do you?”

You shook your head, moaning into his neck. The idea of Scott or Derek or Stiles stumbling into this? It made you wetter.

Peter felt it. “Oh, you like that,” he sneered. “You want them to find out how desperate you are for my cock?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, not even thinking. “I don’t care.”

His thrusts got harder. Meaner. The tree bark dug into your spine but you didn’t feel it—just the thick slide of him inside you, your thighs shaking around his waist, your body strung so tight you were seconds from unraveling.

“You wanna cum?” he whispered, filthy, fanged, dangerous.

“Please,” you gasped. “Peter, please—”

He reached between you, rubbing your clit in rough circles until you were gasping, head thrown back, toes curling in your boots. He slammed in one more time, and you broke apart—shaking, clutching him like a lifeline, moaning loud into his mouth as you came.

He groaned as you clenched around him, hips stuttering, and then he was following, burying himself deep with a low, guttural curse.

He held you there for a second, both of you panting in the dark, sweaty and still tangled together.

Then—

A snap.

A branch breaking.

Voices.

“Peter?” That was Scott. Close.

Peter pulled out quickly, helping you stand, yanking your panties back into place and pulling his jeans up with inhuman speed. You adjusted your shirt, shaking from the aftershocks and the adrenaline.

Peter leaned close, lips brushing your ear.

“If they catch us,” he growled, “I’ll make you ride me in front of them.”

You nearly collapsed.

But he straightened, smirked, and stepped out of the trees—calm, smug, like he hadn’t just fucked you against a tree with the entire pack 30 feet away.

You followed, flushed and glowing, hair mussed.

Scott and Derek looked up as you reappeared, both raising eyebrows.

Peter walked past them like nothing happened, but then Derek’s nose twitched.

He frowned. Deeply.

“You smell like her,” Derek muttered.

Peter glanced back with the laziest, dirtiest smirk in history.

“Then I must smell fantastic.”

escapingrealtiylovinginsanity

Derek Hale: Greedy Girl NSFW

My first Derek Hale fic. I really have no way to defend myself. This is seven pages of hardcore smut. Enjoy

The white light was so blinding that all you could see were stars. Your body was thrumming with burning heat that left you compliant and numb down to your toes. You could vaguely feel yourself fall, tumbling heavily to the right side. You felt something try to brace your left side, and it lessened the impact.

What you were now lying on was firm, hot, and moving. One more blink had you returning to your body and brain functioning on at least minimal levels. Your back was on Derek’s chest, his hand firmly holding your lower stomach as he continued to piston his hips up, rolling them against you with each thrust. Your hand went to his arm, grasping it firmly, using it to ground yourself back in reality. His right hand was still between your legs, rubbing your clit. You could feel another orgasm fast approaching, and this one may actually kill you.

You hadn’t thought it would be like this, be this fucking good, when you talked to Derek about having rougher sex. You knew he held back because he was afraid his werewolf strength would hurt you if he wasn’t constantly on guard. You had introduced the idea, talking about the desire to be fucked harder. The want to be manhandled, held tight, or restrained enough to leave bruises, love bites, or hickies. You didn’t mind a little pain with your pleasure. A lack of control.

You craved it.

You had noticed a slight change in the last week, but nothing major. Until today. Derek had come home radiating testosterone and anger. Anger that had quickly manifested into sexual frustration when he saw you. You were pulled to your feet and into a frenzied kiss. He tugged at the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling it to one side. He bit and sucked on the delicate skin, rubbing the stubble on his face across the tender skin as he moved on down your chest, following the swoop of your tank top. It left a trail of beard burn in its wake.

He broke away just long enough to yank your tank top over your head. You could hear the tearing of fabric as it didn’t come off as fast as he wanted. Your hands didn’t even have time to make it to his shoulders when his face was already between your naked breasts. His mouth found a nipple, and your fingers curled on his shoulders, then scratched down his back as he bit one and pinched the other. Your back arched up, and he was bending down. Derek’s hands found the back of your thighs, and without giving you a chance to help, they cupped your ass, squeezing as he lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning loudly as he slammed you back against the wall.

His mouth found the other side of your neck, biting down. Your hard nipples rubbed against the material of his Henley. He cupped your breast, bringing his mouth down on it again to capture the other nipple. Your hand fisted his hair as your hips rocked against the hard cock hidden in his jeans. He growled, taking you to the bedroom. You took the opportunity to suck on his neck, even knowing that any bruise you gave him would heal almost instantly.

He dropped you unceremoniously on the edge of the bed. Your hands grabbed his waist to keep balance. He grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it off, and your hands flew to his belt, undoing it and the button of his jeans. They slid down the V of his hips, forcing the zipper down. Derek was naked underneath, and you could see his cock. You went to reach for it, but were thrown off guard by him yanking you up by your belt loops. You didn’t even have a chance to steady yourself before he was yanking you around and pushing you forward.

You managed to catch yourself on your hands before landing face-first in the mattress, but it pushed your ass into the air. Derek’s hands circled you, reaching under to undo the button. He yanked your jeans and underwear down just below your ass cheeks. You jumped, cursing as he bit down on the round muscle. His strong hand left a stinging slap on your other ass cheek, making you grip the blankets. He licked at the red bite, soothing it with his tongue.

Derek’s hand slid under your ass again, propelling you up and forcing your face entirely into the mattress. You didn’t have time to even think of a complaint as your knees were set on the mattress and his face dived between your legs. His hot mouth is sucking on your throbbing cunt. His beard is causing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs to burn with sensation. His tongue sliding inside as his right hand slid between you and the mattress, already wet middle fingers sliding into your core with his tongue. He thrusts them in and out in a rhythm of tongue, and your body starts to follow it, rolling back against him. You could feel your orgasm building.

It was so close.

Derek pulled back, removing his fingers. You whimpered, pushing up onto your shaking forearms. His chest slid across your back until his mouth was at your ear, “Not yet.” You squeeze your thighs together, trying to hold onto the orgasm that is slowly fading. He moves back, starting to drag an open-mouth kiss down your spine. You feel the cold as his body leaves yours. You hear the clanking of his belt and jeans hitting the floor. You turn your face, rolling onto your side to see Derek in all his naked glory. His dark hair, tanned skin, muscled body, and his thick, long cock jutting out hard and weeping with precum. You watch hypnotized as he strokes it leisurely. You lick your lips.

Derek came back to the foot of the bed. He grabbed your ankles, pulling you back to the edge of the bed. His hand went to your throat, forcing you up. Air is pushed from your lungs. The move was rough, but most of the weight had been pressed lower against your collarbone. It slid up, squeezing just enough to stop your breath. You claw at his arm, but not to make it stop. The restriction in the air made you feel like you were floating.

“You want to come on my cock, baby?” His words had you shivering and unable to speak. His cock was pressed against your cunt. He didn’t enter you, just teased you by rubbing it back and forth against your dripping folds. His hold on your throat lessened as his nose trailed down the column of your neck. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” It’s breathless and probably so low that had he not had supernatural hearing, he probably would have missed it. He pushed his cock into you in one hard thrust. He kept your back against his front as he started a mercalist speed. One hand held you tightly as the other rubbed against your clit. The orgasm hit out of nowhere, your core squeezing his cock, your head rolling back to lean against his shoulder. His thrust slowed just a roll of his hips as the motion on your clit followed, working you through your orgasm.

“You okay?” His voice was soft now. You nod, rocking your hips on his dick. It was still hard and had not yet been satisfied.

“Don’t stop.” His chuckle came out as a hot whisper of breath against your neck. He kissed your exposed shoulder. His hand came around your stomach, lifting you to drop you closer to the center of the bed. He mercifully rolled you on your back, where he took back up a furious pace. His mouth finds your breast again, sucking hickies down the middle of your chest. A second orgasm hit you, followed by a third. They were not nearly as intense as the first, but they left you gasping and tingly.

Derek pulled out again, leaving you feeling empty. His hand came to your waist, no doubt to manhandle you into another orgasmic position. You managed to grab his wrist, pushing his chest with your other hand. He paused and willingly twisted to lie on his back. His eyes were red, then flashed brown, and back again. You wondered if his alpha instincts were fighting to take over, and that he wanted to flip you back over and pin you down to regain dominance. Not that he needs to.

You both knew who was in control of this night.

You turned to straddle him in reverse. Your legs were shaky, and you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to go for, but you knew this was one of his favorite positions. He was lying back, devouring the view of you leaning forward, hands on his legs, bouncing on his dick. Derek didn’t like to be idle long. He pressed up on his arms, thrusting his hip up into you. One hand came to your hip, pulling you farther back on him.

It was a move you recognized, and you straightened your back and found your footing to really bounce. Even with his hands on your hips, forcing you down as he thrust up, your legs were getting tired fast. Honestly, you were surprised you could feel any of your limbs at this point. You grab his wrist, hoping it will help. It does, but not as much as you need. You knew he was close, but you weren’t sure you would be able to make it.

His arm wraps around your stomach, pulling you back against him as his other arm lays you back down on the bed, your back flush against his chest. You let out a squeak of surprise that turns into a moan. Derek forces you into a position you have never been in.

He uses his legs to force you to stay open wide. Then both of his hands grab your ribs, forcing your body up, back arching, hovering over him. Your hands scramble to catch yourself and help support your weight. It’s clear Derek is holding the majority of it, as you would never be able to hold the position yourself. He thrusts up hard into you, and you have no choice but to take everything he gives you.

The angle is so deep, and you feel so full. Then, with the slight movement as you try to adjust your shaking arms, the angle changes. His cock rubs against every sensitive and swollen nerve.

You scream.

It is maddening, and he doesn’t slow down. If anything, it encourages him to go harder and faster. Your orgasm is explosive. Your entire body is contracting before releasing. You only feel your hands buckle before you are flying and seeing stars. You hear a grunt and a hand on your left side tries to support you, but it only lessens the fall.

Derek pushes on your lower stomach, and with one last thrust, he comes inside of you. Then his body laxes under you. The only movement is your chests heaving up and down, pants filling the room. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest and his cock throbbing inside you.

You lay there long enough for you to catch your breath, sweat cooling. Even the thought of moving was exhausting. Derek’s hand slides up your stomach. “You okay?” You had been half asleep, hand clumsily landing on top of his and with a blissed filled laugh you answer.

“Yep, and ready for round two.” It was a lie. The only thing you were ready for was sleep. You know it. And he knows it.

“Is that so?” His fingers went down to where you were still connected, barely circling your clit. Your very sensitive and swollen clit. Your body slid away from the assault and up his body. His cock sliding out of you and the top of your head bumping his chin. “I don’t think you could handle round two, greedy girl.” His hand smoothed back your hair. You force yourself to roll over and fold your arms on his chest to rest your chin looking up at him. You realize his eyes had returned to their normal dark brown.

“Tomorrow?”

myrandomverticaldramabullshit

How to tame a silver fox. Jesse Morales, you can call me good girl anytime.

azsazz

Body and Soul

Vampire!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon req: "Okay but imagine vamp Az fucking you from behind in front of a mirror but you can’t see his reflection, only the way your body is shaking from the way he’s making you feel, moaning in your ear about how pretty you look taking his cock, making you watch yourself orgasm again and again and again"

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, mirror sex, overstimulation, cnc, fingering, oral (F receiving), powerplay, dubcon.

Word Count: 2,974

Notes: Your honor I love him

_________________________________________

“Did you think he could fuck you better than I can, or were you just trying to upset me?” Azriel’s voice is like gravel against your skin. His hands are planted firmly on your hips, holding you to his body with such an ease that if you hadn’t known he had immortal strength, you’d be slipping right out your cracked bedroom door and dashing for the buttery light creeping into your room.

Your heart is so loud, beating so frantic, so harsh, that you’re afraid it might just jumpstart Azriel’s in his chest behind you.

It wasn’t your fault that the other vampires of his clan had taken an interest in you. You were one of the few females to attend this evening, and you were definitely the only human. They could probably scent you from the hall, across the acres separating their homes as you arrived with the shadowsinger. If Azriel hadn’t wanted them to talk to you, to flirt with you, he shouldn’t have brought you along.

Of course, it’s your fault.

starshipsofstarlord

Somebody That I Used To Know

Summary-> The Salvatores call Y/N Mikaelson for aid, however they don’t expect for her to have a history with Kai Parker (4k)

Warnings-> 18+ minors dni, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, porn with plot, mentions of death, blood drinking, swearing, fluff & angst, mentions of bad parenting and adultery, mentions of child abuse and imprisonment

kai parker works other tvd works main masterlist

surielstea

A Warriors Heart

Based on a request.

Pairing: Virgin!Azriel x Virgin!Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader have been mated for a long time but have yet to act on it. What happens when alone in a house together?

A.Note: Sooo the original request asked for an Experienced!Reader but I was struggling writing a dynamic like that so here’s this, hopefully it’s okay. Also, Rhys and Reader are half-siblings!

6.2k word count.

The house was silent. A rare occurrence. Even when the three Illyrians weren't crowding it with their banter and heavy footsteps, Rhysand's mother's soft humming usually drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans. That noise, that life, filled every corner of our home, like a heartbeat.

But tonight, the silence felt heavier. My brother and Cassian were away on an overnight expedition to another war camp, and Rhysand's mother had been summoned to the Night Court by my father. It was just Azriel and me. Alone.

stars-bean

Groundhog Day (1993) dir. Harold Ramis

vanilla-bean-buttercream

On my hands and knees begging adults to allow children to engage in risk play.

And by risk play I don't mean handing them a gun and playing Russian Roulette.

I mean like climbing trees, getting so sick spinning on the swing they throw up, balancing on the curb, sitting in the mud, walking on slippery surfaces, building half ass ramps to ride their bike over, standing on rocks, or anything that involves a smidgen of confidence and out of the box thinking that could result in injury.

Obviously like watch your kids and such, but when we talk about the fun of being an 80s or 90s kid, it's not just talking about CDs and Walkmans or not having iPads. It's about how kids today were robbed of critical learning and experience skills we were allowed to have.

Playgrounds disappearing, helicopter parents, and sue culture really destroyed a child's development in the United States, and I think it's about time we as adults recognize that, because the kids sure have.

just7frogsinapeoplesuit

You know what happens to kids who don't get to take reasonable risks? They never learn how to gauge safety or control their bodies in risky situations.

A kid who never climbs a tree becomes an adult who falls off a ladder because they don't intuitively know to keep 3 points of contact when climbing.

A kid who never skins their knees launching off a swingset becomes an adult who shatters an arm because they never learned how to break a fall.

Kids who are allowed to take risks become safer adults.

just7frogsinapeoplesuit

This crossed my dash again, so here's a more thorough list of things risk play is necessary for:

- Developing pain tolerance & an understanding of which types/intensities of pain are "okay" and which need immediate medical attention

- Calibrating the inner ear (sense of balance) and learning how the body reacts to experiencing different things, essential to learning to control the body in unexpected situations

- Developing reflexes and subconscious safety instincts (e.g. protectively throwing up your hands when an object flies toward your face)

- Normalizing getting hurt so the first reaction to an injury is just to treat it (and not to have a fearful emotional meltdown)

- Learning how to treat and heal from injuries (beginnings of self-care)

- Developing appropriate levels of fear around various activities, desensitizing fear around doing harmless things and establishing a fear response for actions that caused an injury. This is key to properly gauging risk in new situations.

Additionally, the reason it's so essential to mess around and get hurt as a kid is not just because it's a critical developmental stage, but also because kids' bodies are growing and naturally resistant to major injuries. A 3rd grader can get launched off a bike onto the pavement and only sustain a few scrapes and bruises that will heal in a few days, while someone who's 30 would likely pull or sprain something (or worse) and take weeks to heal.

If you are someone who grew up not being allowed to take risks it is likely you have a low pain tolerance, fear surrounding physical activities, slow reflexes, and poor judgment. The good thing is that it's never too late to learn! Our brains are very malleable, so if you missed out on this stuff as a kid now is the time to go climb a tree, go on a hike with unstable footing, or join a casual sports team. Just start small and work your way up, since your body won't be as resilient as it was when you were 9 :)

vanilla-bean-buttercream

Your additions have tickled my brain in the right way. Thank you for your contribution to the discussion!

just7frogsinapeoplesuit

Thank you for starting it! This topic isn't discussed nearly enough despite how important it is so it was very exciting to see your post cross my dash :)

klausysworld

Triggering, lots of murder. Y/N is basically a psychopath/serial killer (I watch too much TV)

Unlikely Love

Klaus was attracted to her darkness. The cold look in her eyes when someone said something she didn't like, it was like he knew she was something else.

Following her wasn't easy, she always seemed to know if someone was looking at her for any longer than five seconds, she'd caught his gaze too many times and she never looked impressed.

Still, Klaus had the advantage of being supernatural, his speed abilities made good use in hiding from her view. Which was how he learnt that she was more a monster than he thought.

so-long-soldier-writes

Playing with fire's only gonna get you burned. Unless you're, like, into that kinda thing.

kai parker x reader

summary: things have been disappearing from your room lately, but never would you think kai is the one to blame.

tags: 1994 prison world, friends to lovers, snooping (it's very 'fuck around and find out'), mild argument, sexual tension, touch starved, kissing, touching, playful sex, teasing, fingering, vaginal sex, relatively mild smut, overstimulation, cuddling

word count: 5.5k

a/n: this fic is sponsored by wellbutrin... kidding. but that's the only reason i've actually been able to sit down and focus / write lately. this was requested eons ago, and with the greatest guilt, i'm just now posting it. also, i wrote it in a day. as in, today. i hope it's okay. <3

so-long-soldier-writes

Our Little Secret

kai parker x reader

summary: you should've known wearing a short little skirt would rile him up. but then again... maybe you did it on purpose. (80s!kai) (step-brother!kai)

tags: teasing, possessiveness, praise kink, degradation, dirty talk, oral sex, blowjobs, vaginal sex

word count: 4.2k

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