harpy, early 20s, they/them. i write mostly m/f dark content ranging from weird smut to gross character analysis.
likes~ video games, gore, berries, monsters, rain, cigarettes, reblogging absolutely gross nsfw gifs. i will tag accordingly but you've been warned. i use #nsft to avoid trouble
dislikes~ bigots and minors in my space
currently writing for...... frank woods, russell adler, simon "ghost" riley, vulpes inculta, craig boone, jeff the killer, thancred waters
AHHHHH my prayers were answered! thank you! that was so good, i'm always weak for him being a stalkery freak. locking you in basement to make you write more vulpes fic, but in a totally normal way <3.
my liege you are cool as fuck. and i would love some solid basement enrichment time. for your perusal
thinking about vulpes letting you get emotional after sex. not reciprocated, really, but just... giving you the time and space for it.
cw- gender neutral reader. implied enemies with benefits. mild dubcon/allusions to dubcon, mild sex description, comfort, this is fluff with horny undertones
the two of you end up in a shitty motel. maybe even separate rooms at first. he puts you in about six different positions and there isn't a moment of respite. he spends too much time making you cum. he doesn't like to leave things unfinished.
and at one point you just... cry. not even the overstimulated cry, just... crying for the sake of it. like the vulnerability of an actual decent bed and the man who has literally rewired your body's pleasure centers is finally taking a toll on you. you sob in the sheets, and you dont expect him to stop. he's not exactly known for niceties and you're not entirely complaining.
but he does. he's already cum a handful of times. he doesn't need to waste more stamina— not when there's something about those tears that bother him.
he slowly pulls out of you, watching the way you curl in on yourself. you feel exposed-- a man who has literally threatened to carve you open while balls deep inside you is watching you cry. truly cry. like something wound in your bones is unraveling for the first time. you move on instinct to squirm away and maybe off the bed-- before he's pinning you to the mattress and shushing you like an animal.
"steady. it's just me." as if being held down by nipton's murderer wouldn't be a death sentence for anyone else. he finds a handkerchief on the nightstand and wipes off your core. "shh... shh.. easy." he tries again when you twitch at the swipe through the mess.
you half expect him to pat you on the back and send you on your way, but he doesn't. his hands gently smooth over your skin like he's checking for injuries. once he's sure you're not bleeding anywhere, he manhandles you into... what can only be described as a cuddle.
it's not. it's much too rigid for that. but he's holding you tight against his chest, forcefully tucking your head into his neck. he manuevers the two of you together as if he can't stand an inch apart. "are you hurt?" he speaks into the top of your head. when you only give a shake of your head, he gives a pleased rumble. "good."
at the base of it all, you are a tool, and he has to keep his weapons in top shape. he refuses to let you go through the night. you're not sure when you fall asleep, or when the tears even subside-- but he's there, carding his hands along your shoulders, sides, back, anything he can reach-- just to keep you grounded. maybe to keep you safe. who knows with him.
sometimes i think about the fact that my manager and i bicker all the time and he's kinda walled up so i dont expect a ton from him in terms of like, praise or reassurance, but the fact that he puts up with my bullshit is reassurance enough on most days.
and then i think about how last week while i was feeling like i wasn't fit to be his assistant or i was constantly a problem etc etc he just out of the blue went "you're assistant manager for a reason. you'll figure it out." so. yeah.
cw- gn reader with a vag, extremely dubious consent. somno without discussion but 'courier' is into it/there is pre-established consent from a while back. obsessive behavior and vulpes-typical stalking, degradation and condescension, breaking and entering, enemies with benefits
vulpes knows where you are. he always does. it's something he'll never take for granted.
he's done enough 'infiltrations.' when it's you, he hardly thinks of it like that, but that's what this is. he opens the window slow and careful, keeping his movements languid to avoid waking you. the lock was easy enough-- it's not like you were expecting him.
it's almost second nature for him to settle into bed behind you. his body slips through the sheets like a cat burglar, angling just right to warm your back without touching you. silence settles over the room as he waits with bated breath. but when you don't move or turn to smack him and ask what the fuck his problem is, he smiles to himself. too tuckered out to protest. it's almost cute, if he were a man to relish in such things.
he just watches the back of your head for a long moment. his eyes trail over the slow rise and fall of your shoulders as you sleep on your side. his hands are already twitching, his body already wanting. he hates it. hates the way you burrow under his skin while doing absolutely nothing.
part of him wants to shake you awake. to throw you around and make you regret ever crossing him-- both mind and body. but he can't bring himself to disturb you. it's not a matter of being nice-- he'd just rather see your reaction when you come to.
so his hand travels instead. he lets his fingertips ghost soft lines across your body until he finds the edge of your pajama pants (pre-war cotton that you washed in a river no doubt). the calloused fingers move inwards, ghosting over the breadth of skin where your shirt rides up against the sheets. it takes slow, painstaking movements for him to tug your pants and underwear down your thighs. you stir a couple times, but he doesn't worry. just focuses on the slow exposition of your pussy.
"well, well, well." he murmurs at the slight sheen of wetness. you're not dripping or anything, but it's obvious your dreams have taken his soft touches and morphed them into something pleasurable. "did you miss me?" he asks to no one in particular— maybe he can influence your thoughts subconsciously. he spits on his fingers, working one inside you with a gentle push. his cock aches to take you right now, but he can't ruin the element of surprise.
it's almost kind like this anyways. your walls take the single finger just fine. it's like he's massaging you open for him, soft movements in and out. you make a soft rumble in your sleep. he just shushes you softly.
he adds a little more spit and a second finger, starting a calm but intent scissoring motion with them inside you. he's not in any rush. he has all night to work you open, warm and compliant and sleepy in his hands. you stir a little more, but the movements are still comfortable. he doesn't push deeper, he doesn't speed up. for a long while it's just this-- you asleep under his hand as his fingers work their magic.
it isn't until the blunt press of his cock is at your entrance that you wake up. you don't jostle or start, just... slowly come to, with his arm curling around you tighter. "welcome to the land of the living." he purrs against your neck, sinking in inch by inch. "how did you sleep?"
he's asking this like he isn't currently making your whole body flood with heat. your heart is pounding, you squirm softly but you dont want to run from it-- not when you're still drowsy, not when it feels like slipping into a hazy, blissed out state. you stagger your legs a little more and you feel him huff a soft laugh at the eagerness. he pushes in until you're full to the brim, balls tucked against the plush of your cunt, walls squeezing to adjust. you make a noise that sounds completely incoherent and he just laughs again. it's airy with that tone of relaxation, like this is the only way he gets off-- it makes you moan into the plush of your pillow, practically humming.
"c'mon, dear." he chides, one hand now palming the front of your cunt, the other arm wound around you. it's almost a nice embrace, if not for the mocking disdain in his voice. "answer the question."
"good," you rumble, but it's hard to tell if that's in response to the thickness inside you or as response to his question.
your eyes practically cross when he slowly starts to rock his hips. it's just enough movement to feel the slide, your soft moans turned into the pillow. "that's it." vulpes coos in that faux-soft tone that always makes you mushy. "shush. i have you."
you know this isn't kindness. this is vulpes knowing damn well the power he has over you. one of your hands pushes back, desperately trying to ground yourself to him, and he just chuckles. you're still a little drowsy and it heightens everything, warm and sated and absolutely melted in the sheets.
"perfect." he mumbles in your ear, practically a comment for himself. and then he addresses you. "you're too easy, you know that? most people would scream and try to run." his arms dig in a little more, his fingers starting to slowly work your clit. "not you. no, you just open your legs and let me have whatever i want. would you do this for anyone?"
you shake your head, slowly tipping it back with the buildup of pleasure. you're panting, trying to answer but not able to get the words out.
"just me." god he's still talking, even when his hips speed up. "should i be flattered? do you think I'm special? or are you stupid enough to trust a Frumentarii?"
that sends way too much heat down your spine, squeezing him slightly and making you shiver. he catches it-- of course he does-- and he angles just slightly, finding that spot with ease and you nearly sob with how fast the orgasm builds. you can hardly warn him before you're cumming, all whiny noises and squirms against the pillow.
vulpes thrusts once, twice, then buries as deep as he can as his load fills you up. he growls so low you think he might bite you, and the feeling is like a completely new high.
but he doesn't pull out. hardly moves, just keeps you pinned in his arms. "m'not done." he grumbles in your neck. "stay put."
i subbed to ffxiv and now i need scion horniness idc. gn reader w a vag, light choking, restraint, doggystyle AGAIN bc whatever, implied age gap, stress relief sex with a side of objectification bc being the wol has got to be hard !
thancred will find whatever reasoning to pretend like he doesn't care. but when you're like this, everything is so obvious.
one of his palms keeps both of your wrists behind your back. the other wraps the back of your neck to keep you pushed into the mattress. he's thick, his cock heavy and wide in a way that makes you sigh when he pushes inside. you feel like he's burrowing into you, making a home against the crux of your cervix.
"thheeeerrrreee y'go." he encourages, giving you a moment to adjust to the girthy stretch. "give me that-- yeah-- gimme that pretty pussy--" he just can't stay still for long though, tugging out with a low groan before sinking back in. he builds a rhythm, focusing on depth before speed, and the result is like lightning in a bottle. he's pushing you into the mattress with each deep thrust, filling you in a way that makes heat flood every sense.
your hands flex in his hold and he doesn't let up. if anything, the fingertips around your nape squeeze a little tighter, a silent settle down evident in his movements. he's got enough experience on him-- it feels like he's taming a wild animal, and hells, maybe you need the guidance.
you nearly cry when he doubles down, more pressure, more force, lying there taking him like a toy-- you needed this. you know you did. you needed to let everything float off your shoulders for a while and by god thancred has you right on the edge.
a whiny "what--" escapes you when you feel him pull out, painting your ass with cum. the noise that rumbles out of him is downright debauched. "don't worry, darlin'. i won't leave you stranded." you're flipped onto your back before you can glare.
sorry for smut drabble without real plot it will happen again. gn reader w a vag, implied enemies with benefits, headlock fucking, degradation, creampie/mild breeding kink, vulpes/legion typical grossness, ownership, kinda ooc vulpes because i want him to fuck NASTYYYYY. proofread but posted fast lolll
vulpes can't resist this.
well, he can. but why should he?
he sinks into the plush of your cunt with a growl, arms winding around your upper body like bands keeping you close. he's big, not so huge that it hurts but just enough to stretch your walls with a pleasant burn. from your place on your stomach, you whine and kick a little, but it's not like you want to get away. at least he had the decency to pull you into a makeshift camp tent.
his knees hook even wider, keeping your legs open as he holds your body and mercilessly pounds into that sweet little hole. you're fully pinned under him. each thrust rewards you with a grunt in your ear, held in place with an arm lock as you wheeze and curl against the shitty tarp. it always feels fantastic-- especially like this, when it's obvious how much he needed the release. his balls smack your skin with a meaty thud, tip already leaking precum.
he's mumbling something. about ambushes and plans and bullshit. he's either stressed about something not working, or victorious because he thwarted something— but it's not your job to know or care. you just take the heft of his cock like you were made for it, fingers digging inward to cling to the arm that secures you like a belt. you wail again when he finds the spot that makes you white out, and he doubles down--
"tight and wet and waiting for me--" he growls, hips pistoning faster now. "i hate you--" his bicep loops around your neck and pulls you up, forcing you to prop yourself up on your palms as he continues with the onslaught. "slutty-- useless profligate--"
he says that like it matters. like it makes this worse, but it doesn't. you clamp up at the heat in his voice, near cry-y with how intense everything is. you almost miss the command. "you'll cum." it's almost a threat, but with his length stuffing you full over and over and over again, you know it's a promise.
you whine and writhe and try to do literally anything at all but it's useless. his body has you completely pinned, unable to move an inch if he doesn't allow it. he's ruining you like an animal, his other hand finally coming down to palm over your clit. the added friction is just enough, scrambling for purchase in his arms as you cum around him, eyes rolling back with a yelp.
it's all he needs to go over that edge, emptying inside you with a noise that borders on feral. it's electric, and when he pulls out you nearly sob at the sensitivity. he watches the fluids drip, tacky and thick on the tarp as he huffs. "ridiculous." as though he didn't crave it.
he doesn't just roll off. you always thought that was interesting. he lets you slump onto the tarp, boneless and pliable. and he... cleans you up. he wipes off the fluid and practically gives you a bath with a wet rag. you're floating in the afterglow, but his stare is intense-- like he's focusing. the precision of someone polishing a weapon.
he cuddles too, well, not really. it's not a "cuddle." it's a hold. it's his arms securing you against his chest again, like he refuses to let go of something important. it's moreso a claim in biological form. he knows you're his toy. and he has to keep his belongings in tip top shape, so why would he just walk off after that?
jolly vulpes inculta: dont worry. i wont have you put on the naughty list like the rest of these coal-getters. its useful that you happened by. i want you to witness the festivity of the north pole. to memorize every snowflake. and then, when you move on? i want you to show everyone you meet the gifts that santa's elves made here, especially any naughty-listers you run across.
the shyer or more reserved men slowly getting more comfortable with that fact that you're his. grabbing you and pulling you into him without fear of rejection. letting his hands wander without asking. voicing his desire without embarrassment. pressing his hips into your ass without hesitation.
Do you think Alex still had his comms when he got apprehended and held by Menendez's men
Do you think Alex could hear Hudson telling Woods to shoot what he realised was himself
Do you think Alex was trying to scream into his line, to tell Woods it was him
Do you think Alex died scared and confused
Do you think Woods hated Hudson, not for making him kill Mason, but for sacrificing himself and letting him—a man with nothing left to live for—survive and suffer
Do you think Woods never married or had a family of his own because Mason's used to feel like his
Do you think Woods started dreading the day David would start looking like his father
Do you think David enlisted for the navy because he subconsciously remembered the SEALS rescuing him and Woods
Do you think David remembered all the wrong parts of that night; some nut kidnapping him, threatening the bald man, waving a gun in their faces, and the corpse of his father when he woke up
Do you think David thought his dad died cause he was held ransom all those years
Do you think David regretted being so resentful of his father ever since?
Ghost is the type of person to wait for you to tie your shoes.
Not because the rest of the team is neglectful, but Simon just lives life a little slower than the others.
When you fall back to kneel down and fix the untied laces, everyone else is still chattering excitedly about the time off and end up getting a bit ahead. But when you look up from your shoe, Simon is right there, body tilted toward you and waiting.
“Ready?”
Kyle is the guy who will bring the conversation back to your point after you’ve been interrupted.
Some bar fight breaks out and everyone gets drawn away from the conversation, and you don’t expect to be able to continue where you left off until,
“What were you saying, love?”
Price will make physical space for you. Hanging out with some of the buffest guys the UK has to offer sometimes means they get a little pushy. Especially at the pub with alcohol in their system. So, John will shove his broad shoulders around to broaden the circle for you, making sure you don’t get pushed out.
“There ya are, sweetheart.”
Soap will make sure you are explicitly invited to plans. When everyone is talking about going out after work and you’re just kind of…also at the table, you might be inclined to think you’re just an eavesdropper of the conversation. That is, until Soap turns to you with his excited eyes.
“Yer comin’, aren’t ya? We want ya there!”
It’s these little habits that you don’t think they even realize they do. The ones that heal that bit of your soul from when you were a kid and felt invisible. You never thought you would find a home in a place like this, but they keep making space for you.
Late night walks in the woods lead him to stumbling upon a group of teenagers trying to get high in arboreal privacy. They quickly decide he is way too fucking big and his gate is too strange to be completely human before they dip out as quickly as possible.
It becomes a trend to try and snap a photo of him, to summon him. Stories get skewed naturally and over time he’s eight feet tall with a horrible limp and skin that stretches thin around the mouth because it’s borrowed.
You don’t pay any mind to them. You don’t believe in the supernatural or losing your peace in the wooded path from the back of your home that you trek.
A branch snap sets you on edge, but you push through. The atmosphere around you going quiet however, makes you pause and turn around.
You see what you believe is him but…he’s just a man. A behemoth of a man who seems to favor his right leg a little more than the left.
“Scared me,” you call out to him with a chuckle, making it known that you see him while trying to soothe yourself that you’re being silly.
“Should,” he says simply before a hand clasps over your mouth.
