posting this snippet in hopes of maybe some screams so i have some motivation to finish it and then maybe get back into writing and making gifs and being active and all that jazz
🐺🐇 hybrid!steve x vampire!reader
You were laid under a tree, your back flush against Steve’s chest with a cream rose-printed blanket underneath you both. The sun streaked through the dancing leaves above you, the shadows joined in their tango as the snowdrops and daffodils swayed to their rhythm. You plucked daisies from an old wicker basket and threaded them into a chain as Steve read softly from one of his old books, the raspy tone of his voice mixed with the music that played quietly from your little white speaker.
You leaned your head back against Steve’s shoulder, your eyes falling shut as you soaked up the heat and sun streaks before grinning to yourself as you quickly pinched his inner thigh, slung the daisy chain into the basket and scrambled to your feet while giggling at his confused protest. You kicked dirt and leaves onto the blanket as you sprung into a sprint and made your way into the woodland.
‘’Yeah, you better run, little rabbit,’’ Steve called out after you as the swings snapped and leaves crunched under your quickened pace. ‘’You’re gonna regret it when I catch you!’’
‘’No cheating, Mr Wolf,’’ You sassily shouted back to him, melodic giggles were left in the wind as you continued your sprint.
Your game of cat and mouse ensued; or was it a game of wolf and rabbit?
pairing: werewolf knight!steve rogers x princess!female reader
summary: you’re certain that captain steve rogers, the knight assigned to protect you, is the man for you, but he’s intent on keeping you safe from anything that might cause you harm—including himself.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), teratophilia/monsterfucking, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, knotting, fingering (f receiving), breeding kink, primal kink, chasing, size kink/size difference, dirty talk, praise kink, some CNC-ish vibes, BDSM themes, slight come inflation, talk of mating, pet names (princess, mate), aftercare, angst with a happy ending—let me know if i missed something!!
word count: 11.7k
a/n: i’ve never written a werewolf fic so i thought it’d be a fun challenge to write one for halloween this year! i don’t think i’ve read many werewolf fics so uhhh i hope this is good!! of course it wouldn’t be me without a lot of feels, so get ready for infuriating and sweet and feral werewolf steve!!! i just love him so much!!! anyway i hope y'all enjoy!!!
also, as promised, i managed to work this post into this fic for @biteofcherry and @eralen. you’re both the best kind of menaces ♡
Captain Steve Rogers stood at the edge of the ballroom, his eyes drawn to you as you whirled around the marble floor, looking radiant in your gown for the All Hallow’s Eve ball. As it always did when he was forced to watch you allow another man to put his hands on you, Steve’s heart thumped possessively, the wolf hiding beneath his skin growling with the urge to stake his claim on his mate. Curling his hands into fists at his side, Steve held back the beast.
Using every ounce of his control over himself and his feral other half, Steve pushed his shoulders back further, standing up straighter, holding himself still and firm. He became a watchful sentinel, his eyes never leaving you as you danced to the music played by the orchestra. It was the only way to keep his wild side in check. Once he knew the wolf wouldn’t make an appearance, he pushed that word—mate—aside in his mind, reminding himself to focus on his duty: protecting you, the princess of his kingdom, from any and all threats. Including himself.
warnings: smut, minors DNI, 18+, shower sex, pinned against a wall, steve rogers being delicious, squirting, nipple play?, penetrative sex, p in v, cock
a/n: i liked writing this one ;)
“Join me?”
Your boyfriend stood at the bathroom door wearing nothing but a loose towel around his waist. You were sat on the bed, scrolling through your phone, you looked up at him.
His perfectly carved body and the happy trail that led straight down to his sizable asset stared straight at you.
Summary: Your mind was clouded with lust and pleasure, as you begged repeatedly for more from Bucky but, what happens when you get hurt in the process?
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, BDSM, dom/sub, Dop/Top Drop, choking, rough sex, breathplay, masturbation, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, sir kink, orgasm control, begging, injured during sex, blood/injured knuckles, anxiety/guilt, lots of emotions, hard dom steve, soft dom bucky
Ari x Reader: won’t you whisper soft and slow? (One Shot)
Plot: A grumpy old man falls in love with the village sweetheart.
or, the one where Ari just wants to be left alone but a few sweet pastries from the sweetest girl had him changing his mind.
Tags: SMUT, older!ari, kinda bimbo!reader, ruined innocence kink, mean words, grumpy ari (but not to reader), slight spanking, threats, violence (not to reader), spitting, oral job (both receiving), p to v smut, daddy kink (duh), breeding kink, fluff, kinda (in a good way) controlling ari, protective ari, domestic air, 18+
Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader x Six (Court Gentry) Wordcount: 8.5K Warnings: smut. threesome. gore. torture. hair. rough sex. dp. Knife play. Summary: Aside from all the murder, their new life is like a damn Thomas Kinkade painting.
A/N: follow up to only the lonely but i wouldn’t say you have to read it
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
WH Auden
In the mornings, there is magic hour. Six wakes before dawn, Lloyd just as the red sun peeks above the horizon. Six jogs. Lloyd runs. Both are washed and dressed as they cook up enormous American breakfasts. Greasy. Diner-style.
You follow later, resentful at their ability to survive off a scant few hours. You’re not a morning person, but perhaps you’d be more of a morning person if they weren’t keeping you up all night.
They pour you juice as you hunch over the kitchen table. When Six drops a pan, it clatters so loudly that you hiss like a feral cat. The boys exchange amused looks, and you wonder when the fuck they became so chummy.
“Somewhere between you sucking Court’s cock while I jack off or, you know when we have to strategize double-teaming your ass.”
Summary: You told Bucky that the only time he’s allowed to wake up is under three conditions: He has coffee. It’s an emergency. Or his head is between your thighs. And today, he really, really wants to wake you up.
A/N: Beta’d by the amazing @lunarbuck and @cwbucky. Based off an anon ask.
You’ve always said that the only time he’s allowed to wake you up before your alarm goes off is under three conditions: if he has coffee waiting for you, it’s a dire emergency or if he has his head between your thighs.
Otherwise, you won’t be responsible for what you would do to him if he doesn’t allow you to get sleep in.
He learned this after he woke you up one bright and way too early morning to ask if you remembered where he put his book—it was next to his watch by the way. You found it in less than three seconds and turned on him with a disgruntled gaze.
He can’t lie, he loved the fiery way you glared at him.
Do not wake me up again without a good reason, Bucky.
You pulled him down to your level and repeated yourself so slowly and with much malice, that he instantly got hard.
The way you aggressively manhandled Bucky, turned him on more than either of you expected. He spent a few hours apologizing to you, mostly with you on top of him.
It’s a little after six, muted pinks, burnt oranges and streaks of blue mar the skyline, and enough light filters through the spaces around the curtains to illuminate the room in a dusky glow.
Bucky’s been awake for hours. He spent the first two on his back, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to get up and do something, anything.
But that would mean leaving you, all warm and soft and sleepy, he tried once, even got his leg over the edge of the bed but the light weight of your hand splayed across the ridges of his lower abs rendered him immobile, he has no choice but to stay in bed.
Summary: Bucky loves working with his hands, but now, thanks to you, he’s discovered something he loves even more. Touching you, marking you, claiming you.
Bucky is great with his hands. Talented. His long yet deft fingers can do things no other man can.
You love looking at them, comparing the size difference, they make your hands look tiny in comparison. Thick veins travel across the back of them. The rough texture feels incredible, the litany of scars and callouses laced across his skin, telling you how hard he’s worked.
You’ve memorized each one, learning how he got each one, usually late at night, the two of you tangled up in each other, your head on his chest, his deep voice weaving through the still air, capitivating you with stories of his life.
The long ragged one on his right palm is from a bar fight when he was fresh out of high school, one from the time he fell out of a tree saving his sister’s cat, the one across his knuckles is from the time he punched John Walker for disrespecting you, the majority are from a few battles with stubborn rusted out carburetor and exhaust valves
He’s restored countless classic cars and motorcycles with those hands-the vintage Harley Davidson sitting in your garage is his latest project, the engine painstakingly torn apart so he can figure out the source of the obnoxious rattling.
His hands make sure that everything in your home is well maintained and always working, he’s always doing something around the house including keeping the water heater in pristine condition-even though he doesn’t understand why you love to shower with hellfire but if it makes you happy, he’ll make sure you have all the lava water you desire.
“You plan on staring at me until I’m done?” You laugh out over your shoulder, moaning softly as the water cascades down your chest. “Or do you wanna join me?”
Bucky gives you a forlorn look, brows furrowed. “Yeah,” he says, hesitancy curls around his lust-filled tone. He eyes the steam drifting out of the shower with a blatant suspicion in his wary gaze. “Can you, uh, just turn it down a few thousand degrees Gorgeous?”
“Nope.” It pops out of your mouth just as you catch his blue eyes and bend down, turning the knob all the way to the left. “What? Oh, you can’t take it, can you? It’s too much for you isn’t it?” You toss back his words from last night, tongue darting across your bottom lip.
Those brilliant blue eyes flash, then darken with a decadent passion you feel in your chest, pulsing through your veins like a shot of smooth honey whiskey. The baleful expression wiped away. Brow raised, plush lip caught between a set of pearly white teeth.
It’s a slow day in the bakery, the staccato pattering of rain on the windows fill the air, the low hum of music pours out of the speaker he connected to his phone.
Bucky is backing out of the kitchen, pushing the door open with his shoulder, keeping a steady grip on the large tray of new desserts he wants you to sample.
Moments earlier he told you he wanted to give you a taste of Paris and looking down at the Mille-feuille, Profiterole, Canelés and Opera cake, he hopes to recreate a little gateway in his shop.
Bucky feels the small box in his pocket shift when he nudges the door shut with his foot before turning to find you. A hopeful smile stretches across his lips. Tonight. He’s going to ask you tonight. Everything’s perfect, even the way it’s raining is reminiscent of your first date and he can’t wait any longer to take the next step. You’ve stolen his heart and three of his favorite sweaters so it’s only fair you take his last name too.
Bucky is nothing but pure sin, with large hands that can do things to your body that will have you seeing stars and a cock that will have you chanting his name like it’s your personal prayer.
Your mobster has a way of convincing you to do what he wants and when he’s turning you inside out, euphoria pumping through your veins, you have no choice but to give in.
Hence why you should know better.
You’re about to leave the house when Bucky offers to drive you, asking you in his irresistibly sexy baritone voice of his if he could take you to work, his car keys dangling from his long middle finger as he towers you, cupping your chin with his other hand. “Let me give you a ride, sweetheart.”
A small, sensible part of you knows the mobster had no intention of taking you anywhere near your job, never mind the fact that he’s doing his damndest to get you to quit. There’s something about the way he’s holding back a smirk, his blue eyes gleaming with devilish yet serene energy that his dark sunglasses couldn’t hide.
So naturally, you did the only reasonable thing.
You place your hand in his, smile up at your man, and accept his offer.
That was an hour or so ago.
Now you’re gazing out the open window, one arm hanging over the side, watching the world rush by in a sea of colors, the distant sounds of the waves crashing on the shore floating across the salt-tinged breeze.
“I really do have to go to work,” you halfheartedly protest when he turns onto the highway. You quickly recognize the markers leading to one of his resorts.
“You don’t have to do anything but let me take care of you.” His firm retort has your lips curling up into a smile. Bucky has one hand on the steering wheel, and the other on your thigh. Leaning back in his seat, his eyes drift from the open road to your pretty face.
He doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt for keeping you with him or for what he’s about to do.
Listening to the staccato pelt of rain on the window, the trees sway back and forth before your eyes. You lift your mug to your lips, inhaling the cloudy wisps of steam curling around your nose.
“Metuka, you coming to bed?” His raspy, sleep laden voice crosses the room.
“In a minute,” you respond, not taking your eyes off the storm unfolding in your front yard. A sharp crackle of lightening brightens the grey sky for a second before the world fades into silvery darkness.
You take another sip letting the cooling tea sooth your throat. Ari pads to you, his reflection forming in the rain streaked window.
Brawny muscles flex as he cards a hand through his mussed hair, a thin trail of hair winds down his lower abs before disappearing under the band of his grey briefs. They cling to his large thighs, the seams stretching with every step he takes toward you.
Warnings: Canon-level violence, kidnapping, nongraphic death of a minor character, implied threats of violence, mentions of blood/guns, smut. Minors DNI
“I would let me go if I were you,” you sing out with a smile, tapping your fingers on the sides of the chair, your movements limited by the rope around your arms.
Franklin doesn’t spare you a glance. His attention is focused on the thin metal door separating the two of you from him.
From James.
Too bad there’s nothing that can keep your mobster from you.
Not a rival gang who snatched you off the street an hour ago and definitely not one measly door guarded by nine men. A dull thud resounds, a wet gurgling moan filtering under the door. Eight men.
Glass shatters followed by rapid gunfire, the unnerving sounds of muffled screaming startle Franklin, his hands begin to tremble as he paces in front of the door. Exhilaration and something far more raw, heady, and feral flares like a flame, searing through your veins.
Grinning at him, you try again.
“At least run, save yourself,” you offer, blatant amusement lacing your tone. “Because if he finds you. In here. With me...” You trail off when Franklin’s eyes widen, a low, fearful groan escaping through his gritted teeth.
You scoff under your breath, only ten minutes ago, he was threatening to do all these horrible things to you but now he wants to be scared.
Warnings: Lumberjack Steve and his overstimulation kink. Steve is 6'5". Mentions of insecurity. Praise kink.
Word count: drabble
A/N: Written on my phone for thirstdays.
“You’re not leaving this bed until I’m convinced that you believe me, angel,” he says, voice deep and coaxing, the low rumble coats your skin, sinking into your veins. “So take it, take every inch until you remember this is your cock.”
Another thin keen slips past your lips, swollen from Steve’s ardent kisses. Sweat laces your soft skin, beading down your arched back. The slow, deliberate thrust of his narrow hips sends his thick, rigid cock right over your gspot, electrified pleasure shoots up your spine.
You’re being punished.
Or rewarded.
Maybe some twisted version of both.
It’s so hard to tell with him fucking you so slow and deep, he’s everywhere, everything in this moment.
You almost forgot how you got into this situation until he grabs your chin, dark blue eyes boring into yours. “Your pretty little pussy is made for my cock and I only want you wrapped around me, angel.”
