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MASTERLIST

[trashi-bee]

Btw can you repost the caught red handed part 2 i cant find it anywhere but I'm just wondering but you don't have to if you don't want to

Caught Red-Handed Pt. 2

Pairing: Reader x Dom! Nikki x Vince x Tommy Warnings: 18+!!, language, hair pulling, choking, double penetration, unprotected sex, face fu

I haven’t been on Tumblr for so long, but I saw your ask and knew I had to respond 😎 here it is!! 💗

[trashi-bee]

heyy😭 sorry but i was reading your “caught red handed” fanfic and i literally love it it’s so well written but pt.2 wouldn’t show up, just wondering cause i’d love to finish it and i wanted to ask if it was taken down or if you deleted it

LOL SORRY I JUST SAW THIS BUT IM GLAD U ACTUALLY FOUND PART 2 🥹💗💗💗

[stranger-nightmare]

𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ~ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

strictly 18+ only // all content warnings can be found on each link

forewarning: obviously the voices aren’t going to sound exactly like the actors / characters so I’ve gone more for how the vibes and attitudes fit with the characters, you’ll just have to use your imagination tbh my darlings!!

most of these are intended for female / afab listeners

other than that go wild and happy listening my babies <3

Eddie Munson

cute goofy Eddie learning to dom

blowing shy virgin Eddie at a party

switch! Eddie wants to make you feel good

waking you up by eating you out

more switch! Eddie, dom then sub

pegging tied up Eddie

grinding on him whilst he works

Eddie being goofy and cuddly leading to a makeout session

getting fucked by the dungeon master

listening to Eddie jerk off

Steve Harrington

teasing you (fwb situation)

fucking you in a sundress in the middle of a park

jealous dom Steve

makeup sex with jealous Steve

Steve dirty talking and teasing you

voyeuristic Steve watching you get yourself off

Billy Hargrove

Billy gets you back for being a brat all day

putting you in your place (degradation)

Billy gets possessive when you wear your ex’s shirt

you get jealous so Billy reminds you you’re his

Billy’s jealous over your new roommate

Billy commanding and degrading you

Robin Buckley

friends to lovers, sharing a bed

shower sex with Robin

Robin wakes you up to fuck you

your first time with Robin

Robin helping you forget about your boyfriend

spending your day off in bed with Robin

experimenting, your first time with a girl

Robin worshipping your pussy

Nancy Wheeler

morning sex with Nancy

Nancy teaches you how to please her

more morning sex with Nancy

sharing a tent with Nancy

Nancy touching herself next to you until you wake up

Jonathan Byers

trying to be (soft) dom for the first time

needy sub Jonathan

first time with shy Jonathan

Jonathan isn’t getting the hint, so you take charge

riding devoted sub Jonathan after a stressful day

link to search website yourself

main masterlist // stranger things masterlist // stranger things audio list part two // stranger things audio list - other characters

p.s. I will keep adding more as and when I find them / when they’re sent to me <3

on that note, if you find any you think would fit the characters please do feel free to send them my way so I can add them to the list!!

tagging: @mothdruid @chaoticvigilantes @simp-lyme @brighteyedbushybrowed @haiishodenki @botanicalbarnes @dreamerlandz @kaitioo @multixfandomwriter @courtneyslove @elenarenee07

[trashi-bee]

Listen to the dungeon master one under Eddie and thank me later LOL

[trashi-bee]

Would 100% delete this account if it wasn’t for AOT. Still considering it tho.

To the people that’ve requested stuff through my inbox I appreciate it but unless I’m magically not depressed it’s not happening anytime soon LOL

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝑜𝓊𝓉 | ꪑ.ꪑ.

fandom marvel

featuring matt murdock x reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI / DARK FIC

content warning CNC (consensual nonconsent), roleplaying, dark!elements, matt losing control, unprotected sex, threats, breath play, semi public play, impact play, brief blackout, creampie kink, oral sex (f), use of a safe word, aftercare

summary the best way to keep his conscience in check is to let him stray every now and then. no one seemed to understand that but you.

word count 5k (yikes, sorry) / one shot

attention not proofread. do not read if you don’t like dark!fics (duh) because i’m not responsible for your media consumption and this fic contains consensual non consensual sex acts & abusive behavior! do not copy/repost/translate. reblog / give feedback. divider by @firefly-graphics !

“Look,” you exhale slowly, twisting the golden band on your ring finger as you consider the easiest way to let him down, “no offense but I—“

“You’re waiting on someone?” he asks, brows arching above the rounded edge of his dark glasses. “Husband, maybe, judging by the way you keep fidgeting with that ring. I’m guessing it’s a wedding band.”

you sigh, and nod, but answer quietly. “I’m married, but,” you glance around the bar, scanning each face, before your gaze falls on him again. the man on the stool beside you, his arm resting on the bar top, thick digits rimming the lip of his beer bottle. “My husband— he doesn’t exactly know that I’m here. It doesn’t matter, really, just looking to be left alone tonight.”

his smile remains, as if it’s been painted on his lips. he tilts his head to one side, as if he’s intrigued, or perplexed, by this new information. “He doesn’t know where you are?” a breathy chuckle escapes his grinning countenance, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous? A girl like you?”

your eyes narrow, and you hiss, somewhat defiantly. “A girl like me? A girl like me can take care of herself, keep that in mind.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” he answers smoothly, the arrogance that has you gritting your teeth as his smile contorts into a flippant expression as he shrugs, “Didn’t mean anything by it, you just seem sweet. Your voice is soft and kind,” there’s a subtle twitch in the left corner of his mouth that you take note of, before he adds, “but I suppose that you’ve gotten good at lying to men, haven’t you?”

staring at him incredulous, you scoff, “Just what the fuck do you know about me, anyways? I—“

“I know you’re in some sleazy bar late at night, and that your husband doesn’t know where you are.” he leans close, as if whispering a terrible secret, his palm finding your bare thigh and rubbing firm circles, “I know you’re wearing a dress too short to be wanting to be left alone, and cheap perfume that you don’t mind wasting, drenching yourself in to… cover up the scent of the man you plan on cheating on your husband with. Should I keep going?”

“No.” you snap, fed up with the glaringly obvious truths spilling from his lips, “no. You should get up and walk away. Right now.”

this is the moment his aura shifts, the air between the two of you seems to thicken with tension and you can see his jaw working as he grinds his teeth. it’s almost intimidating, but you try not to seem too disturbed by it, clearing your throat, you turn back towards your nearly-empty glass, kicking your leg in hopes to shake his hand free of your thigh.

“It’s not going to fucking happen.”

the weirdest part about him was that he stayed. sure, he put some distance between the two of you, but merely moved to one of the tables in the corner. and that’s where he sat, drinking, waiting. you could swear that the man didn’t plan on leaving until you did, so you tested your theory.

you stayed until last call.

and the man did, too. he hadn’t talked to anyone else after you, just sat at the table and ordered beer after beer.

just as the bartender swaggered over to you, flipping a rag over his shoulder, you felt a body breeze past you from behind— it was his cologne. you turned on the stool to see him leaving the bar, silently, and taking careful steps, guided by a nearly rhythmic tapping of the white cane in front of him. you felt a wave of relief upon watching him leave— not that he seemed necessarily dangerous (just a massive prick), but you couldn’t explain the jitters you felt when his hand rested on your thigh. pensive, you run your fingertips over the affected area.

“All right, lady.” the bartender huffs, “You ain’t gotta go home, but ya can’t stay here.”

snapping back to the present, you nod, gathering your things and pulling yourself to your feet. “Oh! Right, sorry.” nibbling on your bottom lip, you settle your tab and exit the bar with a couple of late-night stragglers.

you hadn’t been expected the rain. a steady shower that had started sometime after you’d went inside, and now you’re standing in the middle of it, soaking from head to toe, and wishing you brought an umbrella.

you fish in your clutch for your phone to order an Uber, but think better of it. a cab, instead. there was one approaching from over the hill and you take a step forward, extending your arm to wave it over.

that’s when he grabs you.

one palm clamps over your mouth hard, whilst the other plants itself firmly on your midsection, hoisting you off the sidewalk and away from the street. your first instinct is to scream, a muffled sound drowned out by the rain. your next was to fight. you thrash wildly against your attacker, kicking until one of your heels flies off and lands in a mud puddle he drags you by, your arms flailing in attempts to reach his face. when they do, you feel thick, soaked fabric over his eyes, and no matter how you try to sink your nails in, you can’t seem to get a grip. the man drags you into the alleyway by the bar’s employee exit with you protesting violently the whole way. finally, he grunts when you grasp his cheek, and jerks it away, before flinging you on to your back on the metal door of the dumpster.

wheezing loud through his tightly sealed fingers, you arch your back, eyes fluttering as you feel every bit of wind knocked from your lungs. his hand is tight over your mouth but he leans close to your face. even in the rain, you recognize the scent of his cologne. the man from the bar, but he’s certainly dressed different. clad in all black, he appears as a wicked shadow of the suit-wearing asshole he was before. your eyes squint, blinking rapidly as raindrops blur your vision ever so slightly, but you’re glaring up at him, screaming obscenities through his palm and kicking your legs.

“You’re going stop screaming,” he mutters, lips hovering dangerously close to your cheek, “so I can take my hand off your mouth, or I’m going to have to make you be quiet. Understand?”

fuck him. fuck him!

you only howl louder against his hand, both hands latching on to his wrist. your nails bite at the thickness of his gloves, but you can’t tell if they actually go through.

his free hand comes down in a tight, strong fist and strikes the metal inches from your skull, a bang as loud as a gunshot making your ears ring. a strangled whimper dies in his palm, dizzy from the noise and grateful that you had narrowly avoided being hit hard enough to produce that kind of sound.

“I said you’re going to stop screaming.” he repeats. his fist must’ve been throbbing, but he didn’t let any discomfort reach the stoicism of his countenance, or what you could see of it— “Now, scream again, and maybe my aim gets a little better. Understand?” the grip over your mouth has his clothed digits digging into the flesh of your cheeks, and he uses the leverage to nod your head for you. “I’m going to take it off, now, and you’re going to behave.”

he does, and you follow his rules, for now. huffing, you attempt to suck in as much, burning oxygen as you can, sputtering raindrops.

“Smart girl.” he seems pleased, or at least approves of your cooperation, and he snatches the purse from your shoulders, tearing it open.

panting, you prop one elbow into the rusted metal you’re lain upon to try and push yourself up. “So what, you want.. money? Take it, Jesus. Could’ve just snatched my purse from the street.”

“I don’t want your money.”

and, you watch him punctuate that statement by emptying the contents of your purse on to the concrete, sparkling like night stars. a small handgun, compact mirror, cellphone, wallet.

“Then what the fuck do you want?”

his hand latches on to one of your ankles, yanking you to the very edge of the dumpster so abruptly that you lose your balance and fall back against it with a soft grunt. “I want to give you what you want.” he murmurs, gripping both of your knees to pry them open. no matter how hard you try to close them, he’s much too strong to compete with, and he forces them wide enough for him to step between with ease. “What you were looking for the moment you stepped foot into that bar dressed the way you did.”

you dig your knees into his ribs from either side with a furious snarl. “No!” you exclaim, pushing yourself up again to throw both of your arms in his direction. he lays a palm flat against your sternum and overpowers you with ease, holding you down with your spine flush against the dumpster. he was so goddamn strong, you remember thinking, that fighting against him was practically useless. “I don’t want this,” you hiss, and he uses his teeth to pull the glove off of his free hand and discard it beside your writhing frame, “I don’t want this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you can keep repeating that mantra,” he murmurs, his now bare hand delving between your open thighs to find the warmth that lives there. fist curling around the thin fabric of your panties, with one jerk, he’s torn them from your body with a horrible sound echoing around you. he grunts low, like a beast, when he finds it; the rough pads of his digits worm their way underneath your delicate nether lips, and for the first time, you see a grin etch his lips upward, flashing pearly white teeth, “but your pussy’s wet, you know. Drenched, actually.” wrist craning, his thumb presses hard on your button like he knows exactly where to find it and you suppress a needy moan, hips rocking to try and escape his filthy caress. “Been that way since I told you that it was dangerous being out here alone. I could smell your juicy cunt in the bar, you know that? Even from across the damn room, I could feel the warmth radiating from it, fucking needy, little pussy. Tell me I’m mistaken.”

even with the chill of the raindrops on your face, the apples of your cheeks burn with humiliation. had you truly been turned on at the prospect of danger, or was this masked man full of shit? you couldn’t remember properly, like everything before his hand between your hips was a distant memory. his first, two digits tease your clenching hole before he pushes them in and hooks them there, like an anchor inside of your body. the moan escapes you now, tearing through your tightly pursed lips like a bat out of hell. “You’re mistaken…” you murmur, but the excited fluttering of your walls against his fingers gives you away.

“And you’re a bad liar.”

his fingers dive deeper, curling every few centimeters or so, and you grit your teeth, your own hand covering your mouth to prevent any more moaning. still, it was hard to deny how good it felt, the skillful prodding of his digits. “Goddamn, that’s a tight, little hole.” his breathing had become somewhat ragged, like he’d been running a marathon, but only after he got to feel you. it was you that was making him this way, pant and grunt and dig his fingers into the fabric of your dress where he still held you down. “Just begging to get stuffed full of dick, isn’t that right?”

you shudder, body aching at every syllable as it hangs in the air around you. your legs tremble against his taut frame, looking up at him with a bleary gaze. allowing your hand away from your mouth, you push against the wrist that plants his palm firmly on your chest, “Don’t—“

but the sound of the zipper whirring makes your head spin. puts you on edge. you squirm until you’re partially crumpled on the lid of the dumpster, neck craned as far as it will without pain to see him retrieving himself from the fabric prison of his inky trousers. even in the blur of the rain, the dim lighting of the barren alley, you see it. thick and heavily veined, already rock hard and throbbing. ready to fuck you into an oblivion like you’ve never experienced before. the thought makes your stomach turn, for all the wrong reasons.

temporarily stunned, you don’t even realize that his hand has slipped from your chest and, instead, cradles the back of your neck, urging you forward.

“I gotta feel that tight cunt wrap around my cock right fucking now,” his words are an exhale, a spectral version of a statement that has goosebumps raising over your arms and legs, “be a good girl and take it.”

the force at which he enters you is astounding. if you weren’t so wet, it might have even hurt. you suck in a whimper that was threatening to fill the air between the two of you as he bottoms out, swelling your canal to max capacity with a single thrust.

“That’s it,” he moans, jaw clenched tight, he hauls you closer to his body, slumped in a forced sitting position with your legs swinging helplessly at his hips, “that’s good.” his grip on the back of your neck seems to tighten, pushing you closer to him as if he couldn’t get deep enough to satiate his lust for the destruction of your cunt.

you mewl, lewdly so, and slam the sides of your fists against the broad expanse of his solid chest. the fabric that clings to it makes a slick thudding, like the sound you may hear if you jumped on a wet trampoline. “You can’t!” you protest, choking back sounds of pleasure that so desperately wish to assure him that he most certainly can, “You can’t do this! Stop! Stop—“

the familiar sensation of his thick palm clamping over your lower mandible returns to shut you up, only this time, his thumb and forefinger pinch your nostrils closed at the same time. “I said I needed your cunt, never said anything about your mouth—“ he grunts, his rutting finding a violent pace as he jackhammers himself into you. you dig your nails deep into the sleeve that covers his forearm, wriggling helplessly as the masked devil takes you. “I’ll take it, too, when I’m done wrecking this sweet, little fuckhole, but hush up until then.” your eyelids flutter, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen reaching them. he doesn’t seem to care, though you get the feeling he’s aware, and he shifts, positioning you like a rag doll, with one of your legs thrown over his bicep so he can force it back towards your chest when he leans forward, opening you up for a more thorough plowing.

the angle gives his throbbing length access to new depth, and the swollen head of his cock batters your insides with reckless abandon. “Yeah,” he spits, husky and starving in your ear, “Yeah. Dick’s way deep in that pussy, isn’t it?” he can feel the vibration of your sobs of protest melding into helpless moans of ecstasy. “I know you like it, sweet girl, I can tell by the way you’re gripping me right now— holy hell, what is it? Hubby doesn’t fuck you hard enough? That why you’re here, throwing yourself into the water like a piece of fuckmeat, and waiting to see what shark is gonna come up and take the bait?” you gurgle in response, lids heavy but you force them to stay open, sinking your teeth into the glove. it wouldn’t be enough, you realized, it probably didn’t even hurt. but you were in a whirlwind of sensation, your belly churning as your walls milk his girth. he grunts, gasping for a proper breath as he keeps yours nonexistent, his lips smearing saliva and raindrops over your cheek before he snarls, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ the expletives sound especially sinful when uttered in that coarse whisper, broken into base syllables, edged by the pleasure of hurting you. by smothering you.

smothering. the word rings true as your lungs ache and yearn for oxygen, you start to jerk and squirm, hoping to -at least- break a gap between his fingers to suck air through, but he holds you tight and close to his heaving chest, your forehead smashed against it. “You wanna breathe, sweet girl?” he teases wickedly, plumbing your depths with a ferocity that had to be unique to him. “Because I’ll let you, all you gotta do is cum for me, first. You’re close already, I know it—“ he groans, his jaw tight, “I can hear your heartbeat, fast like a scared little bunny, and feel how tight your little pussy is getting around me, you’re gonna cum so fucking hard, huh? Even harder because you can’t breathe.”

he’s right. heavens, is he right! your climax washes over you like a tidal wave, pulls you to the depths of ecstasy like an undertow. you thrash like you’re drowning, screaming muffled through his hand until your throat is raw and sore, and you see white specks, like stars dancing about him. darkness burns the edges, vision like vingette as you quiver, locked in place. “That’s it, good girl,” he huffs, forcing you to ride through your orgasm, “give me a nice, big one. Just… like… that…”

dizzy is no longer a strong enough word to express how you feel. you’re beyond dizzy, you’re weightless. you’re floating through space, directionless, helpless, and utterly broken. your grip loosens on his wrist, only slightly, and he reacts in turn, releasing your mouth and nose to strike your cheek in rapid slaps, bringing you back into the consciousness you’d been slipping out of. “Come back, sweet girl, come on. Not, ah, not done with you, not yet.”

the breath you take almost feels like the first one. it’s new and it burns all the way down, you sputter and spew rain drops, choking on sweet oxygen when you come to, eyes wide and trying to adjust. you flail in his grip, temporarily disoriented and scared, until he hooks that one leg over his shoulder and grips the back of your neck with both hands, fingers interlacing against your nape, forcing your chin towards your flouncing breasts.

“I want you to watch,” he pants, ragged and needy, in your ear, “watch me fuck your little cunt and tell me what you see.”

you’ve no choice with the way he’s pressing your chin into your chest. you moan but it’s a strangled, frustrated sound. “I—“ you pause, pursing your lips to try and kill a whine of pleasure; it doesn’t work, “I—I see your cock going in and out of me!” sucking in another breath, your eyes are glued to the vividly obscene display where your bodies connected, “And, fuck, you’re going deep-p— my— I came all over it!”

he’s buried his face in your neck, sucking on the tender skin and teasing your pulse point with his teeth to muffle his own, needy moans. “Yeah?” he asks, “Is your clit nice and swollen? Aching?”

you bite down on your lower lip, “Y—yeah…!”

he inhales deep, teeth grazing your collar bone, rutting more erratically. “Play with it.”

you shudder at even the thought of touching the screaming bundle of nerves. “I can’t— I’m too sensitive!” you protest, shaking your head.

“Not gonna tell you again,” he huffs, “rub your greedy pussy for me.” his jaw tightens, and you can feel his member palpitating deep inside you. “Shit, I need to feel you cum again.”

you try to look at his face, adjust your body so you can see the muscles in his jaw pulled tight, or at least so you could see something other than your body swallowing his cock like you were starved for it. one, trembling hand approaches your sex with caution, fingers prodding experimentally at your clitoris. the slightest poke sends electricity through your veins, and you let out a pathetic, little squeak.

“Keep going.”

you swallow hard around a lump in your throat but obey, rubbing your nub harder and quicker. you groan, half in pleasure and half from how sensitive you were— how it almost hurt to touch yourself now.

“Ah, fuck,” he moans in your ear, heavy breath sending chills down your spine, “you’re getting tight again. Heart beat kicking up. I bet you feel that churning in your belly, don’t you? Don’t stop, sweet girl, make yourself cum on my cock one more time.”

you hated that he was right; loathed that the constant decimation of your sex and the new stimulation has brought on a second orgasm. you convulse, eyes rolling back when you cum for the second time in a matter of minutes, this one hitting you much harder than the first. expletives spill from your swollen lips and tangle within labored breathing; your hips jut forward to meet the violence of his rutting, to accept the battering he deals you with a masochistic lust.

“I’m close. Real close.” you could already tell by the way his moans had turned into hisses of breath, and how he throbs inside of you, but hearing him say it only extended your orgasm for another few seconds. “I’m gonna cum— gonna fill you up, sweet girl.”

you didn’t even have time to protest.

warmth engulfs your interior, spreading through your belly like a wildfire, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his moans muffled and vibrating the flesh of your throat.

several seconds pass.

you can feel his seed oozing from the join of your bodies, sticking to your thighs and smearing over his pants, and he stays there, getting his breathing under control, while he deposits what seems like years of pent up sexual frustration into your guts. after what seems like a lifetime of aftershocks shared between the both of you, he retreats, using one hand to pull himself free while the other holds your nape, flinging you off of the dumpster and on to the concrete below. you land on your feet, but your knees are like jelly, and you melt to the wet ground shortly after, panting, wheezing. looking up at him, looming over you, you can see that his cock is twitching madly, but his grip on it is tight, thumb massaging the protruding vein. was he… was he stroking himself back to life?

aware that going another round with this man meant your willpower would be completely shattered, you roll yourself on to your knees and look around, heart beating fast and hard against your ribs. you catch sight of your phone, a few feet away, and scramble towards it, extending your hand for it. you were so close that the tips of your fingers brushed across the screen and it lit up, the words FACE ID NOT RECOGNIZED USE PASSCODE flashing.

then, you feel his hands in your hair. delving deep against the roots, he yanks hard, and your back arches, knees digging into the gravel. “Ah!” it’s partially a cry of frustration, and partially a startled gasp.

“You thought we were done?” he asks, chest heaving as he drops to his own knees behind you. the grip on your scalp keeps your head forward, tilted back, and he wedges his knees between yours, forcing them wide open again. you moan, helpless and weak, when you feel the rain mixing with his cum on your thighs, more oozing out of you. “We’re not done.”

“Please!” you whine; you know how pathetic and tiny you must sound to him, but you can’t help yourself. “I can’t cum again! I just can’t!”

“Sure you can, sweet girl,” he scoffs, every word laced with acid, “I’m gonna make it easy for you.” he leans in close to your sex, inhaling the concoction of scents. yours and his, before licking a thick stripe between your nether lips. you squeal, trying to crawl forward to escape the tingling in your toes and the throbbing of your clit, but his grip is too strong. “I’m gonna fuck you with my tongue until you beg me to stop.”

your thighs quaking, you mewl and babble and beg him to let you rest, to stop this torture of never ending orgasms, but he’s too deep between your thighs to listen. his tongue dives into your abused hole, slurping on his own taste as well as your desire. he nibbles on your folds, both hands planted firm on your ass cheeks with his fingers dug in deep. you reach for the phone again, and groan when you see that it’s just out of the way, the very tips of your digits can only just ghost over the home button. the visage of salvation just beyond your fingertips, leaving you at the mercy of the man in black taunts you.

his couplet encases your clit in warm, tongue swirling around it, and you can feel the stubble on his jaw rubbing you raw. your whole body is shaking so violently that you’re forced to brace yourself with both palms on the concrete. “I can’t,” you moan, desperate, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” those two words are repeated over and over as he devours your core, another orgasm fast approaching. you were at your limit. you were done.

“Silver,” you whisper, breathless, and you feel him stop and pull away from you. “Silver, Matty, silver.”

your name falls from his lips. not sweet girl. your name. he releases your hair, but his palm falls to caress your face as he crawls up to kneel at your side. you rest your fiery cheek against the bare palm and look up at him— his mouth is sparkling with your arousal coating that and his jaw, but his lips are pulled downwards in a concerned frown. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Just really sensitive, now.” you assure him, grabbing on to his arm with both hands to haul yourself into a sitting position, “I just—“ you tilt your head, shaking digits pushing the black mask from over his eyes. those gentle eyes. then, you cradle his face in both hands and guide his lips to yours in a soft peck. “Take me home, yeah?”

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you hum, softly, running your fingers through Matt’s freshly washed, damp tendrils as he rests his head in your lap. the two of you had been curled up on the couch in that spot since after your shower together, where you took turns washing one another carefully. it was somewhat of a routine, and one that assured him that he had done no real damage to you during the session.

he turns his head, resting the back of it against your thigh. you pause, before brushing along his scalp near the top of his ear instead. he looks up towards the ceiling, hand reaching for your face. your free hand gently guides it to your cheek, and you nuzzle into the caress. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“All of it. The game, the safewords… why?” he doesn’t seem disappointed or angry, but merely confused. “No one’s ever really done anything like this with me… For me.”

you tilt your head, thoughtfully twirling a damp lock of his hair around your forefinger. “You told me before, that you had the devil inside of you.” he nods, still not getting it. “Well,” you start, watching his countenance carefully, “The devil’s like a dog trapped inside. And if you never let a dog out of the house, they rip up furniture, eat things they’re not supposed to. They destroy things because they’re bored, understimulated.”

“So, what you’re saying is that all of this is you metaphorically taking the devil inside me for a walk?” his brow quirks, and he chortles lowly in amusement.

you scoff, shaking your head. “Not exactly, and thanks a lot, you just screwed up my metaphor.” your fingertips glide over his scalp and towards his forehead, drawing soft, loving circles about his temple, “Every now and then, the devil needs to be let out, needs to breathe and run. If we keep him stimulated in a safe environment, there isn’t any need for him to destroy, is there?”

Matt cocks his head to the side, “But who says it’s all that safe? I could hurt you one of these nights.” his voice lowers as he says it, as if simply uttering the words brought a sadness over him.

you arch your eyebrows, “You would never hurt me, Matthew Murdock.” sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you turn your head to press your lips to his fingers, kissing the golden band on one of them in particular, “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t trust you.”

“And if I don’t trust myself?”

“Then, trust me.” you murmur against it, “Trust me.”

he seems pensive for a moment, and is quiet as he thinks. “All right, I trust you, baby.” he smiles, letting go of your cheek to instead pat his lips with the pad of his forefinger twice. it was his way of telling you to kiss them. you do as instructed, leaning over to press your couplet to his, and you smile into the embrace. “Mm… even though you go to sleazy bars in town late at night without telling me.”

a giggle bubbles, uncontrollably, out to break the kiss and you nip at his lower lip with a playfully thoughtful hum, “Well, I guess that means you just need to fuck me more, Mr. Murdock.”

“Oh?” he chuckles, too, and sits up, turning to angle your chin up towards him with his forefinger curled beneath it. the pad of his thumb runs over your lower lip, and he grins wide. “I think I can do that, Mrs. Murdock.”

[dollwritesarchive]

KAHSJAHDKD you have to post a pic of the mega dick we need to see this

KEEP IN MIND I took these in my storage closet but!!

you babes wanna see what jotun loki’s dick probably looks like? (Keep in mind this has an INSERTABLE length of 11 inches)

Also @agentofbarnes for your upcoming jotun fic and @jamalflanagan because you’re nasty 🥰

SOOO YEAH :) jotun loki gonna SCRAMBLE some guts

[trashi-bee]

Fucking ART

[dollwritesarchive]

spoil my night : JT

fandom sons of anarchy

featuring jax teller x reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI

content warning all smut, mild femdom, panty sniffing, dry humping/grinding, use of handcuffs, hair pulling, needy!jax

summary okay y’all blame @jamalflanagan for getting me back on my soa bullshit, because this idea hit me like a bus. reader takes control of Jax while he’s cuffed.

word count 1.2k / mini musing

attention not proofread. do not translate or repost. reblog & leave feedback if you enjoyed!

“You’re havin’ a helluva time with this, aintcha?”

“Why not?” you snicker, staring at the blonde seated on your couch with his hands behind his back. locking them together was a pair of metal cuffs, and whenever he shifts, he orchestrates a horrific scraping sound. you didn’t know how they’d gotten there, or how he’d ended up in your apartment instead of the county jail, which was undoubtedly where he must’ve been heading, restrained the way he was, and you didn’t much care to ask.

“Because I’m fuckin’ handcuffed, maybe?” he responds with an incredulous scoff, before he leans forward to crane his neck and nod towards the kitchen behind you, “go in there and get something to pick the locks with.”

you were simpering, one brow arched, arms crossed over your chest, and you practically ignore him. “It’s pretty hot to see ya like this.” you tilt your head to the side, and add in a mischievous tone, “you would never let me cuff you up like this. Always gotta be the big man in charge, always gotta dominate,” your eyes flicker over the state of him, as you reach for the loose knot of your silk robe. you can see him shifting, sliding downwards to get nice and comfortable on the couch, but the metal digs into his wrists and he wrinkles his nose briefly. his eyes, two azure gems, are steady focused on your hands as they tug at the knot. “So, before I get you out of those things, I think I’ll have a little fun.”

the blonde looks up at your countenance for a moment, shaking his head in bemusement. “You evil bitch. You know exactly why I’d never letcha take control, it’s because you’re a little cocktease. You play too many games.”

a devious giggle bubbles to your lips in response, “oh, you’re right about that, baby. But—“ you pause and gesture to him on the couch, “—I don’t think you have much of a say in what I do to you right now, do you?” with the tie undone, the robe sags against your biceps, parting to expose your bare breasts. a few inches south of your navel was still clothed in silky panties, hue matching that of the robe.

Jax all but licks his lips, eyes hungry and locked on your naked figure. “Shit,” he murmurs beneath his breath. you grin wider, victorious upon seeing the telltale protuberance in his jeans, and palm yourself through the panties. “Get that sexy ass over here and bounce it on my cock, then.”

it was almost a laughable demand, considering how helpless he was in this moment, how much control you had over him, and you let him know so quickly, sauntering towards the couch. “Are you trying to give orders, Teller?” you tease, reaching for and grabbing a fistful of golden tendrils at his scalp.

he grunts in response, but tilts his head back at your command, smirking against grit teeth. “It was worth a shot,” he shrugs, defeated, “besides, you really gonna act like you don’t want to just to make me suffer?”

“Oh, I want to,” you purr, bending forward to reach his member through his jeans with the other hand. it’s firm and thick against your palm and he groans upon the contact, “and you’d better believe I’m going to have your fat cock in every one of my little fuckholes before the night is over, but for once in your life, Jax Teller, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

instead of seeming disappointed, Jax’s lips etch upwards in a grin, his breathing labored as you caress the hard, throbbing lump in his pants. “I think I can do that.” he replies, before chewing on his bottom lip.

standing up straight, you mirror his countenance, kicking one foot up to press it against the back of the couch beside his head. “You’re gonna have to do better than ‘I think so’.” you murmur, wiggling your clothed sex before his eyes as if you were dangling a juicy steak in front of a starving lion. you were already wet, a dark patch forming against the silken lingerie, but watching his insatiable gaze attempt to devour your most intimate section is only adding to your dampness.

“Fucking hell,” Jax breathes out, awestruck at the visage before him. licking his lips, his neck cranes as he attempts to reach your core from where he sits, “why don’t you take those panties off and let me eat that pretty pussy, baby?”

it was a beyond tempting offer, and one that you were certain you would take him up on eventually, but whilst you had Jax Teller bound and helpless, you couldn’t help yourself. you wanted to make him run the gauntlet. drive him crazy with your skillful teasing until he was foaming at the mouth and so desperate for your cunt that he had tears in his eyes. so, your grip on his hair stops him just short, and you stare down into his eyes. “Licking my pussy is a privilege tonight, Teller, and you haven’t earned it.” your eyes wild and excited from the sudden acquisition of power, you close the gap between his face and your core by perching yourself atop it, muffling a pleased mumble from Jax.

you elicit a vulgar mewl, yourself, the moment Jax nuzzles into the fabric of your panties. the tip of his nose serves as a pinpoint of stimulation directly against your swollen clit, and even through the lingerie, the sensation is electric as he drags his face up and down. Jax inhales deeply, taking the scent of your arousal into him, and a deep rumble erupts from within his throat. beastly, you think, is the best way to describe it. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” was what he said, finally, hardly audible through the organic gag. his words reverberate deep within your core and you shudder, hips undulating to grind against his face, prolong and intensify the pleasure garnered from the junction.

you could only smile breathlessly for several moments, eyelids fluttering and expletives residing on the very tip of your tongue as you rock against his smiler, fingers cruel in their vice on his locks to hold him in place. content to rut into his face and smother him with your sex, you could feel a fire already beginning to bubble in your belly, and a curse slips through your parted lips in the form of a long moan. “Fuck, just like that, Jax…”

the blonde grunts and responds, opening his mouth to draw in the damp fabric of your panties, pulling at it with his teeth. “C’mon, baby,” he urges, his own hips rocking to grind into the air, needy to feel stimulation of his own. you decide to ignore it. “Take these fucking things off and give me that sweet snatch a’yours. Let me lick it ‘til you scream for me.”

when you chortle at his desperation, it’s a broken and wheezing laugh, punctuated by faint moaning as you press yourself more firmly against his mouth, as if to muzzle him with your body. “Mm, we have plenty of time for that, baby boy, but right now? Right now I’m gonna let you smell how wet my cunt is, taste me through my panties, and if you can make me cum just like this, then I’ll give you this pussy however you want.”

[dollwritesarchive]

tag list reblog !!

@trashi-bee / @littlemisscare-all / @fredweazleyswh0re / @shelickedthebeater / @buckybarnesplumwhore / @babybottlepop96 / @hermione-grangers-wife / @ayablackwood / @ginny-rose-sixx / @justanotherficreader / @alexwinter / @glxwingrxse

send an ask to be added !!

[trashi-bee]

PLEASE I WASNT READY FOR IT TO END 😭😭😭😭

[dollwritesarchive]

“Oh, the things I’d do to that pretty mouth.” With Sylvie pls! Thank you so much!

includes: smut ( minors dni ), dub con (reader is a hunter for the tva), brief violence, knife kink, 34+35 !

part of my 4k celebration / please reblog if you enjoy!!

the bad penny ;

the wind is knocked out of you as your back comes in contact with the hard ground. for a moment, white flashes behind your lids and a speckling of pulsating stars litter your hazy vision. unsure if you can move, you drag one knee upwards, planting your booted foot in the grass, and your head lazes to one side.

“You just won’t give up, will you?” the variant hisses as she encircles you, eyes wild. “Like a bad penny, isn’t that what Midgardians would say?”

“If you’re going to kill me, then just do it. Spare me your supervillain monologue.” you groan, digging your elbows into the earth to attempt and push yourself into a sitting position. your pruner was only an arm’s length away. if you could reach it before the variant struck you again, you could prune her. your arm shoots out for it, at what you thought would be lightning speed, but her boot catches your wrist and pins it to the ground. you cry out, and glare up at her. she’s extended a long, slender blade in your direction, and her eyes are wild and challenging— make your move, they tell you. just try.

“Kill you?” a twitch in one corner of her brow is vaguely noted, and mirrored by the edge of her mouth. “I’m not going to kill you, TVA.”

“Then, what the hell are you going to do with me?”

Sylvie grins, now, stepping closer, grinding the heel of her boot into your wrist. you wince, but keep your eyes on her free hand, working the armored vest off of her body until it falls to the floor. she shakes her perky, platinum waves, and whispers in a dangerous and enticing tone, “everything else.”

“Remove that ghastly plate on your chest,” she demands, releasing your wrist from under her heel. her foot sweeps to kick the pruning device far away from you, keeping the tip of the blade aimed in your direction. you obey, cautiously sitting up once more, and pry the armor from your body, tossing it aside, peering up at her with confusion and wariness. Sylvie tilts her head, and takes two steps forward, planting a boot on either side of you before squatting down.

hovering in a squatting, straddling position, her free hand glides over your torso, caressing the faint shape of your breasts through the thick fabric of your uniform. you’re curious to know if she can feel how rapid your heart was thumping, or spot your teeth nip at the inside of your cheek when she squeezes you just right. “That’s much better, but not good enough,” she whispers, lips hovering over yours. you can feel the heat of her breath on your pursed couplet. “I want to feel you bare. I’ll bet you’re soft.” the blade comes up from beneath your top, near your navel, and stretches the fabric outwards, inches away from your body. “Do you think you found me by chance, or due to your skill as one of the TVA’s little bloodhounds? Do you seriously believe that I haven’t been watching, waiting, orchestrating this whole meeting? I’ve set you up from the beginning, love. I saw you, and thought,” she pauses to shred through your top with the twinkling edge of the dagger as if slicing through warm butter, “oh, the things I’d do to that pretty mouth. And now? Here you are, at my mercy. Just what I wanted.”

audibly gasping at the sudden gust of cool air, your uniform hangs in tatters against your sides, and your breasts are exposed to the variant with the starving gaze.

“I’m flattered, but it doesn’t change anything.” you mutter, attempting to remain dignified even as she paws at your breast like a curious animal, teasing the nipple with her fingers. clenching your teeth, you bite back a ragged breath of enjoyment. “You’re still a variant and—“

“You’re in over your head, young hunter.” Sylvie finishes for you; it wasn’t the statement you had in mind, but it also wasn’t entirely untrue. “Don’t you worry your little head, I’m of no mind to alter either of our roles. When I’m finished with you, you will still be part of the precious TVA, and your fellow hunters will find you safe and sound, but quite ruined.”

she suddenly stands straight, and makes short work of the remaining, pesky garments she wears. you consider how easily you could escape right now, while she’s distracted, while the knife is far away from your person, but you hesitate. there’s a gnawing sensation that demands you stay, against all training, against your better judgement. stay and let her desecrate you.

once clad in nay but her black boots, she tilts her head and stares down at you. entranced by the beauty of her nudeness, the artistic design of her lithe frame from the subtle flaring of her hips to the perky breasts and erect nipples, you feel a churning in your belly, and a wetness forming in your panties. “Enjoying the view, are you?” she teases with a smirk. one boot gently urges you down by pressing the toe into your clavicle. “Allow me to give you a closer look.” and, pirouetting, she stands for a moment with her back to you before straddling your face.

her knees dug in on either side of your head, she wiggles her sex just above your mouth with a fond chortle, parting her folds with her willowy digits to give you a clear, up close and personal display of her clitoris and her spasming entrance. your mouth fills with warm saliva, suddenly feeling the same hunger you can spot in Sylvie’s eyes.

“Stick out your tongue,” she demands, hips already undulating in anticipation, “I’m going to ride it until I cum all over your pretty face.”

how easy it is to obey a woman that exudes authority. with your tongue hanging out, your hands clasp around her silken thighs and she closes the gap between her ass and your face, planting her core right on your waiting muscle. her taste is sweet and intoxicating and overtakes your senses, overwhelming you in moments. “Fuck,” she whispers harshly when you suckle on her clit, “it’s been too long, your mouth feels so good, I knew it would.”

it isn’t but a few minutes before Sylvie is rutting and bucking upon your lips, your tongue delved deep into her fluttering canal, you slurp on her and thrive off of the moaning getting louder above you. you would’ve been content to pleasure her; the very taste of her swelling your own clit until it’s throbbing, aching for attention. it’s as if Sylvie knows this, too, because she leans forward, resting her breasts against your abdomen, and slashes at your trousers with her dagger. “Let’s see this cunt,” she whispers; she sounds wickedly elated as the cool metal of the knife grazes your flimsy panties, “you’re so wet already, you’ve made a mess of these.” your hips jut forward and you moan against her slit in response, sending a wave of vibration through her. she moans, too. “Won’t be needing them anymore,” humming, she slices through the waistband and watches in awe as the fabric falls away from your sex.

you hear a faint thud as the dagger drops to the ground, but you’re distracted by the way Sylvie has hooked your knees behind her biceps, forcing your legs to spread wide for her. the fabric of your pants rips further at this, and you can imagine you’ll look like you were mauled by a bear when the TVA finally finds you, tattered uniform hanging from you the way it is. “There we go,” she croons in a soft, enchanting tone, “nice and wet for me. No resistance, no restraint, my tongue is going to ruin you in more ways than you can imagine.”

you knew she was right, even before she swirls her tongue over your swollen clit and nibbles and laps at your snatch while her fingers busy themselves by pumping inside of you. she moans as she works, pressing back into your own, diligent mouth, but you can do nothing but thrust your hips against her skillful pleasuring. you would be ruined, you came to this realization. you would lie alone at night and touch yourself, try to emulate the sensation of her digits inside of you, recall her tongue gliding over your clit, and smack your lips in hopes to remember the taste of her. you would never be the same, tainted by her touch, turned into a hopeless case of impossible desire.

unless you tracked her down again.

unless you kept coming back to her to get your fix.

like a bad penny.

[dollwritesarchive]

Im the hela request 😞

May i have this one instead please

“You can take it, you’ve done it before.”

Thank you!

includes: smut ( minors dni ), dub con, light bondage, sex toys (vibrator & strap on!), degradation, mistress kink, au where Hela conquered Asgard

part of my 4k celebration / please reblog if you enjoy !!

limitless ;

you’d lost count of your orgasms after the third. in true Hela fashion, she has you in the most vulnerable position possible, your wrists bound to your knees by braided rope of the highest quality. you were going nowhere. you couldn’t even bring your legs together to guard your hypersensitive sex from the seemingly endless waves of mind-numbing vibration.

you thrashed against the toy she presses between your folds, gliding it up and down to test your sensitivity from every angle. you had reached a limit, and surpassed it. you were breaking.

“I don’t know if I can take anymore!”

what a silly thing to say. you realize it once it’s spoken, and the goddess looms over you with her piercing eyes narrowed, an unholy grimace on her face. “Don’t know if you can?” she feigns concern, her free hand reaching to caress your heated cheek whilst the other holds the whirring vibe to your core. “Is my little one all spent? Her sensitive, little snatch all swollen and sore, now?”

collecting your lower lip between your teeth and biting hard to relieve the pressure from the abuse between your hips and muffle your hopeless mewling, you nod. “It… hurts…”

Hela simpers. with a click of the button on the bottom of the device, the vibration stops. you’re met with relief, but your hips still undulate, you still squirm with your legs wide open. tilting her head to one side, her raven tresses obscure the sharpness of her features, and long, slender digits tease your aching clit with butterfly strokes. your brows knit together, breath catching in your throat in a horrible croak, and you jerk against the restraints much more violently. “It hurts?” she asks, mocking perplexity as the expanse of her thumb pad rubs over your engorged nub. “Does this not feel good, little one? Your swollen cunt is dripping with desire, shuddering and eager to take your mistress’ cock, and you have the gall to tell me it hurts?”

throwing your head back, you spasm helplessly. “It-it’s too much, mistress!” you plea, arching your back up off the seat of the throne. Hela’s favorite place to play was always the throne room in Asgard, and she loved to pin you on the throne and fuck you while the guards watch. after all, Asgard was hers now, and therefore, you were hers.

“Have you forgotten that you are here for your queen’s amusement? That you are a little plaything for me to use as I please?” she demands, ignoring your cry for mercy, she has instead busied herself with smearing the juices collected on her fingers from your core on to the obsidian phallus harness to her naked hips with gilded straps. “I’ll have to remind you what you are.” her voice is low and coarse, and dripping with a ruthlessness that only the goddess of death can possess. it always sends an icy chill down your spine.

Hela guides the broad tip of her faux cock to part your folds and jab into your clenching hole. toes curling, you whine and babble, but take the first few inches in a single thrust that has your eyes rolling in your head. “Quite melodramatic, aren’t we?” she taunts, before drawing back almost to the point of slipping free from you. Hela’s hips buck forwards and she fills you completely this time, the icy kiss of the golden ring that holds the cock in place sending a shiver through you as it presses against your sex. you practically squeal at the sensation of being completely full paired with the overstimulation that has your entire core throbbing and screaming for a break. “You can take it, you’ve done it before.”

Hela hunches over your body, grasping your face hard. “Look at me,” she hisses, and you’ve no choice but to obey; eyes watery and wide, you look up at the goddess taking you without remorse. the pace at which she ruts into your poor frame is merciless and greedy, and you’ve no other option but to writhe and buck against the reckless fucking. “You’re my little whore, a living fuckhole. My property, and no whore of mine is going to tell me when to stop. It’s time to break that nasty habit, fucktoy, time to destroy every limit you ever thought you had. Your queen’s cock will keep you in line.”

[dollwritesarchive]

“You look so good with my hands around your neck.” and the queen Valkyrie!

includes: smut ( minors dni ), asphyxiation, fingering, lots of dirty talk from both

4k drabbles prompts / please reblog if you enjoy !!

make me breathless ;

your favorite thing to do when you visited New Asgard was distract the king. Brunnhilde was easily distractible, although you expect that you are the only one that could say that; you had such a peculiar effect on her that she would almost certainly drop whatever she was doing the moment you stepped through her door and offer up one hundred percent of her attention.

did you often use this against her?

all the time.

that was how you found yourself here: back to the door with her strong grip around your throat, your hand shoved into the front of her unzipped jeans.

she’s panting and moaning in your face, you can feel the heat from her breath and feel a subtle graze of her lips on yours. you could think of very little besides how close they are to kissing you. you want it. you want to feel the harshness of a kiss that has been waiting for far too long to fall upon your lips, so it does so roughly enough to leave them battered and swollen. Brunnhilde was a fervent kisser already, but the two of you had been apart for so long that you wondered if she’d smother you with her couplet if she ever closed the space between you.

“Tell me how much you missed me, your majesty,” you purr, middle two fingers plumbing her depths with the erratic whipping of your wrist, “how much you think about me finger fucking your juicy cunt. Is it every day that I’m gone, huh?” she needn’t answer, you could tell by the wild spasming of her walls around your digits and the way her hips rut against the palm of your hand that she was wanton. starved.

“Fuck, that feels good, baby.” Valkyrie encourages with a half grunt, her brows knit together. her eyes are open, but hazy and unfocused, and she hisses like a feral animal, squeezing your windpipe tighter as her orgasm approaches. “I think— ah!— I think about it almost as much as I think about that filthy, fucking mouth of yours.” a tensed simper etches her tight lips upwards slightly, and she presses them to your mouth. “And how good I look grinding on it.”

a more heated kiss couldn’t even be fathomed; amidst her panting in pleasure and your wheezing from limited oxygen, both of your jaws hang open, lips batting at one another and your tongues dancing at the partial join of your mouths.

“I need this, oh shit, I needed this so bad,” your thumb has taken to pressing hard on Valkyrie’s button, your fingers curling to pump in all the right spots. she notices your spaced out grin as she squeezes harder, and exhales a puff of air into your mouth that resembles a breathless laugh. “And so do you, huh? Tell me— when’s the last time you got choked good and hard, mm?” as if to emphasize the word hard, she presses you more firmly against the door and clamps her fingers down tighter.

your eyes nearly roll back in your head. you’re absolutely soaked and shuddering, and you’re excited for your turn.

“You think I’d let anyone else but you?” you taunt, coasting your thumb more violently over the swollen nub, and slipping a cheeky third digit inside of her to join the others. “You’re the only one that does it right, baby.”

Valkyrie howls in ecstasy, nodding with her eyes focused (as much as they could be) on your countenance. “Don’t forget that.” she moans on your mouth. “Mm, you look so good with my hands around your neck, baby, fuck!” watching her chase a high that was so close she could taste it, you find yourself mesmerized by the diamonds of sweat that plaster the hair to her forehead, and the way every muscle tightens. her interior flutters about your fingers, her whole body convulsing as moan after moan string together with expletives to create a verbal garland of vulgarity. “I’m going to cum, baby—“ and she hardly gets it out of her mouth before she comes undone. eyes rolling back and knees shaking, her grip momentarily so tight you feel as though her fist will go right through your throat, before she releases you altogether, and escapes your mischievous digits by stepping back and taking a deep breath.

you do the same, sucking in oxygen that burns all the way down, but you’re smiling. smiling because you can see she’s still quivering, not quite come down yet.

“Want me to give you a minute?” you tease, gesturing with one hand on the doorknob as if to leave. “I can come back.”

Brunnhilde laughs; it’s a breathless laugh with no sound, but still a laugh, before stumbling over to you. she wobbles as if she were drunk, intoxicated by her climax. it’s incredibly sexy to watch. grabbing your hips tight, in one smooth motion she’s tossed you on to the nearby couch. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, baby.” a wicked grin comes over her face. you knew it was your turn.

[dollwritesarchive]

tag list reblog !!

forever tags ;

@trashi-bee / @littlemisscare-all / @fredweazleyswh0re / @shelickedthebeater / @buckybarnesplumwhore / @babybottlepop96 / @hermione-grangers-wife / @ayablackwood / @ginny-rose-sixx / @justanotherficreader

marvel tags ;

@nahthanks / @enchantedlaufeyson / @oh-my-damn / @stardust-galaxies

send an ask to be added !!

[welovegarretthedlund]

make me choose meme (garrett hedlund edition)

dumbluck-and-pneumonia​ asked: Don Billingsley or Murtagh? 

[dollwritesarchive]

alright here we go for the Drabble um!! max cady, daddy kink, maybe some exhibitionism I’m thinkin bout that Pietro fic K BYE! -🔮

look so good in green ;

“Now, sweet pea,” his voice is laced with poison, wicked and deadly, and you were certain that if his lips were to close the half inch gap between his and yours that you would die upon them, “you wouldn’t happen to be battin’ those bedroom eyes at another man on purpose, wouldja?” with one of his hands stuffed into your jeans, the other holds you flush against the wall by applying enough pressure on your clavicle to keep you in place. the tips of his fingers probe at your throat, suggesting that they could easily curl around it to limit the amount of air you’re allowed to breathe.

you shake your head, the heat of humiliation burning the apples of your cheeks. you’d be surprised if the worker at the concession stand hadn’t already called the cops— Max’s little display of physical dominance over you had certainly attracted an audience. your two friends, whom had accompanied you and your convict boyfriend to the cinema stood there, dumbfounded. you could tell, by the way their cheeks were reddened and their thighs were clenched tight together, that they were enjoying getting a peek behind the curtain of Max’s dominion over you, perhaps a bit too much.

“No, daddy, I didn’t mean to.”

you find yourself wondering if your two, best friends, the ones you grew up with, were wetting their panties watching you being publicly fondled and dehumanized by a man twice your age. if they were, then they were as sick as you.

Max’s fingers press against your button through the wet patch spreading over your cotton panties and you mewl, hips jutting forward in desperation as your nerves are assaulted. “Are you sure ‘bout that? Your little pussy is awfully wet for it to have been an accident. You wouldn’t have been flirtin’ with him to make daddy jealous in front of your friends, wouldja?” smirking, Max looks to one of the girls. “D’ya know what happens to girls that act like little whores?”

she gulps, and shakes her head, but her eyes are glued to the way his hand works just beyond the denim of your jeans. he is relentless in his rubbing your most vulnerable section, abusing your clit without so much as an ounce of mercy.

“She gets treated like the little whore she is.” he answers matter of factly. this is the moment when his digits’ threats come to fruition, and they coil around your throat, the pad of his thumb pressing heavy on your windpipe. “Gettin’ your drippin’ cunt rubbed in front of your friends, you’re a shameless little floozy, aintcha? Go on, look your girlfriends in their eyes with yours all glazed over like a little bitch in heat and tell ‘em you’re nothin’ but daddy’s dirty whore.”

blushing furiously and lungs burning as they scavenge for oxygen, you look in the direction of the girls, who both stare back at you, doe-eyed and humiliated by association. your lids are heavy, body undulation and grinding against his merciless assault, and you groan out, as if you were programmed to do so, “I’m— ah! I’m nothing but daddy’s dirty whore!” and you could tell by the looks on both their faces that, not only did they believe it, but they were envious of the title.

[trashi-bee]

FUCK OFFFFFF, how does something so short make my 🐱 go wrrrrrrr

[trashi-bee]

PART 2 OF DEVOTION PLEASE OMFG

HAHAHHA ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE WRITTEN I SAW THIS ASK AND WAS LIKE.. tf is devotion?

[dollwritesarchive]

[ ᴍɪɴɪ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢs ] serendipity ❛ bofur

fandom the hobbit

featuring bofur x reader (f)

rating sfw

content warning suggestions of smut, angst, pregnancy

summary you’ve been acting strangely, and bofur can’t figure out why

word count 2827

attention this wasn’t proofread. we don’t get a lot of really serious bofur so i apologize if the characterization is a bit off. do not translate or repost my work anywhere ever. please reblog and leave feedback if you enjoy it!

the day was passing quickly, the sun beginning to set beyond the trees that litter the mountain and Bofur gazed out over the blood-stained clouds. golden rays from the ball of fire in the sky were dimming, and would soon melt away completely as it fled the cold, silver glow of the moon. night would blanket Middle Earth in a matter of an hour, perhaps, and the stars would act as silent and steadfast sentrymen, eerie with glowing determination.

though Erebor has grown substantially in number and brute, and there were many a dwarf better suited to be sentinels, Bofur had insisted he keep the duty of night watchman. not only did the cool night wind whisper calming melodies, but he also had plenty of time to think of you. better yet? occasionally, you could creep on to the wall with him, and cuddle up by the fire pit; those were his favorite nights, when you fell asleep in his arms. even if his shoulder was tingling and neck craned in the most uncomfortable of positions, he wouldn’t dare move and risk waking you.

tonight, however, he felt as though he wouldn’t be so lucky as to hold you. he envied his past self, for the last few weeks you had been seldom seen, and even rarer felt. he was not a paranoid man, but he was beginning to worry. he would wave to you from the wall as you were training with your brothers, and you’d quickly turn away. he’d steal glances in the throne room, and you’d flee. you were avoiding him, that much was clear. the reasoning behind your abruptly frozen shoulder remained a mystery, though. a tormenting contemplation that haunted him constantly.

the familiar knotting in his stomach was present now, as he slumped against the stone wall, pipe to his lips. he stared at the burning embers in the fire pit, and felt an icy emptiness on his torso, a chilled reminder that you were not there, bundled up and snoozing. his heart beat alone, coveting the rhythm of yours falling in sync.

he hadn’t thought that he had done anything wrong, or said anything to offend you. the last night the two of you’d spent together consisted of a perfervid romp in the stables, one that was filled with breathy laughter and stolen, hot kisses. it left the two of you panting with matching grins.

the morning after, you’d changed. your smile was gone, as was your voice, but only when the syllables of his name were to be spoken.

what had happened?

Bofur was so diligent in reliving each moment, deducting every word he could remember speaking to you, that he hadn’t noticed he was no longer alone. “Fine evenin’ for a smoke.” Fili offered a brief smile as he gestured with his pipe, plopping down beside him. a deep inhale, and the blonde prince had puffs of thick smoke pouring from his mouth and nose to dissipate in the air around him. his brother had also appeared, yet instead of sitting with the pair, he opted to lean against the stone wall with his arms crossed.

“I’d say so,” Bofur offered a quaint chuckle, before taking in a gust of his own. it wasn’t until he was blowing smoke rings into the atmosphere that he speaks again. “You boys need something from me?” it wasn’t that he disliked the brothers’ company; in fact, he rather enjoyed them. it was only that he was so often alone on this shift, and the way Kili’s dark eyes were fixed, brows knit together, was a telltale sign: something was on his mind.

“We came to talk to your about our sister.” Kili answers before Fili gets the chance, blunt as ever. the two had always been more than a tad overprotective, after all, you were the youngest of the three.

Fili is quick enough to add with a heavy palm on Bofur’s shoulder, “Have you spoken with her lately?”

when you become topic of the conversation, Bofur’s cheeks are plagued with cherry tint, and the poor dwarf nearly chokes on his smoke. a couple of hacks, and the spectral silver claws its way into the sky. “Your sister?” his voice is much lower than before, eyes darting around as if he were searching for eavesdroppers. “I thought we’d already agreed…” of course, they already knew about the two of you and how you sneaked around the kingdom together. Kili, the hopeless romantic he is, had even given his blessing immediately. Fili’s hand come later— no matter how close to Bofur he was, you were baby sister and, naturally, had to be protected in his eyes. they also had agreed to keep the relationship a secret, particularly from Thorin, you and Bofur were still uncertain and hesitant to tell the King, your uncle, about your union. “I thought- I thought it was all right.”

“Something’s wrong with her, we think.” Fili interjects, free hand palming the carvings on his pipe. “She seems a bit ill.”

“Ill?” Bofur frowns, sitting upright. his heart seemed to skip a beat and his feet wanted to start running — straight to your bedroom.

Kili nods, leaning over his shoulder. “She doesn’t sleep very well lately, and sometimes Fili and I catch her vomiting outside in the early hours of the morning—“

“Sometimes, she refuses to eat,” Fili interrupts, “others, she’s ravenous. Eats practically everything in sight.”

“Yes!” Kili continues, frown deepening. “And she has only one goblet of wine a night, but I don’t believe she’s even drinking it.”

Bofur looks at the two of them perplexed, but he grips the stem of his pipe with his lips so he can press his gloved palms into the stone and push himself to stand up. “Where is she?” it’s nearly a demand, and much unlike the flippant dwarf. “It sounds like something serious. We should get Oin to her immediately—“

both Fili and Kili throw their hands out to stop him, grabbing his arms from either sides with an urgency that startled him. his dark eyes flicker from one to the other, and then back again.

Fili clears his throat, and leans closer to Bofur. “No, not yet.”

“Why in Durin’s name would we wait for her to worsen?”

“Well…” Kili exchanges a knowing glance with his brother, “we believe her condition to be a bit sensitive.” Bofur doesn’t seem to follow, made evident by the way his countenance is twisted, Kili could all but see gears turning in his head. he continues, insistent, “Bofur, the best person for her to see right now… We think it’s you.”

“Me?” Bofur is dumbfounded. he had not a single knack for medicine, nor an iota of knowledge pertaining to illness. “Why?”

“Because,” Fili finally sounds a bit exasperated as he turns Bofur’s attention away from his brother and to him instead, “my brother and I suspect you put a wee one in her belly and she’s too frightened to tell anyone.”

what was this feeling? an earthquake? Bofur glances to his feet, but sees nothing shuddering, just his shaking digits. his world was shaken, not the world around him. the words repeat themselves over and over in his mind, each time sounding louder. a wee one? a baby? could this be true?

more than a bit disoriented, Bofur takes a moment more to blink his sudden dizziness away. “I—“ what could he say? what was there to say? “I need to see her.” he answers. it was definitive, genuine. if he was so disturbed by the possibility, he couldn’t imagine what you were feeling if it were true, and felt a wave of guilt at the prospect that you’d been suffering alone.

Kili nods, finally letting go of Bofur’s arm. “Last time I saw her, she was tending to the ponies at the stables.” a jut of his chin in the direction of the ladder down the wall, “I’d look for her there. She hasn’t been going to bed very early these days.”

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

his ragged breathing announces his arrival as he reaches the stables, staggering into the shelter and out of the night. as Kili predicted, you were still there, a thick brush in your palm as you drag it over the blonde mane.

spending time in the stables was a way for you to escape from the pressures of being a Princess in Erebor. of course, there weren’t too many. your brothers being two of the biggest, but you also felt a certain gnawing of anxiety when some of the others looked at you. they didn’t know you the way the Company of Thorin Oakenshield did, and they stared. they whispered. as a princess, you were told to ignore these things, the starry look in their eyes, but it drove you mad. you didn’t want them to be awestruck when they gazed upon you; you weren’t part of Erebor’s hoard, you weren’t a shilling nor a string of diamonds. you preferred the ponies’ company because they never stared at you in adoration or envy. they didn’t care what the tiara on your head meant, and that was comforting.

tonight, and many nights prior, spending time in the stables had been an escape for another reason. you didn’t want to arouse suspicion, not until you had some kind of a plan. so, you spent hours in here, with the non-judgemental equine, braiding their manes and brushing it out again, asking them in embarrassed whispers what you should do, who you should tell. the one unfortunate fact was that the ponies didn’t have any answers.

he calls your name, but you don’t turn around to face him. you’re much too humiliated. by the tone of his voice, you’d think he had seen a ghost.

“How long have you been here?” he asks. you assume he’s glanced around by now, saw a basket of food that has been partially eaten, and the indent in the pile of hay where you’d napped earlier.

“A few hours.” you reply, but leave it there.

“Are you all right?”

you choose not to answer for a matter of torturous seconds, feeling a fluttering in your gut like massive dragon wings attempting a takeoff. you could always lie, tell him yes, and maybe he’d believe you.

you almost do so, too, until he speaks again.

“Is it true?” he knew. somehow, Bofur had figured it out, and you knew that by the muted lilt in his voice; typically, he was a rather jolly fellow with a lovable disposition and plenty of humor to go around. in this moment, he sounds different. nervous, maybe? you feel a twinge of guilt— you were already nervous enough for the both of you.

feigning ignorance was never your forte. so, you nod. “Yes, it’s true.” you answer, eyes dropping to the horse’s hooves. they’re stationary. completely still. you wished you could be the same, but your hands are shaking and your bottom lip quivering. you suck it between your teeth to still it.

Bofur is silent, which is typically a bad sign. you wait, in silent agony, for him to say something. anything. “I’m confident you haven’t told Thorin,” he speaks, finally, “because I’ve got no extra holes and all of my… parts are still attached.”

the statement coaxes a bittersweet giggle to your pursed couplet, and though it may not seem to have had the desired effect to ease the tension in the stables, you’re thankful he chose to say it, anyways.

“But…” Bofur takes a couple of steps to you, and as badly as your heart wants you to turn and collapse into his embrace, your pride pushes back against the notion furiously. “Have you told anyone?”

you shake your head, the entirety of your countenance sweltering with humiliation. you’re grateful that you’re turned away from him, hiding your shame from him.

“Why? I mean, why didn’t you tell me? Come on, darlin’, it’s me.” he sounds gutted which, in turn, guts you, as well. “We can tell each other anything, you told me that. Remember?”

leaning forward, you press your forehead against the pony’s side and close your eyes against a single tear that is persistent enough to break the barrier and slides over your cheek. “I didn’t know— I don’t know what to do.” you answer, voice shaking and threatening to break at any moment. “I didn’t know if you’d be happy.”

“You didn’t know?” he sounds incredulous, inquiry accompanied by a scoff. “Oh? Love, that’s your nerves talkin’. You know me better than anyone else on this mountain. You knew, deep down, that I’d be giddy. I’m happy,” the word is a tidal wave of relief that nearly knocks you off balance, but then you feel the warmth of his gloved hand take yours, lacing your fingers, “so happy. The happiest dwarf in Erebor. No! The happiest dwarf in all seven kingdoms! I want to shout this good news from every rooftop in Middle Earth!”

his excitement is typically contagious. Bofur is the type to brighten a room with a grin, or burst into song when everyone else is beaten down and dreary, just to pull their spirits up. it’s a relief that he’s happy, it’s true, but that doesn’t stop you from giving his hand a hard squeeze. “Bofur?” you murmur, “Bofur, I want to be happy, but I’m so scared.” you were, regrettably, unable to partake in his overwhelming excitement. all you could think about was absolutely anything and everything that could go wrong, and how lost you were. “What do we do?”

this is when you feel it; his hand slips from yours, but only so both hands can envelop your shoulders and urge you to turn around. against your better judgement, and the embarrassment you feel at the thought of looking in his eyes, you comply. at first, your gaze focuses on his feet, and the way yours try to hide between his boots.

“Darlin’,” he croons, giving your shoulders a good squeeze, “look at me.” Bofur leans forward to press his forehead against yours as your eyes flicker up to see the joy lighting up his countenance. you practically melt into the embrace completely, allowing him to stand for the both of you— to think for the both of you. “We’re gonna have a wee one. A baby! And you’re going to be the best damn mama he coulda ever wished for.”

though his words are comforting beyond what you felt that you deserved, and he was so genuine that you were beginning to believe every word, there was still an inkling of doubt. the fear still lurks. “How do you know that?”

another scoff, and his familiar grin etched his lips upwards. “‘Cause I know you.”

you tilt your head, one hand flees to toy mindlessly with his tawny braid, but you smile. it’s a tender one, a delicate one, but a smile nonetheless. “You’re going to be a fine father, Bofur.” you whisper, finally.

“Only with you by my side.” he insists, leaving a trail of kisses along the bridge of your nose and up to your temple.

you close your eyes and enjoy the shower of affection. after all, it had been several days— too many— since you felt him so close, and you had missed his warmth dearly. his kisses were much too sugary and addictive to turn away from for so long.

“How did you know, anyways?” you ask after a moment of content.

he chuckles. once again, never a good sign. “Fili and Kili ambushed me at the wall.”

you, too, partake in the laughter. the thought of your brothers cornering your lover seemed a bit comical, even amidst the tension of the situation. of course they knew already, the three of you were mostly inseparable. if you had slept ten minutes later than normal, they’d be able to tell. “Of course they did.” you reply with a soft sigh. “Well, I suppose that makes it easy. Two down. I guess we should tell Thorin next.”

“Well…” Bofur grins sheepishly, pulling you into a tighter embrace. you could tell by the reluctance in his voice that he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of telling your uncle the big news. you couldn’t blame him. not that Thorin was cruel, because had it been anyone else, he would hold the biggest feast in honor of a friend becoming a father. however, much like your brothers, Thorin guarded you fiercely. “Let’s sleep on it, at least. I’ve only just found out, after all. The King Under the Mountain can wait till after breakfast, eh?”

you smile wider, and nod. “Fair enough.” you reply, taking both of Bofur’s hands to hold them at your sides. you felt good, for the first time in a long time, and now that you knew he was excited, so were you.

[dollwritesarchive]

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[trashi-bee]

Literally no one else would have been able to convince me that the dwarves r hot

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[ ᴍɪɴɪ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢs ] weakness lies between your thighs ❛ loki laufeyson

anonymous said: Idk if it's something you would be willing to do or if you're still taking dilf request but how about something nsfw w step-dad loki like anything you want maybe him teaching/showing you magic sorry if this is too vague afdhsfnesvg

fandom marvel

featuring stepdad!loki x midgardian!reader (f)

rating NSFW / MINORS DNI

content warning step dad fantasy, daddy kink, corruption kink, manipulation/gaslighting, magic-induced bondage, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, possessive loki, reader is 18+!

summary after loki successfully conquered midgard in 2012, he took a wife as his queen. she proved rather insubordinate, however, and she was locked away shortly after, leaving her daughter in loki’s care. her benefactor and the only father figure she has, he’s become obsessed, and keeps a tight leash, quite literally, on her.

word count 2885

attention please don’t read it if anything mentioned is triggering. not proofread! do not translate or repost my work ever. reblog and leave feedback!

“So,” it’s the all-too familiar, velvety baritone soaked in venom that brings you out of your digital trance. eyes flickering up from your smartphone, you watch him enter. “The guards say you’ve something to ask me?” swallowing around the lump in your throat, you observe the slow, calculated movements as he whisks into your bedroom, splaying a palm against the door to push it shut. the clicking of the lock that follows, effectively cutting you off from anything and everything other than him. his head tilts, balancing at a perplexing angle on his shoulders when he spots your phone, and with a snap of his fingers, the device soars from your grasp and across the room into his own. a serpent’s grin tickles his pursed lips. “Something about a party?”

“Um,” you start, hesitant and shy as you sit up on your bed, “it’s just a little get together. If I could only go for a few hours to see my friends…” your voice trails off as you watch the god scrolling away on your phone.

“I see,” he hums, mostly to himself. “And I suppose this Garrett fellow is the one who told you about it?” Loki’s brows knit together as his seafoam gaze locks on to you, suspicion and jealousy plastered across his countenance. “You are to meet him there, according to these messages.”

a fierce, hot blush rises in your face, and you nod. “He was my classmate at University before. A friend.” you offer, in hopes that the platonic nature of your history with Garrett would satisfy your benefactor’s envious tendencies.

“A friend.” Loki repeats with a quirk of his brow as he approaches the edge of the bed. you inch back ever slightly so that his legs don’t pin yours to the side of the mattress. “And I suspect this friend of yours has only been interested in being simply so? Tell me, little lamb, do you have any idea what this conniving, pathetic runt could possibly want to do with you, after all this time?”

you blink, weighing each word in your mind. to you, it was simple. Garrett had been your friend, so why wouldn’t he continue to be? “Ever since-“ you pause, looking up at him, “- you became king, we haven’t really seen each other. I haven’t really seen much of anyone. He just wants to be friends. To see me. Right?”

wicked chortles erupt from Loki and the wide grin upon his tiers is almost haunting. “My dear, sweet lamb,” Loki croons with a shake of his onyx curls; in one, smooth motion he’s tossed the phone over his shoulder, “you are very, very lucky you have me here now. This boy, this Garrett, he’s a snake.” you reach forward, as the phone glides mid air, but you hear the unmistakable sound of shattering glass when it hits the floor with a thud. meanwhile, Loki is quite literally snarling with disgust- his lips pulled away from his pristine teeth and nose crinkled as if Garrett’s very name is toxic on his tongue. “He has no interest in being your friend, not anymore. Oh no, Mr. Garrett is looking to exploit you. To use you.” as he speaks, the god of mischief envelops your face with both of his hands, pads of his fingers caressing the apples of your cheeks and brushing away any flyaway hairs to keep them from obscuring your visage from him.

“Garrett wouldn't…” you sound uncertain. you feel uncertain.

with a gentle brush of his fingers against your lips, Loki shushes you, before he nods. “Oh, but he will, my pet. Do you not remember what I’ve told you, time and time again? You are the princess of Midgard, now, these old friends of yours must see the type of power you hold, and they desire it. They want it for themselves, and they will do whatever they can to take it from you.”

your brows knit together, but you nod as your eyes land on the floor. he had, in fact, told you these things before. and when he says them in that husky tone, they make sense, but you never thought such a thing could be true. how could your friends want to use you?

“Very good.” Loki whispers, one hand shifting down your countenance to form a grip of thumb and forefinger against your chin and he uses it to tilt your head up towards him so that he may look into your eyes. the other, now free to roam your body, does so slowly. caressing your shoulder before svelte digits dip between your breasts to unlace your nightie. “You must always remember what I tell you. These people, they are not your friends. They cannot be, not anymore, and that is because you have ascended beyond them. You sit at my side, little lamb, high above their pathetic existences, and they will climb like cockroaches to get to you, to taint you with doubt, and corrupt your mind against me. Do you understand? They are all evil, our enemies are all around us, and they will try to tear you away from me.” his lips coast over yours for a brief moment before he adds in a breathy whisper, “You must never leave me, pet. You must never let them take you and ruin you.”

“I won’t,” you reply in the same, ghost of a tone. with the two of you so close, there’s no need to speak any louder than a whisper. you shudder at his touch the moment your nightie gives way beneath the force of his fingers and the fabric sags against your frame. “I won’t let them, Loki.”

his brow arches, almost as if the use of his name could be considered a crime. “Now, love,” he starts, smile as sickeningly sweet as could be, “we’ve talked about this too, haven’t we? Do I not take care of you? Clothe you? Shelter you? Feed you? What am I?”

the switch in your head flips, as if he’d done so manually. “You’re my Daddy.” you answer. regardless of how humiliating it may have been the first few hundred times, especially spoken in front of guards or servants, now it seemed almost entirely too normal.

“Good girl.” Loki praises once more. “Now, you don’t want to go to that silly, little party, do you? And take a chance on some filthy mutt finding out about your divine weakness?”

his free hand rests upon your knee, that jumps at the pressure of his palm there. “My… divine weakness?”

Loki nods, his other hand falling to your other knee. he used his leverage on them to nudge them apart, spreading you open to him. “You possess a treasure, my pet, a glorious, heavenly treasure between your thighs. This is your weakness, because filthy, slimy arrogant Midgardian boys will try to desecrate your treasure. They will destroy it, if given the chance, because they’ve not the proper knowledge of how to worship this treasure. Not like I do.” he pauses, fingertips drumming against your bare skin. a short gasp escapes your lips as a spectral force, emerald and wispy, worms its way over your thighs. while a portion of the smoke disappears between your thighs, you feel an overwhelming sense of ice against your core, caressing your vulnerable sex with Loki’s fantasmal hand, and the rest of it creeps over your torso, shifting and contorting as it does so, until you’re bound by emerald smoke in the form of strong rope, guiding your wrists together before you, squeezing your breasts together as the fabric of your nightie is stripped away. Loki grins, victorious, and tilts his head, kneeling before the bed. once upon his knees, he presses his lips to your thigh. “That is why I must always protect your divine weakness. That is why daddy owns this pretty cunt, isn’t it?”

“Yes, daddy.” you answer, shuddering. your hands form fists the very moment he grasps your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, his face nuzzling against the warmth of your silken thighs. you lie back, blush returning, maddeningly hot and furious against your cheeks. “Please…” you whisper, eyes turned up to the ceiling. you could already feel the churning in your belly, a base desire for him that no one could possibly understand.

“Please what, little lamb?”

“I need you to worship my… treasure,” the terminology seems a bit strange coming from you; though it sounds like heaven on his lips, but you’d rather spew it in hopes that he would take pity on your desperation and give you what you want, “I need it, daddy, please!”

“That’s my girl.” Loki purrs, pleased. it only takes another moment, and the god of mischief has effectively sealed his lips over your weeping sex with a sloppy and aggressive kiss, much more fervent than he’s ever kissed your mouth. his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thighs and you whimper, back arching up off the bed in response. his magic, however, hugs you tight, keeping you mostly contained and still, except for your writhing hips. “So sweet,” he mumbled, though it’s almost too muffled for you to make out the words. his tongue is long and thick and cold, and bats your swollen clit around in similar fashion to a predator toying with its prey. “Like pure sugar.”

a whirlwind of sensations engulfs you. pleasure beyond your wildest dreams as Loki’s skillful tongue teases your swollen bud, tiers smacking and sucking your nether lips. his grip on you, the physical, tangible vice hie hands have as the cruel fingertips dig into your poor flesh sending electricity through your veins. then, there was the magical ropes. though wispy and translucent like smoke, it is strong beyond any human measure, and freezing, like tens of ice-cold hands embracing you, caressing you, and pinning you to the bed.

your hips undulate against the ferocity of his tongue slathering your core, dipping into you, and slipping through your sensitive folds, jerking forward in a feeble attempt to rut against his face. your hands, even bound as they are against your tummy, can still reach his bobbing head, and you grab fistfuls of obsidian curls with broken moans and babbling pleas dripping from your parted lips.

Loki grunts at the sensation, more aroused by your taking of the reins.

“Such a greedy little cunt,” he grins against your slick flesh, tongue encircling your hole. you clench on to nothing, instinctively hoping to trap the muscle within you. you want him to fill you, in every aspect of the word, and your body is practically demanding it. “Already clamping down, fluttering like she does when I shove my cock inside. A couple tongue tricks and you’re practically shaking, swollen, and ready to be fucked into oblivion. Tell me, little lamb, are you that hungry for it? That desperate for daddy’s cock? Why don’t you beg me for it, then?”

your eyelids feel heavy, the want to chase your high pushing you to nod. “Yes!” you cry, breathy and weak, as you jut your hips forward. this time, Loki catches you by placing a heavy palm on your lower abdomen, and you feel the true strength the god holds as he forces you back down flat against the bed. one handed, he makes short work of his gilded attire, which soon joins your nightie in a forgotten puddle of leather and lace on the floor beside the bed. “Please, please, please give your little lamb your cock, daddy. Fuck my cunt until I can hardly walk! Make me yours in every way that you want!”

your begging was certainly doing the trick; the moment Loki’s cock springs free from his trousers, it’s twitching and swollen, ready to conquer your body. “That’s daddy’s good, little fuck hole,” he mutters, staring at your squirming, sensitive visage on the bed. a flick of his wrist, and the magic dissipates, freeing you from bondage. “I’m afraid I will be none too gentle this night, little lamb,” he warns, his knee digging into the mattress as he climbs atop it and crawls to you. Loki slinks like an animal, a predator in every fashion. “And you’re going to need something to hold on to.” Loki plucks a pillow from where it lay against the headboard and places it against your chest. you’re all too quick to embrace it, hug it tightly with both arms as he slathers himself in his own saliva. your legs, which had previously been spread awkwardly, are brought together and draped over one of his shoulders. “Holding on tight?” he inquires, a twinkle of wickedness behind his hungry gaze. you nod, nervous and grasping the pillow.

taking himself by the base, Loki then rams his manhood into your eager hole. your body gives into him in the blink of an eye and a yelp, walls grasping his girth and pulling him in hilt-deep. cleanly, thoroughly, Loki bottoms out in your belly with one thrust, and you choke the pillow tighter with a weak whimper.

“Feel that, Princess?” Loki grunts, lingering there before he withdraws almost to the point of his swollen head popping free, before he slams home again. with very little time to adjust to his size and the foreplay having already worked you into a tizzy, the forceful invasion has your head spinning. “Feel how easily I slide inside you now? You used to be so timid, so shy, your body didn’t know what to do with daddy’s big cock, and it’d try to choke me out. Not anymore though? Right? Because you’re not my innocent little lamb anymore, you’ve not been innocent since you got a taste of your God’s cock. Now, that sweet, sopping cunt sucks me in like a tight, little vacuum. Fuck, yes-“ Loki sputters, brows knit together. he’s flustered by the sensations, himself, but unable to slow down. he pounds into you, relentless, unceasing, grunting and panting ragged like a beast. “Just like daddy’s good, little whore should be. Tight, but hungry— ah, there we go—“ Loki relishes in a new depth when his arms hook around your thighs and he hoists your lower half closer to him. weighted balls slap against your rear with each powerful, mind-breaking thrust; you’re jostled about like a pathetic rag doll in his grasp.

you didn’t care. your mind was dark, as if someone had turned out the lights, and you had every inch of Loki to thank as he fucked you with reckless abandon, so devout on your decimation that you fear you might actually break under his passion.

“Daddy’s not going to last much longer if you keep milking him so ardently, princess.” Loki warns through a breathy moan, but there was no slowing down. no sign that he was trying to last, and you certainly couldn’t help how your walls spasmed around his girth, kissing and caressing each protruding vein that pulsates within you.

you knew you wouldn’t outlast him. you rarely did, but you’d been far too sensitive when the session started, that you’re squealing in vulgar delight with toes curling and eyes rolling around in your skull when you feel your climax hit. a tidal wave. that is the best way to describe it. a wave of pleasure so fierce that it sweeps away all of your thoughts, all of your being, and you’re practically floating within an ocean of your own ecstasy. no, not floating, drowning. it’s suffocating and beautiful.

when you come to, you’re quivering all over and Loki’s shoulders are hunched; he’s crying out your name like a song on repeat. he sounds as needy and blissed as you feel, a thought that is more comforting than it should be. his face contorts against the ferocity of his own climax, sweat oozing from his pores to rain down on you. you can still feel aftershocks and your toes and the tips of your fingers are tingling when his release erupts within you, filling your belly with his warmth.

“Ah…” it was less a word and more a disappointed whine when he pulls himself free from your body, his seed leaking out on to the mattress between your legs. you’d have been happy to sleep with your belly full of his cum, and let none escape.

Loki’s breath is ragged as he snatches the pillow from your grasp and tosses it aside. “Now,” he breathes out, flipping over on to his back. you follow suit as he has you by your hips. he’s much too strong to resist, and in a moment’s time you find yourself being impaled on his lap. how was he still hard? with a defeated groan, you place both shaking hands against his chest, but it doesn’t stop you from sinking down all the way until you sit flush on top of him, speared completely and full of his hardness once again. “Shall I get your phone? Take a picture of you convulsing with my cock bulging from your belly, completely fucked out? Shall we send it to Garrett with a text message that reads: ‘Daddy said no.’?”

you nod, dazed. you’re much too spent to protest. besides, the thought of it has you smiling, dick-drunk. Daddy said no.

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[trashi-bee]

I’m extra sweaty this evening and dolls the culprit

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[ ᴍɪɴɪ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢs ] burnt supper ❛ george weasley

fangirl199812 said: Hi, do you still take requests? This could kinda be used for the July month challenge /like Bucky, George Weasley, Steve,Loki, basically any marvel man or Weasley twins/ I’ve been so stressed lately that I’m in tears and it can be fluff or smut

fandom harry potter

featuring george weasley x pregnant!wife!reader

rating sfw

content warning reader is stressed to the max. this is a comfort fic. no real triggering content.

summary george comes home to find the mother of his unborn child sobbing in the kitchen floor and holding a plate of burnt food

word count 1645

attention @fangirl199812 I hope this fic finds you well, and that it does a bit to cheer you up! 🥺 not proofread. do not translate or repost my works anywhere. reblog and leave feedback if you enjoyed, pretty please!! 💋

the sun is hiding low behind the tree line, teasing an early sunset, when George steps out of his car after an all-too lengthy day at work. his heart is heavy already and had been for last couple of days, as the anniversary of his brother’s death is but a week and a half away. shrugging out of the dark blazer he’s donned during the workday, he drapes it over his forearm and gazes up at the golden sky.

it was a beautiful evening, undeniably breathtaking, with streaks of purples and reds staining the marshmallow clouds. the dimming sun casts a gilded blanket upon the trees, the ground, and the quaint, little house before him.

it was the type of evening that you loved, and that’s why he was surprised to spot the rocking chair empty on the front porch. usually, you’d be waiting for him there, belly swollen with his daughter, staring at the setting sun, or perhaps humming a soft lullaby as you caress your baby bump. this day, however, you were doing neither.

it was much unlike you to stay cooped up inside, and it had become a habit of yours to welcome him home with a kiss and loving embrace before the two of you stepped over the threshold into the home. call it tradition at this point, as every day since the two of you had returned home from your honeymoon had been the same.

George furrows his brow as he moves closer to his home. had you decided to take a nap in the middle of the day, instead? or perhaps, you were feeling ill? pregnancy hadn’t been as dreadful as he’d expected, you hadn’t seemed to suffer from too much of that horrid morning sickness he’d heard so much about, but there were days where things just seemed… off. this was probably one of those days, and he hurried into his home, eager to change that. he put on his biggest grin, and practically danced through the door.

“Darling?” he calls as soon as the door shuts behind him, sing-song and cheerful. “Where is my beautiful wife and that big belly so I can give them both-“ the crooning drops off the moment he hears it.

a faint sniffle coming from the kitchen. luckily, the home was modest enough that, with only a couple more steps, he was standing in the doorway.

“- smooches.” the last word hangs in the air as he looks around at the scene before him.

the kitchen was practically the same it always was, warm and inviting with charming, antique furniture (there were a couple of chips in the wood of the dining table, but those were easily masked with a lovely embroidered tablecloth from his mother). Sugarfoot, your fluffy, silver cat, sat in the very center of the dining table. upon George’s appearance, she lets out a yowl, not so much distressed as it is concerned. her marble eyes flicker to your figure in the corner of the room, sank into a pathetic puddle of tears in the floor with your back against the cupboards. in your arms, cradled like an infant, is a dish. a deep, baking dish filled to the brim with what could only be assumed was meant to be your supper. hideously charred and crusted over the edges, he stares at it for only a moment as if to decipher what on earth it could’ve been. another sniff from you, and he takes to a quick stride and is kneeling before you in mere seconds.

“What happened?”

your tears, which had been running thin and drying on your cheeks, seem to return as he drew nearer, and you burst into another pathetic sob. “I followed the recipe!” you cry in defense, holding the dish closer to you as you choke on your tears. “I follow-followed your mum’s recipe to a T!!”

George’s brow arches, and it’s then that he notices the envelope hovering beside the stove, the seal forming a pair of puckered lips. as if the magical entity was caught doing something, the lips seem to immediately purse, a inconspicuous whistle erupting from the paper before it falls flat with a muffled thud against the countertop. George rolls his eyes; his mother’s recipes were always rather difficult to follow. “I see-“

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” you continue, all the more flustered as you hold the burned food in your lap. your vehemence could easily be blamed on your pregnancy- such an overwhelming amount of changes occurring in your body at once was sure to take its toll. “I wanted it to be- special.” the whimper is jagged and helpless, followed by a fit of sniffling and rubbing at your reddened eyes.

George can’t help but feel an urgency. a deep-seeded need to see you relieved, and to force those tears to retreat. he’d fix the supper with a wave of his wand, he decided as he fishes it from his pocket. however, it’s your doe-like gaze twinkling with a new wave of hot tears and your sad, little voice that stops him.

“I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

your eyes rest upon the wand in his hand, convinced that you were guilty of the most heinous of crimes- ruining his dinner. in your eyes, in this moment, you might as well be buried beneath Azkaban for your wrongdoing.

George’s heart twists into knots in his chest at the soft inquiry. if he were to wave the wand now, and the food was revived with magic, would that insinuate you had, in fact, ruined it?

collecting his lower lip between his teeth, he rolls the flesh there for a moment as he contemplates.

what should he do?

how can he help?

“Of course you haven’t.” he replies with a gentle simper tickling the corners of his mouth. a flick of his wrist and the whisper of an all-too familiar locating spell, and two spoons seemed to dance together as they float through the air towards the two of you.

he reaches up with one hand to retrieve them, and sets his wand down, before plopping down himself. crisscrossing his legs, his bottom planted firmly on the floor directly in front of you, he tilts his head and gestures with a spoon to the dish. “You aren’t going to hog the lot of it, are you, love?”

you stare, unmoving, at your husband for a moment or two, until he leans over to thrust his spoon into the charcoal-crisped casserole. it takes you until he shovels the first spoonful into his mouth, and then the second, before you speak, perplexed (and, admittedly, all the more flustered). “What are you doing??”

George looks up so that his eyes lock on to yours, yet there’s not a hint of disgust in his countenance for the poorly-prepared dish. not one ounce of displeasure. instead, a wide grin dances upon his lips, so big and goofy that you could even spot a speck of black in his teeth from the food. “I’m having supper with my wife.” he replies, matter of factly.

blinking, you try to string any number of words together to form a sentence of some kind. George doesn’t seem to mind, and instead pushes another mountain of obsidian crust into his mouth. your heart feels so incredibly full of love that you’re almost certain you’ll cry again, but you snatch the other spoon from his hand and scoop a hefty serving into your own mouth to keep from cracking again.

it tastes absolutely awful. you have to clench your teeth in order to keep the food from escaping as every sensor on your tongue begs you to spit it out. the cheese, meat, potatoes, and seasoning has somehow burned to a point of melding together into one flavor that is so unpleasant that your face contorts the very moment you force it down your throat.

“This is very bad.” you whisper, feeling a creeping sensation of dread coming back to the surface. your tears are right on the brink, ready to be unleashed given one wrong move.

George swallows what might’ve been his fourth forkful, or perhaps his fifth, and looks up at you again. that same smile fills your belly with butterflies.

“Horrid.” he agrees with a small nod.

you could’ve burst into another set of sobs right there, but something strange happens. you begin to laugh, instead. a howling, head back, uncontrollable fit of giggles that only the presence of George Weasley could coax from you. of course, such a laughing fit is mimicked by your husband, whose bellowing guffaws only encourage another round.

by the time the two of you are settling, George hugs his ribs for a moment, before looking to you. “All right, little Mrs.” he croons with a soft peck to your temple, before pulling himself to his feet. “No more of mum’s recipes,” as he speaks, he crumbles the letter on the countertop and tosses it into the bin, “I want to eat what my wife cooks for me, not what my mother has made for me a thousand times over.” after, his arms outstretched and take the fish from your lap, setting it aside. “And absolutely no more crying over burnt suppers, eh?” his hands flee to envelop yours, and he hoists you to your feet.

you sniffle one more time, nodding. you can feel the tears drying into a thin glue in streaks on your cheeks. “No more crying over burnt suppers.” you repeat back to him, cheeks just a tad hot. you were sheepish, embarrassed that such a trivial thing could send you into tearful hysterics.

“And you!” he exclaims, more playfully this time, as one hand cradles your swollen tummy. he leans forward as if speaking directly to the baby girl growing there. “No more making mummy batty.”

[trashi-bee]

Suddenly I don’t hate the franchise with a burning desire

[dollwritesarchive]

[ ᴍɪɴɪ ᴍᴜsɪɴɢs ] truth tea ❛ loki laufeyson

anonymous said: How do u think Loki and his son would react to someone flirting with the reader

fandom marvel

featuring king of asgard!loki x wife!reader & their son, henrik

rating sfw

content warning a little bit of magical violence but it’s mild

summary your son is fed up with midgardians staring at you

word count 1690

attention not proofread! do not translate or repost my work anywhere ever. please reblog and leave feedback if you enjoy, muah 💋

full masterlist for this au coming soon !

“Mum, he’s doing it again.” Henrik huffs, leaning his little figure over the expanse of the table to glare at your server. “Why does he stare at you like that?”

raising a brow, you reach down with one hand to brush his stygian curtains back over his shoulder before they drape across the table and dip into your teacup with a soft shush. “He’s not staring at me.”

“He is so!” Henrik protests, staring up at you as if incredulous that you can’t see the mortal’s eyes are glued to you. “He is looking at you the way that Da’ looks at you, but for a really long time. Every time we come to Midgard this happens, someone stares at you like this! why do they stare?! -“

your son’s excitement peaking, he’s all but standing on the padded booth seat the two of you share, but with a snap of your fingers, his butt is planted firmly back on to it. “Bottom on the seat, Henrik.” you remind him of his manners in a soft, yet stern, tone with a fond smile and a shake of your head. your palm careens to press flush against his nape and guide his head towards you, and you leave a chaste peck against the crown of it, his silken onyx tresses hardly disturbed by the action.

he huffs, with a childish pout pushing his lips forward. “Da’ says it’s because they don’t have women as beautiful as you on Midgard.”

blinking, you roll your eyes with a breathy chortle. “Of course your father said that. Henrik, your father is quite biased because of this, little thing-“ your hand flees from his head to tap upon the wedding band on your finger.

“Perhaps so,” it is Loki’s voice that chimes in, low and velvety beside your ear, “however, that doesn’t change the fact that I am right.” his couplet showers your heated cheek in a handful of pecks before his hand encases yours, and he slides into the seat on the opposing side of the table, interlacing your fingers with his atop the surface. he then turns to Henrik, oceanic gems glistening with genuine adoration. “Your mother is the most beautiful woman in Midgard, in Asgard, in any of the realms, and beyond. I could travel the galaxy until the end of time and still not find a fairer creature.”

swallowing a flattered hum, your empty hand soon busies itself by grasping the fragile handle of your teacup and bringing the rim to your lips. “Do not teach our son how to speak like you,” you warn with a sly smile after a moment’s hesitation. “We will be grandparents soon enough already.”

Loki returns your Cheshire grin, couplet coruscating.

Henrik, thankfully, didn’t hear you as he wasn’t listening. his attention hyper focused on the server with the staring issue, the small Asgardian prince bares his teeth as lapdog would, one that guards their owner with a ferocity unmatched and unexpected in such a teensy frame. “Da’!” he exclaims with venom on his tongue. “This man has been staring at mum since we arrived! He won’t stop!”

as if such a thing was a capital offense, Loki’s seafoam eyes appear to darken, obsidian brows knitting together as he leans over the table to inch closer to his son. “Which one is the culprit, eh?” he urges his son, the spitting image of himself, to out the offender. “Point him out to me.”

your son is equally as bitter as his little hand comes up, forefinger thrust in the direction of the waiter gathering empty dishes from a nearby table. “That one over there! The one with the face like a ferret-“

“Henrik Lokisson!” you warn in a hushed whisper as the server draws nearer to your table. shifting in your seat, you turn to face your son, who wears a sheepish and apologetic expression upon his countenance. your tone softens the moment you notice such a thing, and perhaps that is one of the reasons he is spoiled beyond measure, yet you continue. “We do not mock others for the way they look even if you dislike them, do we?”

“No, mum.” Henrik replies, cheeks significantly more rosy.

“Your mother is right,” Loki butts in, lowering his voice to match yours. “You shouldn’t call anyone names, even if their features are… quite weasely.” as he finishes, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and you can see the playful grin tickling his lips.

you want to sigh, or even act angry, but you can’t. a smile that mirrors his dances upon your own lips and you return the squeeze with a quirk of your brow. signifying that you will let that little remark slide, but he was on thin ice.

“How are we doing over here?” the server says with a grin as he approaches the table, though his gaze is unmistakably fixed on you, and he all but ignores Loki’s presence. “How is the tea?”

“Lovely, thank you.” you offer little in tandem with a polite simper, setting the teacup back upon the saucer.

“Awesome,” the server seems pleased, and thus turns to take his leave. “Just let me know if there’s anything else I can get ya.”

Loki’s free hand juts out to create a barrier in front of the boy, leaning back in his seat to look up at him. “Hi there,” he sneers, gaze dropping to the name tag pinned to his company shirt, “Toby, is it?” Toby nods with a quick but pointed look towards your hand in Loki’s atop the table. “Excellent! Toby, I’ll have the same as my wife.” the words are so sharp, it was as if they could slice right through the poor waiter, who hadn’t known he was ogling the Queen of Asgard. Loki grins and, with a nod towards the tea in front of you, he brings his hand back to rest at his side. “Thank you.”

“S-sure.” a little uneasy, and with a downward turn of his mouth, Toby all but gallops away from the table with shame taking the form of a cherry hue against the apples of his cheeks.

Henrik glares after him as he goes. “D’ya see what I mean, da’?” he exclaims, wildly flinging his arms about. “Does he not know who you are? Does he not know you’re a god?!”

drumming his fingers against the back of your hand, Loki watches the boy called Toby stumble over his coworkers in order to fetch his tea, although he’s keen to note that the mortal’s teeth are clenched in frustration. “Quite a greedy pair of eyes he has, wouldn’t you say, Henrik?” Loki asks, gaze locked on Toby even as he leans closer to his son. Toby holds a teacup identical to yours in front of him, and reaches for the kettle, however his eyes have landed upon you again. you can feel him staring, and you want to shrink, to shrivel up and disappear. you are well aware that bringing any sort of attention to it will only make your husband and son hungrier for revenge, but one look at Loki’s grimacing countenance tells you that he already knows.

“Quite.” replies Henrik, matter-of-factly. “Can we teach him a lesson?” there’s a devious edge to his voice, one that is all too recognizable in your husband’s as well. truly, Henrik was his father’s son.

“Well, how else will he learn not to ogle married women?”

you glance to the duo, practically huddled together at the end of the table, both glaring daggers at poor, unsuspecting Toby. you open your mouth to speak and, hopefully, bring your son back to a more collected state. however, a flick of his wrist at the coaxing of his father sends a wave of magic in the server’s direction. it goes mostly unnoticed, and isn’t strong enough to do any sort of real damage, rolling in spectral curls of smoke until it reaches him. the tea begins to spill over the cup in his hand and splatters over his flesh. for a moment, he doesn’t notice. you look up at him and your eyes meet, and it’s only then do you find his to widen as the pain registers. a loud cry erupts from within him and he throws the cup to the ground, effectively shattering it.

“Henrik,” you start. you want to scold him, however you find your fingers pressing into your bottom lip instead, stifling a fit of soft giggles as they fight to be freed, “that was… not very nice…” the corners of your mouth twitch with the need to spread a wide smile upon them, made all the worse by his incessant laughter. Loki seems especially proud of him, a smile from ear to ear ever present upon his face.

it’s then that Toby returns to the table with a fresh cup of tea, and you quickly take your own to use as a shield, so that he wouldn’t see your bemusement. he has a dishtowel wrapped around his hand, and he sets the cup down without so much as a word. for once, he doesn’t even glance in your direction.

“Thank you,” Loki is smooth as molasses, taking the cup to draw a long sip before he eyes the makeshift bandage. “That looks like a nasty burn, Toby. I would get that looked at if I were you.”

Toby, humiliated, slinks away from the table like a shunned pup with his tail between his legs, and Henrik bursts into another uncontrollable fit of laughter. “Can we do it again?!” he demands through ragged breath.

Loki tilts his head towards his son, a dastardly twinkle in his eye, but you squeeze his hand, instead. “Absolutely not,” you answer soft, after getting your bubbling giggles under control. “That’s quite enough magical torment for one day, isn’t that right?” you glance to your husband expectantly.

“Well…” Loki croons, playfully pensive. he mocks juggling the idea for a moment or two before one of your brows arch.

“Careful,” you warn with an equally playful glare, “I will ground the both of you, Your Majesty.”

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forever tags;

@trashi-bee / @littlemisscare-all / @fredweazleyswh0re / @shelickedthebeater / @buckybarnesplumwhore / @babybottlepop96 / @hermione-grangers-wife / @ayablackwood / @ginny-rose-sixx

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[trashi-bee]

THEY WAY THEY PLAY OFF OF EACH OTHER-