Anyways

thinking of writing nsfw alphabet for a few of the characters, so we’ll see how that goes-

miguel o’hara x assistant!fem! reader

SPOILERS ??!!

now we all know this man has some serious anger issues lmao but who wouldn’t love a grumpy man having this deep unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, right!? right. and along with that, SMUT! such a beautiful combo. but mild smut for now.

but here is some mild miguel smut for y’alls horny ass (and mine) <3

mild smut under the cut

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spiderman 2099. miguel. miguel motherfucking o’hara.

leader of the spider-society, an elite crew of various spider people from all across the multiverse, their mission to protect the multiverse from any threat that may come. sure, knowing how crazy it sounds that the multiverse is real and that— there are more variations of the spiderman you knew since all before this shitshow happened.

and to say, your relationship with the leader wasn’t all that bright in fact.

you’re not a spider person yourself but sometimes you wish you are seeing how fucking cool spider-woman, jessica drew, a fellow member, along with other members coming in are (hobie, gwen, pavitr and so on.) but no radioactive spider ever bit you sadly. you are human, human as ever working under miguel o’hara as his assistant (more of a manager really) even though he has lyla, the virtual sweetheart, you still had some things you can do which are a big help in all the management for the spider-society.

miguel, as a boss, well— he’s a fucking menace sometimes as you grit your teeth to yourself, walking swiftly into the familiar hallways you always passed through, captured anomalies around your vision until you arrive at the fairly narrow one, meaning you were almost close. all the people knew how fucking grumpy he was, always snapping out of nowhere, sharp comments and unnecessary hurtful ones too when he’s super mad. you’ve dealt with all of that since the foundation was found— and he’s kinda a loner. you sigh, knowing from the looks of what has happened today regarding miles morales, things weren’t looking so great. and you had to ask him somehow about the situation and see how it goes, well not or not.

your feet echoed through the vast space of his lab, his platform was up high as always and you can hear him grumbling a top, watching every scenario of what happened. your heels clicked as you stopped, looking up, blue light restricting your vision as you coughed for his attention. cringing already inside as you heard the audios pause.

then silence.

silence….

more silence….

silenceeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

“what?” he asks from above in a clip manner.

“heard from lyla.” you merely quip back, shrugging your shoulders.

“and?” he grunts, resuming his work as the platform above descends down. ah, sassy. you think, usual miguel— not the mad one, real lifesaver for whatever you’re gonna say right now.

“nothing.” you say, waiting for the damn platform to come down faster. “i may have a few questions where this leads-“

“what questions?” he asks, the platform finally stops at the usual height, making miguel who’s back is turned from you visible.

“about the situation. miles morales.”

“ask lyla about that.” he dismisses you again, tone a little sharper. the back of his muscles flex, super suit clinging tight, his mask the only one that was removed. tousled dark hair seen as he clicks away on his screen, the voices of miles and gwen emitting. you gulp, sighing as you tried for one more.

“it’s more of a personal question for you-“

“has it ever occurred that i don’t answer those kind of questions?” he cuts you off, the footage he was watching paused as he slowly turned around to finally face you. your eyes meet his, familiar red ones looking down at you, face scrunched a bit as if he was annoyed already,

“i know.” you slowly say as he crosses his arms. muscle bulging, making you avert from his gaze for a moment, which embarrassed you. “but all i’m saying or asking is that are you going to make it easy for the kid?”

something in his eyes snap at your question. he jumps down, landing swiftly in front of you as he stands up, towering your frame. you roll your eyes, his shadow blocking the light from you as his hands were situated on his waist, meaning he was ready to argue. but you can’t argue how eager you feel seeing how close he is. heat radiating from him, the way he never leaves his eyes off you and his overall presence.

“what is easy in all this, really, huh?” he harshly spits out. “the faith of the multiverse is in danger. and who’s responsible to fix that? me! so no, i’m gonna make it easy for the kid. he was the one who started all of this if you can remember.”

“oh, i remember and i remember clearly telling you how all of this— this is happening is very much-“

“no, no, no. that is completely out of the logical reason for why this happening. not the reason at all.” he says, his brow scrunching together as you too became fairly annoyed that he was cutting you off. an ass really.

“out of the reason? maybe it is the reason if you think about it!” you retort back, huffing out a sigh as he shakes his head turning away from you.

“miguel.” you call out to him. “miguel, for once, try and see through this. through miles.”

“i have a lot of things to do, y/n. arguing with you is not one.” he commands, as your shoulders sink, the familiar feeling of disappointment washing over you from his words.

“maybe if you could listen to me, we wouldn’t be arguing.” you stared at him with hard eyes, he tensed, looking to the side before he swiftly walks towards you again.

“why would i, huh?” he glares at you. “do you know everything i know enough to make everything right in the multiverse?” he stalks over to you, intent to make you listen clearly as you back away a bit from him but he doesn’t stop. “no. so no, there is no point in listening to you.” he growls the last sentence, the lump in your throat bitter as you two stared down at each other before he utters his last insults. the buzz of something blooms between you both. you could feel it, he could feel it. the two of you were just contemplating in the inside as miguel steps a bit closer to whisper it.

“you’re my assistant, know your place.”

your eyes widened at his words. but you could not shake the fact how deep he said it, the rumble in his voice making your brain go haywire at all the emotions you are feeling right now for him. the breaking point of your patience at its peak as you glared at him harshly, his face close to yours as you cursed at him.

“fuck you, miguel.” you spit out. his face suddenly changed as he fucking smirked. smirked! you stare at him as he opens his mouth to spit something out as well in retaliation for your insult.

“really? that’s all you got? i thought you were better at this, churri.” his smirk widens as you shy away, suddenly flustered at how fast he can make you embarrassed. you could feel his chest close to yours as you avert his hard gaze, making the said man snap something inside of him seeing you all crumpled beneath him.

“you’re all bark but no bite, sweetheart.” he whispers as you didn’t look at him. “look at me.”

the subtle growl in his voice caused you to obey him. you look up to meet his eyes again, seeing them red as ever, red with that low gaze that makes your thighs clench hard. the slow breaths between the two of you are only heard as miguel leans down, face closer to yours now.

“what’s making you shy, huh?” he asks, the argument from earlier clearly out of his head as he focuses on you. his one hand creeping up to gently caress yours, urging you to say it.

“miguel, please, stop playing with me.” you grumbled, ashamed how you liked how he was acting now. “it’s not funny.”

“i’m not joking around, am i?” he sasses but you held your hard gaze on him which he surrenders. “alright, i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.” you sighed, knowing there will never be a genuine sorry from him which leaves you utterly defeated, more upset how you know he’s toying with your emotions right now. “i’ll take my leave.”

“y/n, don’t…”

“please stop.” you raise your hand for him to stop.

“i’m sorry.” he genuinely says, gripping your hand gently back down, squeezing it softly. his big gloved hand envelops yours as you studied his face to make sure he wasn’t fucking around. miguel practically knew what’s going on between the two of you, which of course why he liked arguing with you. the way your eyes would dilate all the time and beat of your heart racing whenever he gets super close to your personal space. addicting yet a dick move he was doing because in all, he very much likes you. and this time, this time it all snaps at the pinnacle seeing you shamelessly stare at his lips.

“thank you.” you softly say, glancing at his lips, the fangs subtly showing behind them as miguel swiftly dips forward to finally kiss you with such fervor.

your eyes widened as you gripped his broad shoulders, toes tip toeing, heart pounding as his arms wrapped around your waist. you moan out on his lips as you kissed him back the same passion. months of ignoring the unspoken tension between the two of you and at this moment it happened! you think that this all sinks in because of the situation, and you are right in your head. all of this should happen.

“miguel.” you pant breathily between his lips as he shushed you with another one, too lost in the moment.

“miguel please.” you begged for more as his hands dip down to squeeze your ass, lifting you up effortlessly with his spidey strength as your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips.

“i know.” he kisses your chin down to your neck, slowly walking to the desk nearby. your breasts squished together with his hard chest as you grind down, feeling the evident bulge underneath you.

“you’re an ass, ya know?” you mumbled in his ear as he sits you down on the desk, objects scattering at the impact. he continues his ministrations, the things he was supposed to do are far long gone in his head as his hand dip down to where your legs were open for him.

“that i certainly know.” he admits, you giggle suddenly knowing how defensive he is when people point that out.

“but right now, i’m being very nice, amor. very nice.” he whispers, nipping your ear as his gloved hand touches you there, the pencil skirt you were wearing scrunched up above your knees. you gasp, clutching his shoulders again as he chuckles lowly, feeling the wetness as his eyes stared at you with this animosity as he kneels down, kissing your thighs before he sharply opens your thighs wide. your covered cunt staring right before him, begging to be eaten and he sure will be. he looks up to see you, this wild look in your eyes as you nodded for approval which makes him genuinely smile.

“i’m feeling generous today. it’s a once in a lifetime scenario, huh? so you better feel lucky today.”

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I HOPE I DIDN’T MAKE MIGUEL OOC CUZ I ONLY WATCHED THE MOVIE ONCE. ANYWAYS PART 2? <3

i can’t decide who’s more of a “hand over mouth as i pound you in the back seat of my car so no one knows i’m fucking the loud mouth cheerleader” is that more eddie or steve 🤔

gotta be eddie dude, steve's more of a "kiss you to shut you up" type, but allow me to elaborate on the first for a moment (and by a moment I mean nearly over 1.5k words)

(warnings: smut obv, blood mention, drug use mention, hair pulling, overstimulation, crying during sex/dacryphilia, breath play, extremely vague/not serious breeding kink)

[part 2 here]

"Shh, shh," he soothed, though you could hear the wide grin curling his lips, "don't want anyone to hear, now do we?"

Honestly, though, this was your attempt to stay quiet— digging your teeth into your lip so hard you tasted metallic, gripping the faded leather seats until your nails nearly tore through them. It wasn't your fault that it felt so good, that the weed had made your head all spinny and your insides all tingly and that his dick was slamming right into that spot that made your toes curl. No, that was all his fault; he gave you the joint and he promised it would 'awaken your senses', even if maybe neither of you anticipated exactly which senses it would awaken.

"Don't want anyone shining a light in here, right?" he continued, even though you could barely keep track of what he was talking about. "Don't want them seeing you on your hands and knees getting fucked and screaming like it's the best thing you've ever had, hm?"

"F-fuck, Eddie," you winced, gasping loudly when he tugged on your cheerleader-uniform-mandated ponytail. You breathed through your teeth, wishing you had the strength to tell him not to be so rough, not to fuck you like this... like a whore. But god, this is exactly what you wanted from him, if you were being honest, even if you hated yourself just a bit for liking it so much— for needing it. He dug his fingers into the hair at your scalp, surely ruining your half an hour of styling efforts from earlier tonight, and pushed your head back down against the seats; god, he was really rubbing it in, huh? You almost thought he'd be grateful, that he'd be delicate and careful with you because, well, the opportunity to fuck a cheerleader does not come by for a guy like him. But no, he was putting you in your place, and you were biting your lip to keep from begging him for more.

His free hand held your hips and suddenly his pace changed-- from hasty and rushed to slow but hard, slamming into you and knocking you forward with a loud groan. He did it again, and again, and you cried out louder with each thrust right into the deepest parts of you. "Oh, sweetie," he cooed condescendingly, "are you having trouble keeping quiet? I'll help you, babe— m'gonna shut you up, don't worry—"

He spoke so roughly that he sounded furious, leaning down over you to press his lips up to your ear, and suddenly the hand in your hair slipped around and covered your mouth. He gave you another one, so deep your eyes rolled back in your head, and you finally let it all out— it was muffled behind his hand, anyway, and it felt good to moan as loud as you wanted without it being actually as loud as it would be otherwise.

You weren't quite sure what to think: he was fucking you rather disrespectfully, but the intensity of it, the way he groaned deeply into your ear and mumbled little praises under his breath, the way he held your waist tighter and tighter— you could almost call it passionate, if you didn't know any better. Sure, not exactly sweet, but it could be worse.

Well, actually, it couldn't be better. It was perfect. It was Eddie fucking Munson, and you couldn't quite wrap your head around that yet, but you didn't need to because it felt goddamn perfect.

"Good girl, fuck, goooood fuckin' girl," he hissed into your ear. "Oh, you're still so loud, even with my hand on your mouth— need some more help, babe?"

He squeezed your nose shut with his thumb and the side of his finger, and suddenly you had no air at all; you didn't even care, you didn't need air anymore, you just needed this. It made the numbness that much better, made your eyes well with tears and your throat burn but you wanted more more more— you wanted everything.

"Ohh, fuck, are you coming?" he laughed proudly, fucking you faster right as it hit you. You hadn't even noticed until he said it, but, yep, you were clenching inside and your back was arching deeper and you felt the tears keep flowing over his hand. "Oh my god, that's good— you're so fuckin' tight, Jesus..."

It just kept getting bigger and bigger, it kept twisting in your core and you weren't sure how much more you could take. He let go of your nose and you took a deep breath in, hearing the most deranged noise break out of your throat and peter out in your mouth with his hand keeping it inside. You were crying out his name, at least you were trying to, but it was all just incomprehensible sobs muffled under that thick, clammy hand with the gaudy silver rings that you could taste on your lips.

God, was it ever gonna stop? This feeling, this light show on the back of your eyes, this whole-body spasm that danced under your skin— was it gonna let you go back down to Earth any time soon? Or was this just your new normal, was this just some other state of existence that Eddie had knocked you face-first into, with no plan to rescue you?

It was too much, it was far too much, but you could already see yourself tomorrow morning, staring at the phone, trying to decide how long to wait until coming back for more.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged you, "scream for me, just like that— nobody's gonna hear you, promise."

He couldn't promise that, but he didn't need to. He could fuck you in front of whoever he wanted if it was always gonna be like this; he could fuck you in front of your grandmother and you wouldn't stop him— you were whipped. Like, whipped whipped. Like, 'pearls and heels making a roast dinner if he asks me to' whipped. Like, 'we are so doing this again' whipped.

You heard him gasp, a sound almost like a wince or a cry, almost like it hurt— and you could relate to that right now, certainly. "Fuck!" he grunted. "M'close, I'm so close, babe..."

You were way too proud of that; it wasn't much of an accomplishment or anything, you heard that guys come pretty easy and in your experience so far it was mostly true. But you felt good, you liked knowing he was going to come because of you, you liked hearing that composure falter for even just a second— and, if nothing else, you were looking forward to taking a fucking breather, because you needed it.

"God, no fuckin' way I'm pulling out," he laughed thinly, "s'too good, babe— I'm gonna come inside, you ready, honey?"

You nodded, as best you could, and heard his own moans get higher in pitch slowly until they stopped all at once and you felt it, warmth filling you and just slightly soothing the ache inside you. He gave you a few shallow thrusts, sudden and seemingly involuntarily like a twitch, and dropped his hand from your mouth with a sigh. You gasped, hearing the hint of a moan on each of your breaths even though it was over now; he pulled out and fell back on the seats dramatically, resting his hand on his forehead like a maiden in an old-timey movie about to faint. You couldn't help but giggle, impressed that he could keep up his theatrics at a time like this.

"Oh, shit," he whimpered, "you really took it all out of me. Literally. Jesus. Y-you're on the pill, though, right? Cause I can buy you something—"

"S'fine," you croaked, clearing your throat when you heard how broken your voice sounded. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

"'Don't worry about it,' she says," he narrated while he raised an eyebrow, "yeah, that's not ominous at all— nine months later you're knockin' on my trailer door with your curly-headed new mini-me and a whole lot of questions—"

"Shut up," you laughed, rolling your eyes. You adjusted your panties to hopefully catch some of the mess before you left a puddle on the seats, then pulled your uniform skirt back down and finally leaned back with a long sigh. The radio was on— you forgot about that— and you heard Black Sabbath mixing in with the sounds of Eddie's belt jingling while he got himself back into his jeans.

"Our babies would be cute, though," he grinned.

"Okay, actually shut up," you frowned, smacking him on the thigh. "I should go— the team's probably wondering where I am—"

"Oh, no no no," he chided, "you're not getting away that easy."

He yanked you down quickly and wrapped his arms around you.

"You owe me at least three minutes of cuddling," he demanded.

"Eddie, I—"

He grabbed your head and pulled it down into his chest, stroking your thoroughly-mussed hair. "Shh, shh," he interrupted you, "get comfy, I'm not letting you leave for a while— feel free to fall asleep, whatever, it'll be cute."

"This is so not how I thought this was gonna go tonight," you grumbled.

"What, you thought we'd smoke up and call it a night?" he wondered. "So did I, but you were givin' me those eyes—"

"No, I mean— what?!" you squawked. "Eyes?! I was not giving you eyes."

"Uh, yes you were, missy!" he insisted. "You were all, Eddie, make love to me, I need you," he imitated a smoky-sensual voice.

"That's what you call 'making love'?" you snorted. "I'd hate to see you fucking. Gonna put a girl in the ICU."

"Oh, babe," he grinned, looking down at you, and you looked up at him from his shoulder expectantly, "I'm just getting started."

(part 2)

what about dark mechanic bucky when you forget your credit card. he's all sweaty and dirty wearing a wife beater and jeans. imagine how mean he would be 😳😳

Oh… he would be so mean and so cocky. Wiping the sweat off of his face with the back of his forearm, leaning against the wall making vulgar comments to his co-workers *cough cough* mechanic!Ari while checking you out like a piece of fresh meat.

Warnings: dark/mean Bucky, NON-CON, DUB-CON, misogyny, degradation, objectification, unprotected intercourse, 18+ only MDNI

"Walk in here looking like a fuckin’ prostitute. What do you expect?"

"P-Please, just, please st-stop," your subconscious lets out a moan while you struggle to escape Bucky’s firm grip.

"You left your wallet at home on purpose, didn’t you? Dirty whore’s getting what she wanted," Bucky groans, clenching his jaw. The rivers of defined veins flow down Bucky's muscular arms. His hand covers the whole right side of your head while the old cement wall scrapes deep into your left cheek.

"N-No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whine, your puffy eyes welling up with salty tears. "S-stop, I promise p-please," your groans trembling, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, breaking the tender flesh.

The pungent scent of blood and sweat floods your senses as Bucky mercilessly rams into you. "Oh, don’t act like you don't like it." Bucky ridicules you, the head of his cock rapidly slamming into your cervix. "You’re so wet, you like being used like the worthless slut you are."

You squirm under Bucky’s hold, pulling fearful whimpers from your clenched abdomen. Pressing the rough pads of his fingers to your swollen clit, your knees go weak. "That’s it," Bucky groans. His skin beats against yours, beads of sweat rolling down his toned body. "Can’t even pretend anymore, pathetic."

sweat dripping on our dirty laundry (hangman x reader)

masterlist

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

synopsis: laundry day can suck but less when you and jake fuck!

warnings: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual activity (fingering, piv, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, cum play near the end? oops, bad laundry innuendos, pwp)

as always - I love you jordan and may (aka gretagerwigsmuse & seasonsbloom) you both give me life and motivation and break my heart with every fic and then put it back together <3

It’s not like you absolutely despise laundry day - it’s more of a love-hate relationship. On one hand, the serotonin boost from an empty hamper and a full, clean smelling closet is unmatched. On the other hand... you and Jake have way too many clothes put together, and the chore can take almost all day if enough clothes and towels pile up. Normally, you and Jake tackle it together. But he’d just returned from his most recent deployment two days ago, and you wanted to give him a chance to properly rest his body, lounge around the house, let him catch up on the Cowboys’ disaster of a season. 

“Hey Jake?” you call out from the laundry room over the hum of the dryer cycle. You’d left him in the middle of your trashy reality TV session to transfer the lights. “You got anything I can throw in the laundry? I’m doing a load of darks.” 

Silence - you figure he’s probably dozed off and resolve to just go check his hamper after you finish untangling your bras. But a few minutes later, you hear his footsteps approaching the laundry room, stopping in the middle of the doorway. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” he rumbles, voice slightly hoarse, and you feel bad for waking him from his sleep. 

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, finally managing to hook one of the clasps together and slipping it into your lingerie bag. “Just wanted to know if you had any darks I could throw in...” you trail off when you turn to look at him, trying desperately to keep your eyebrows from shooting straight off your face as you appraise the six-foot-something Adonis of a man leaning against the door frame wearing what you can best describe as an expression of mischief, like he’s up to no good, like he’s ready to eat you alive. 

You think it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Bone apple teeth, Jake Seresin. 

Immediately, your eyes catch on the way Jake’s gray sweatpants are slung low on his hips, v-lines especially prominent and a golden happy trail descending below the drawstring knot. Slowly, your gaze shifts upwards to follow the cut lines of his abs, up to the patch of gold hairs on his defined chest, and finally landing on the signature smirk he’s wearing. Jake knows he’s hot, is well aware of the effect he has on you, but it never stops him from trying to catch you off guard and distract you from your responsibilities by showing up in your periphery looking this damn fine. 

It’s why you signed an informal household contract with him a few months back: shirt and pants are required whenever you have to hop on a video call at home. 

While you’ve been shamelessly checking him out, Jake squints. “Are those my boxers?” he asks, eyes drawn to your bottoms as he takes a step forward. 

“They’re comfy!” you defend with a sly smile, turning to add detergent to the washer, feeling all too aware of Jake’s gaze on you. He shifts slightly behind you, and suddenly you feel him right behind you, arms caging you in, erect cock pressed up against your ass, chest flush with your back.

“I’m sure,” he drawls in your ear, sending a shiver cascading down your spine, rippling throughout your nerves. You feel his fingers dance across your hips, and the sweet kiss he presses to your temple is innocent enough, but his hands seem to be acting a bit more shamelessly. His breath hitches when his fingertips start exploring, grazing nothing on your hips underneath his worn pair of boxer shorts. “Don’t you have panties of your own, sweetheart? Bought you that nice lace set you kept pulling up on my phone when I wasn’t looking.” 

“They’re all in the wash,” you hum back, delighting in the feeling of his fingers massaging circles over your hip bones, his hot breath on your ear. 

“Should’ve asked me to help,” he mutters lowly, nuzzling his beard into your neck. 

You finally gather your wits and turn around to face him, leaning your back against the washing machine and looking up at him. His pupils are practically blown out as he smirks down at you appreciatively. “Are you offering?” you ask, almost a whisper, the sound almost lost to the rumble of the dryer next to you. But Jake’s standing real close, can read the words as they form on your lips and he nods once, twice. You glance down at the dark gray sweatpants, gesturing with one hand. 

“Take them off. I need them for this load,” you order, a bit louder now, and the smirk on his face slowly transforms to a wide smile that reaches both his eyes, crinkling his eyes to make your heart swoop. 

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you, finally removing his hands from your waist to shuck off his sweatpants, leaning down to pick them up from where they’ve pooled onto the floor and holding them out to you. But you barely barely notice that - your eyes are drawn to his rock-hard cock that’s flush against his abdomen, tip already red and leaking precum. “But I’ve got the only load you need to worry about.” 

Your steadily climbing lust abruptly stops in its tracks, and you crook an eyebrow as best as you can. “What the fuck, Jake? Are we on fucking Brazzers?” 

Jake bursts out into laughter, leaning in to press his lips to your mouth, and you kiss back as best as you can while maintaining a disapproving pout. “Not if I can help it,” he grits out, still feverishly kissing you like a starved man. “You just make my brain short-circuit, honey. Sometimes I say stupid things.” 

You pull away, narrowing your eyes at the silly boy you’ve fallen in love with, the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, the one who somehow manages to make you hornier than you thought possible whilst also filling you with the desire to club him over the head. “Sometimes?” you hedge, turning around and lifting the lid of the washer and shoving his sweatpants in with the rest of the load. As you spin the dial and close the top, finally starting the cycle, you continue to lecture him “I tell you, Jake, if I had a dime for every stupid thing you said-” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’d probably be able to afford that nice high-efficiency Samsung laundry set you’ve had your eye on. But sweetheart..” Jake's hands return to your waist, this time shoving down the boxer shorts slightly so he can slip his fingers between your legs, grazing one digit over your wet lips. “I keep telling you - God you’re fucking soaked-” and you’re unable to hold back the moan that bubbles out in response to the rasp in his voice, to his tone carrying sheer amazement at your level of arousal. Jake continues: “ - I keep telling you, as soon as the house is done, that’s the first thing I’m buying for you. But I don’t want to buy one now and then lug an old model to the new place. My girl deserves the best. A brand new washer for me to fuck her against in our brand new home.”  

You moan out, partially at the promise but equally at the way his other hand has slipped under your (well, his) t-shirt to grope at your breast, the way his fingers are gathering your wetness. 

“Shit, you’re so wet, darling,” he breathes out, sliding one finger through your folds and crooking it just so, enough for the tip of his finger to graze that sponge-y part of your cunt. You keen in response, grinding your pelvis into his hand and gripping his shoulders tightly for support. A click sounds out, and the spin cycle starts, shaking against Jake’s wrist pressed up against your clit, sending delightful sensations quivering throughout your body. 

Jake repositions his other hand to rest on your lower back; he presses slightly to tilt your pelvis forward into the running machine, into the vibrations, into another tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you shuddering in its wake. 

“Fuck, Jake,” you manage, a gasp leaving your lips as he adds a finger to your cunt and plunges them in and out rhythmically, almost in time with the motion of the cycle at first and then speeding up. You’re sighing out in bliss, unable to keep yourself from grinding down on his hand and pressing your bare ass into his hardened cock, feeling slight wetness on your lower back from a bead precum falling from the tip. 

“God, sweetheart” Jake grunts, pulls his hands out from your cunt and spins you around, then effectively hoists you up onto the machine, lips pressing into your neck as his hands make work of dragging the boxer shorts down your legs. He surges forward to kiss you deeply, slipping his tongue to press in against yours, heavy breaths escaping his mouth as his hands travel to graze his touch all over you. 

For a moment, it’s just you two being horny people, just making out on top of your washing machine almost completely naked, entirely wrapped up in each other, just full of sheer and utter devotion. You pull away to catch your breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and his musky cologne. 

With a smile, you lean your forehead against his.  “You’re gonna make love to me on top of the washer, Jake?” you ask him innocently, bashing your eyelashes and running your hand down his chest, tangling and tugging at his golden hairs teasingly. Jake grunts out at the sensation, reaching down to grab the hem of your t-shirt to pull it up over you. 

“No, sweetheart,” he starts, eyes darting down to appreciate the way your nipples have pebbled in the cool air before sliding his hands down to your hips. In a split second, he pulls you to the edge, grasps his hard length in one hand, guides it into your soaked pussy. “I’m going to fuck you on top of it.” 

And with that, the spin cycle starts up again, and Jake starts drawing his hips in and out slowly, hands resting on the small of your back to hold you in place. And it’s truly fo the best, because the rumble of the washing machine is sending vibrations up throughout your body and the feeling of Jake buying himself into you over and over agains is so overwhelming you fear you may topple over onto your side, hit your head on the cabinet, maybe sustain a concussion. And Jake’s always aware of this, always aware of how easily he can fuck your brainless, make you lose control of your body as a whole as you get lost in the motions of him just pounding you silly - so Jake knows he needs to keep a firm grip on you, which only adds to your pleasure. He’s moaning out your name over the sound of both machines running, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he holds you up. 

“Not enough,” you murmur, placing one hand on his chest to stop his motions and attempting to pull him out. 

“Hmm?” he asks, slightly dazed as he takes a step back, cock still standing tall and proud and dripping with your wetness. As soon as your feet hit the floor, you turn on your heel and lean both your forearms down on the edge of the washing machine, gripping it tightly and bending over to present your ass to him, arching your back just the way he likes it. By the sound of the strangled groan behind you, it seems like Jake approves. 

“Smart girl,” he says, sending a tiny flutter of pride throughout your chest, and one arm comes to wrap itself around your middle to hold you up, the other hand kneading and squeezing your backside roughly. “Such a pretty, smart girl,” he praises and guides his length back into your warmth, starts to match the pace of the spin cycle again. 

“It’s too much,” you whine out, still backing into him despite yourself and pushing yourself further onto his length. Jake hisses out at your eagerness, and the way your walls flutter around him and the slight tremors in your thighs from trying to hold yourself up. 

He moves his hand from where it’s cupping your ass and slides it around to your front to press into your stomach. His fingers are widely splayed, and with a slight grunt, he lifts, pulling you further onto him. “Hold tight, sweetheart,” he manages, and you grasp at the one neuron that’s still firing commanding signals in your brain, trying to consciously force your fingers to tighten their grip on the edge of the washing machine before Jake’s actions hit you in full force. 

And in full force it hits indeed - he’s pounding into you from the back now - his pelvis smacks loud against your ass and the squelch of your soaked cunt is the most erotic sound and it’s just barely audible over the machines. Your thoughts are interrupted by Jake tugging at your earlobe with his teeth and grunting out the most colorful string of profanities - “Fuck, sweetheart, feel so good wrapped around my cock, so fucking good for me - let me fill you up, let me put a baby in you, get your tits and belly nice and big for me so I can take care of you, never let you lift a finger, fuck, please...” 

“Yeah, Jake,” you breathe out as best as you can, “Fill me up, please, too much, please...” 

And with his chin grazing your shoulder, you can feel him shaking his head furiously. “You first. You first, please, sweet girl, cum for me,” and he’s not so much as commanding you as he is begging, pleading for you to release, to give him the extra push for him to climax. And as he’s swearing out loud and praising you his hand is sliding down from where it was gripping your hip, fingers seeking out your clit to give it the extra flick, the extra strum to bring you close and it’s working, with the way his cock is grazing all the right spots inside of you and his middle finger applying just enough pressure to your apex. 

“Jake, please,” you whine out, and he’s hushing you, pulling his hips back further to completely unsheath himself before slamming back into your cunt with a resounding smack. “I think I’m... oh.” Your orgasm washes over you, sending you cascading 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grits out, not slowing the circles on your clit just yet but gradually decelerating his thrusts, electing to punctuate each press into you with a grind of his hips. “Shit, I’m,” Jake manages out, grunting out your name with an added level of intensity, power - he’s close, you can feel it in the way his grip is tightening around your body and the way his breath is getting so much faster and how his hips are more stilted in their movements. 

“Cum in me, fill me up, Jake,” you coax, clenching your cunt down on his cock repeatedly and trying your best to push back against his thrusts. Jake lets out a strangled cry of your name, slams into you one last time and holds you tight against his body. His cock is shoved inside you as deep as it can go and you can feel every pulse, every throb of his release filling you to the brim. It’s oozing, comforting warmth and you reach a hand back to lock his hips in to feel full, to feel this close to him for that much longer. 

Eventually, his cock starts softening, and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Jake,” you whine out as he pulls out, immediately using the last of your strength to squeeze your thighs together to keep his cum from spilling out and leaving another mess for you to clean up in the laundry room. Your muscles feel sluggish, feel like you’re trying to run underwater, feel like you’ve forgotten how to use your limbs. “‘m so tired,” you whisper, and Jake shushes you sweetly, one large hand rubbing circles on your lower back while the other is wrapped around your middle, all but holding you up. 

“Let me take you to bed, honey. Think we’re both due for a nap,” he murmurs and slightly lifts you up from where you’ve almost collapsed against the washing machine. You blearily open your eyes to glance at how much time is remaining for your clothes - “Jake? Can’t nap for too long. Wake me up in twenty?” 

“Sure,” he nods, letting you lean on his arm to lead you out towards your bedroom. 

The first step you take sends a rivulet of cum dripping down the inside of your thigh, and the feeling of the rest of his release slowly trickling out sends another wave of arousal through you, mixed with a twinge of despair at having to clean it up. A pathetic whine manages to escape your lips. 

Jake chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding your hand to lean against the counter. “Stand still for me? I’ll take care of it.” He steps away towards the sink grab a clean washcloth from the stack of towels you neatly folded earlier, running some warm water over it. 

And with a hazy mind, you thank whatever deity, whatever force exists that brought you Jake Seresin - the man who fucks you within an inch of your sanity, who takes care of you like no one else, who wants to spend his forever with you... who’s currently on his knees in front of you, nudging your thighs apart and is starting at how his release has painted your cunt, completely mesmerized. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says in awe, reaching to run a finger through the mess - like he’s ready to fucking fingerpaint with it - before finally lifting up the washcloth to wipe you down, and you shudder at the feeling while simultaneously managing an eye roll. 

Horny bastard. 

-- 

And when you wake up from your nap hours later in a cold sweat with the realization that you most definitely slept through the washer cycle - and that your darks were most certainly going to develop that funky odor - you quickly move to lift yourself out of bed with a sigh. 

A hand on your waist stops you, and you turn to see Jake’s face of anguish in the dim light of the evening - he’s still half-asleep, left cheek pressed up against his arm and golden hair a tousled mess, but he’s still managing a signature pout as best as he can. 

“Don’t go,” he grunts out, pressing his fingers into your hips. You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you.

“Jake, I’ve gotta move the clothes, they’ll dry weird-” 

“Took care of it already, baby,” he groans out against his bicep, turning slightly so his hand can pull at your arm. “Lights are folded and put away, darks are in the dryer, and I deserve to nap with my girl after fucking her brains out.”

You stifle a laugh, finally giving in and letting yourself fall back into bed, into his awaiting arms, falling back into the man you love. As your drift off to sleep with Jake’s arms wrapped securely around you, a tiny voice wonders if you could manage to convince him to get the quiet washer/dryer set now if you pointed out how clearly he’d be able to hear your sighs and the sound of sex over a cycle. Maybe then you could grow to enjoy laundry days.

and he’d be so sweet to you when you’re pregnant!

meeting your every need and he’s with you every step of the way during labor and once the baby comes he’s over the moon and he def cries bc he’s just so happy to be a dad😭

dad!bob is what keeps me up late at night, I need to give that man as many babies as he wants!!! (and he wants a lot, he has a breeding kink, trust me I know him)

Bob has a DIRTY BREEDING KINK

and the man wants a whole house of kids and I would happily provide

I’ve been struck by another smutty miguel idea and I’ll write it when I get off work today <3

AHHH OMG THANK YOU!! 💋

Te Lo Ruego

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

nsfw masterlist | main masterlist

word count: 0.8k

summary: miguel is desperate for just a taste

warnings: SMUT (18+), minors DNI, miguel being a munch and pussy drunk, that’s it, it’s just him being desperate to eat you out <3 also, spanish (translation at the end)

A/N: I read two words and was inspired to write this…took me about an hour and now this is all i’m thinking about, please enjoy // as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, reblog and lmk what you think! <333

Keep reading

Come Away With Me

Come Away With Me

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Kink: Anasteemaphilia - a sexual preference for partners of a vastly different height than oneself. It can present as a preference for partners who are significantly shorter or partners who are significantly taller.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, murder, blood, gore, kidnapping, noncon (like for real dark shit), dirty talk, light praise

Relationships: Troll!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2162

A/N: Troll - a dwarf or giant in Scandinavian folklore inhabiting caves or hills. We have gone with LARGE for this one pals... an uh he makes it fit. You can thank my 2am stomach ache for this one.

This work has Adult Content. By clicking “Keep Reading” you have agreed that you are over the age of 18 and are willing to view such content. My work is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform. I have discontinued my taglist - follow @slothspaghettilibrary to be notified of when I post new fics.

You crossed the bridge every day. A song quietly falling from your lips as you pushed your small cart to the market and then home again in the evening. It was tiring work; the load was heavy, and the coin never truly enough, but you didn’t quit. It was too safe a job for someone like you to give up on. The stories you’d heard about women working outside the market always sent a shiver down your spine. You were safer out in the open than you would in a pub or a dark bookstore.

You would also miss your friend.

He’s shy, doesn’t really say much of anything, but he’s sweet. Well, you assume it’s a he, and that he is real and not just some coyotes in the woods or local kids being mean. You leave small amounts of fruits and vegetables and flowers for him, nothing special. The bridge between the village and your cottage is old and magic, or so your grandmother told you. It just became a habit when you took over the cart to leave an offering of sorts on the bridge.

Each evening you'd leave what you could afford and each morning it would be gone. Sometimes certain vegetables were left behind, carrots in particular. Your friend seemed to really enjoy when you left plums. Though the tree was still young, it bore small amounts of fruit this season. When you left one behind, a little bruised and misshapen, the next morning you found an old hat where you always left your offering.

The cap was battered and worn, a small emblem on it had been ripped off and there was a hole in it, but the plum pit that sat on top told you it was the bridge, or the spirit of the bridge thanking you for your offering. You didn't want to question it, didn't think about it, because suddenly the long days and early mornings were just a little better. You wore the old hat from that day on.

But the villagers they didn't like that. When you explained to the fishmonger how you came across it, one morning after he'd asked, he sneered and turned up his nose. The cobbler did the same, as did the entire market thereafter. Rumors spread that you were some heretic, not to be spoken to or to have dealings with. On the busiest day of the week, you sold barely anything. And that pattern continued, your cart just as heavy as it had been at the start of the day.

Your offering grew smaller, unable to afford to give any more. But still you weren’t making ends meet. So you did something you promised your grandmother you wouldn’t do. You got a job at the pub as a barmaid. Guilt swirled in your belly that first evening when you had nothing to offer the bridge. The handful of coins you had earned were carefully stashed in the lining of your coat since it was so late at night. There were no lovely plums or flowers to be offered. You stood in the middle of it, trying to decide what to do. Did you leave a coin and risk it being stolen, or do you leave nothing and hope that misfortune doesn’t befall you further?

“Oi, bridge bitch,” someone shouted in the darkness, their voice slurring into the cool night air. “Y-ou wanna give me an off-erring?”

You clutched your coat tighter around your chest, frozen in fear as the burly man stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. You pressed yourself into the stone railing as he approached you, a breath trapped in your chest. He plucked your hat off your head and tossed it over the side. You felt the tears burn your eyes, your voice lost on your tongue.

“You wanna offer me-me that-”

The sentence was never finished. A giant, scarred hand grabbed his head, crushing his skull with a simple squeeze. Blood and visceral spewed from between the meaty fingers, spraying across your front. Every part of you shook, a heavy breath nearly blowing you over as the hand released the lifeless body. The hand shook off the bits carelessly, flinging chunks across the bridge and making bile ride in your throat.

A rush of cool air behind you and suddenly you were standing face to face with… with a…

"T-tr-troll," you squeaked, head tilted all the way back to look at his scarred features. "I-I-I-I-"

You were caught in a loop, unable to scream in terror, unable to run, just a stuttering mess standing before one of the most feared creatures in the world. You dropped your gaze when his piercing blue eyes became too much. In his clean hand, your cap was pinched between two fingers.

"Here, plum," he set the hat back on your head. "Hafta make sure everyone knows you're Bucky's."

"Bucky?" Your lips trembled as the large fingers caressed your face, tracing your cheek and sliding down to your throat. His big thumb pulled at your bottom lip.

"Yeah, me, this is my bridge and you are my precious… tiny… plum."

Fat tears slipped down your cheek. Your body trembled under the immense weight of his stare, blue eyes being swallowed up by his pupils. The heat radiating from his tarnish body caused sweat to form under your thick coat. Every part of him was built to stomp and crush and kill.

What had you done?

"No, no, no little plum, no tears. I've been dreaming about this night." He tried to smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth, but all you could think of was how they'd feel ripping your flesh from the bones. A sob rattled your chest. "I rescued you, l-like a knight, and I'm gonna take you away from all of this. I used all your gifts, I planted a garden for-for us and-and-”

He yanked you into his chest, crushing your cheek into the worn and sweaty material of his shirt. Hands, terrifyingly large and strong, roamed over your body, felt your body tremble under him, but they didn’t stop. Bucky lifted you into the air until your face nearly touched his, more hiccuped cries pouring from your mouth.

“P-puh-please,” you sobbed. "I just wanna go home."

"Shh, it's okay, plum, we'll go home," he whispered, rubbing his nose against yours, like he was trying to soothe you.

You didn't fight as the troll carried you away, leaping over the bridge and causing you to shriek in terror. Whatever life you had before was dead, either because of your own doings leading up to this point or from the monster now taking control. If you survived, made it back to the village somehow, you would no doubt be blamed for murder. Your luck had truly soured. The gods had turned their backs on you. You’d never see your grandmother again.

Bucky’s barbarous steps shook the trees and made the ground quake as he crouched under the bridge.

“Watch this,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulder to force your head up.

Your weak sniffle echoed around the arch. You stared at the dry stone wall, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eyes to try and stop the tears. A nervous smile spread across his barrelled towards the wall. Before the choked sound could pass your lips, the wall shimmered into nothing, revealing a lush valley that practically glowed in the moonlight. Your heart leapt into your throat.

At the center of the valley was a stone hut, a blazing fire crackled and crickets chirped. Bucky walked down the short hill talking the whole way about plans he had for you, for him, for both of you. He kicked open the door, and you were struck by how massive everything was. It was all troll size, of course, from the pans that hung over the fireplace to the washbasin to the bed that was tucked into the far corner of the room. Dried flowers and sprigs of herbs you had left as offerings hung on one fall, as did a ribbon you’d lost on a windy day a few weeks ago. Though it was stained with something now, the satin ruined.

He was still holding you.

“I-I-I had a lots a plans, was going to add more to the house, this wasn’t h-how I wanted it to look when you got here, but I couldn’t not save you. Nobody hurts my plum.” He squeezed you, forcing the air from your lungs when his fingered curled so tightly together they almost touched.

“Bucky,” you said, gasping for air and clawing at his hands.

He looked down at you. Your pleading gaze meeting the same strange one from the bridge. His eyes dilated as they flicked from his hold around your waist to your face. A tight knot formed in your chest as the hunger you saw in his gaze. The harder you tried to breathe, the more your vision blurred.

“Lotta plans, little plum, but they-they don’t really matter anymore.”

Just when you thought you might explode or pass out, his grip released. You collapsed onto the bed and ragged, quaking breaths tearing your throat apart. The sheet smelled surprisingly fresh, like roses and violets you’d grow at home. A hand wrapped around your leg, pulled you to the edge harshly. Bucky snapped and tore at your clothes, tossing the shreds to the far side of the room until you were left naked and shivering below him. You begged him to stop, but he refused to listen.

"Every part of you is so… tiny." He breathed, hands dragging up your legs, your hips, all the way to your face. "I could crush you, rip you right in half."

He brought his weight down to your pelvis when you tried to squirm away, heavy cock pressed against your tummy

"No," you sobbed, fresh tears burning your eyes. "Please, I haven't-"

"Plum," he groaned, biting off the end of your confession. His lips crashed down on yours, devoured and consumed your cries. "Knew you were going to be the one, knew you'd be so sweet and ripe for me."

With your body still pinned beneath him, he removed his clothes. More scars were revealed, old jagged marks that had long since healed but looked so angry, showed what damage he could do and take. You refused to look lower than his chest, terrified of what you'd find. The trembling returned to your body as you tried to hold back your tears. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and you squeezed your eyes shut.

It felt bigger, hotter, harder outside of his trousers. He rubbed his cock against your stomach, whimpering at the friction against your soft skin. Precum flowed from his cock, soaking your skin in his slimy essence.

"S-s-so beautiful, little plum. Just like I dreamed about. So perfect. Fuck, g-gon-na fill you up so good. Promise I'll be as gentle."

His hands easily wrapped around your thighs, spreading them to the point of pain until he could fit his hips between them.

A scream, filled with anguish and defeat, tore through your throat when he prodded at your dry cunt. He stopped almost instantly, not removing what little of himself he'd shoved into you, but not going any further. You couldn't see his face, couldn't tell if he was enjoying your pain or taking greater pleasure in it. His monstrous thumb traced patterns against the inside of your thighs, moving higher and higher until he was stroking your clit.

"Stay still plum, this will m-make it better, easier. Just let me take care of you."

He forced pleasure on to you. Bucky pressed kisses against your tear-stained cheeks, licked and sucked at the skin around your neck and shoulder. Shocks and shivers rained down your spine, the tension building in the base of your neck made your muscles shake. His thumbs kept toying with your body, swirling and rubbing and pinching. Your hands twisted the sheets beside you, heat rolled through your body. His cock eased deeper into you, your traitorous body sucking him the slicker your pussy got.

"That's it, plum, doing so good. Kn-knew you could take it, fit my cock in your b-b-bitty body. Just need to c-cum and I'll be able to slide right in."

You shook your head, even as your body seemed to agree with his words. The tension inside you wound tighter and tighter, forcing your back off the bed until it snapped. Your vision swam as your pussy fluttered around the tip of his cock. Bucky bit down hard into your shoulder, his hips trying to pulse forward to fully enjoy your wet heat.

"I can't," you whimpered as he pushed in deeper. "I can't, I can't. Please, Bucky, no more."

"Plum, don't fight, promi-ise it'll fit. Promise, I'm gonna make it fit. Cause you're my little, tiny precious plum."

Men who sound like they’re gonna cry when they cum.