previously when-pigsfly. black. frequent reblogger of explicit/dark content. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI.
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dividers: @/saradika-graphics

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@springsylph
previously when-pigsfly. black. frequent reblogger of explicit/dark content. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI.
masterlist / ao3 / fic blog / recs / asks
inbox — open (come say hi!)
dividers: @/saradika-graphics
I do not force xreaders to be blank slates. I do not leave hate comments if a xreader character behaves in a way I wouldn’t. I don’t demand part two’s. I let the writer take me on a journey and enjoy the fic as they intended as it is their labor of love. And if I don’t enjoy the fic? I EXIT THE FIC AND SAY NOTHING TO THE AUTHOR!!!
Post Mission haircut
somehow stumbling back in time to aftermath of the first crusade and being found by a traumatised, battle hardened knight who is convinced you're some vision of evil tempting him outside of the holy land, and it's his moral duty to "purify" you.
(and then, subsequently, keeping you a cute lil pet for himself as he uses the land he was given for his service to build a prison home for his newfound family.)
one last post with things i’ll be getting to in the coming months before i slink back into my cave for the day
ghost if he were one of those weird cats
risky play.
early access + nsfw on patreon monster!AU masterpost
Soft boys
Also, Soap may or may not have draped himself dramatically and prettily over the desk to wait for Ghost
they will never convince me to take fuck out of my star wars fics. i'm fine with throwing in some kark and kriff and osik and shab whatever that's all well and good but they will have to pry the real life swear fuck from my cold dead hands. kark simply does not hit the same and canon can eat dirt when i've decided it's time for commander cody to say "what the fuck are you talking about sir" or some shit equivalent
from bright shadows // masterlist
simon riley x f!reader. ballet au.
pinterest board. cod masterlist. ao3.
a fragile star burned out in its prime fits right in with the ebb and flow of new york city. you’re content with your self imposed exile, but the sky reaches out to you every now and then. they propose a return to form. (the peace offering they extend this time around doesn’t belong to them. he says he belongs to no one.)
cw: black f!reader. dj! simon. set in nyc. fluff + angst. random dance jargon. discussions of body dysmorphia. eventual smut. slow burn (?). tags to be added.
call time
blocking
stop and start
to the end
notes
…
hey don’t be a gross pervert without me :(
young single father soap wondering why you’re slamming your front door in his face and threatening to “call the cops” when you’ve been moaning and groaning for weeks on twitter about wanting a dilf to come sweep you off your feet
enter, pursued by a memory
the 141 don't need fidget toys, because they've got you.
soap slinging an arm around your shoulder, reaching to cup at your tit and pinch a nipple every once in a while as he rambles about something to gaz, who has your hand tucked between his. kneading at your palm and fiddling each of your fingers because he needs something to do when soap's been blabbering on for this long.
price uses your ass as a stress ball. doesn't matter how much or how little you have back there, he's finding a way to squeeze it. pinch it. whatever he wants while his brain swirls with too many things at once. simon's the worst, as usual–slipping his fingers past your waistband and settling the pad of his middle finger against your clit. he'll spend an entire hour treating the poor thing like his own personal button, trapping your against his body and fussing with the nub with the blankest stare you've ever seen in your life.
© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚