I Swear I'm Abt To Throw Hands If The Fem Writers Didn't Even Put The Genders Reader. I ALWAYS GET THOSE

Why are there so many writers that say "age of consent in your region"

Because in South Africa, that's 12.

I believe Japan is 13?

But yeah..... nope.

If you want to read my shit be over 18, because I am over 18. Simple.

All I can imagine is a reader who lives in a continent full of monsters.

One of the only humans there, or well. Human adjacent.

You make some of your money by being a health care worker for the monsters here, not a healer per say but the closest thing to one any of them can get. You're the go-to for cuts, scrapes, bruises, and dislocated limbs. Even for the more, not human side of the residents.

There's nowhere else to go. It's you or deal with it alone.

You learn their stories, or their scars, even the trauma they have to carry. Like the deep forest Naga, whose flares dull when the clouds start to gather. Or the lycanthop who couwers at any loud sound. You are the only one the youkai trusted to help.

That's not the only way you make your money to keep the medical office stocked.

Many of the creatures or monsters can "shed" certain parts. Like the vampire's teeth, they shed those fangs neat yearly, or the avians, the false angles, who mault. But other times, when things like corpses or amputations are a must to hold. You can use those parts, too.

What did those human rulers who exiled you expect?

That a mortician would just be happy to sit down and watch the people around them fumble with basic injuries and watch those small little cuts fester and rot, let alone the major injuries that come about.

You had a fucking medical and veterinary doctorate so you where going to use it.

If that means dismantling the dead or selling off the things you don't keep for study or as trinkets to keep that medical practice open?

Then gladly.

Surgery took over 2 hours....

I am in pain.

Well, turns out the pain I'm in isn't normal...

I'm going into theater today. So they can check if it is what we think it is.

Ok, part one done of the K-9 reader x COD men.

Now part two!!!

Ok, I OD a while back and haven't had the time or the mental to post/write anything. But but but but you can blame rodolfoparras for this. Love thier work and all their cute cat pics!!

Old man Price, who starts wearing reading glasses from all the damage to his retna. He's kinda insecure about it, but when he sees how clear your blush is when he wears them?

He will just be between your thighs one night, breath way too hot, with those damn glasses still on because,

"I need to see you Love. Can't do that without 'em."

And he does, he wants to look at every shudder, and the way your lips try to hold those particularly embarrassing moans becuase fuck is Price good at sucking your sould out of your dick.

May or may not be hung over thinking about a feline könig.....

Fuck it.

Km gonna write it.

Don't mic alcohol kids, never drink clear liquor, then drink after cloudy. Don't dink more than one kind of alcohol. Stick to what you started with, with water between.

Prob the only reason I'm conscious today.

Thinking about lovers sharing a group chat,

Not the love triangle bullshit of "noo they can't find out about each other" but the-

Sharing photos at the most inappropriate times.

Starting as a joke, something small and dumb.

Just a picture of you shirtless one of them took, or sharing the lewds you each took. It was quicker this way. Everyone could see it, so there was no need to forward anything or have the risk of sharing it with the wrong person.

Until you were stuck in some or another meeting, it wasn't mandatory to attend, but you were practically threatened to stay by your higher up. When your phone silently buzzes in your pocket.

Welcoming the destraction and swiping on the message, not thinking much about who sent it. You practically choke when it loads on your screen.

It was your lovers. One tattooed hand holding the throat of your boyfriend, his eyes glazed over with lust and your other boyfriend looming over him, both equally naked. The next, this beautiful picture of your lovers pierced dick disappearing into the other. The same string of tattoos holding him in place with a firm grip. Then when they saw you were actually looking at it... well, they didn't stop at just two.

And that wasn't the last time.

But it was when you got involved.

Sharing quickies in a bathroom or nudes from earlier in the day. Even the more... intense things.

See, you quickly learned that your tattooed lover had a thing for being filmed. That his eyes would wonder to the camera just to roll back in his skull. Putting on even more of a show so he could proudly share just how good he made either of you feel later.

And fuck if it didn't work.

<3 <3 <3 <3

slasher!ghoap x gn!reader

first writing thing of my own, so uh! thats cool i guess yk. I think i'm happy with it? probably gonna be more than one part, i haven't decided. and i feel like i've seen other ghost and soap slasher stuff but i cant for the life of me find it. wrote this after finding a c.ai bot, the idea is not fully mine and i don't want to take full credit for it--however the writing itself is all mine :)

slasher!ghoap x gn!reader

CW: stalking, kidnapping, murder (dont do those things), no y/n only "you", while this is written for gn i wrote it in mind to lean more masc, first thing ever writing for tumblr so i'm not 100% on how to fit in here, bear with me

Thinking about Simon “Ghost” Riley and John “Soap” MacTavish being a bit crazy, a bit more fucked up than they already are. And yet so in love with each other, it was perfect, wasn't it?

About how they both retired early from the military, tired of the constant gun fire and the wear on their body’s. A man could only take so much. They move in with each other. A nice house, a backyard, basement, good sized kitchen, two bedrooms, one and a half bath. A nice house out in the countryside, away from other people but still close enough to the town.

About how maybe, one night, they see you at a bar. One you shouldn’t have been at, not that they had any idea. Or maybe they saw you at a simple coffee shop, and you didn't notice either of them as they sat in the back. Or maybe they saw you with your friends, hanging out at a nearby park on a nice day.

About how it didn't take long for both of them – without each other knowing – to start stalking you. Finding you online didn't take much time. Nor did tracking down your car, or your friend's car.

About how Simon “Ghost” Riley had your face memorized and the way you walked. How you just managed to mess up at simple things, like how you weren’t great at parking (not that he was much better), or how you bought the wrong type of milk at the store by accident. Didn’t you know how much you hated skim milk?

About how John “Soap” MacTavish had found your old instagram account, and the back up one. How he had been the first one to find your entire family tree, your old pets, your old house. How he had found what you looked like in second grade, missing your front teeth because you had ridden your bike into a parked car. Wasn’t it common knowledge?

About how they both justify what they're doing. If it was on the internet, it was free rein. And finding where you lived was just a… slight overstep… into your personal life, more than needed. No harm, no foul.

Thinking about how they bring you up to each other. A simple movie night turned to; how did you know about them? But it was resolved quickly, even faster when they both realized they both had some type of sick obsession over you. But how could they not? You're just so perfect, so nice to others. They just need you in their life.

About how they scout out your parents house, the one you're staying at right now, for a few, long weeks. They had happened to overhear your plans to invite friends over because you didn't want to stay alone in the house. A gut feeling, weird vibe, you called it.

About how a plan was put together. They wanted to have some fun with you, wanted to scare you, wanted to make sure you’d listen well. About how they waited until two in the morning for all of you and your friends to be either high or tipsy. Waited until you, alone, left the group for the bathroom. Of course they had the house layout memorized, they had been there a handful of times to grab a shirt of yours, a pair of boxers from your drawers when nobody was home. They wouldn't go in this blind now would they?

About how you had slowly walked out of the bathroom when you had noticed how quiet the house had gotten. The movie was on in the background, but something was off. How they had heard you check if the water-heater closet door was still locked, same with the garage. How they heard you make a small huh sound after you did that. About how you did the best quiet footsteps to see what your friends were up to.

About how you froze, standing still as could be when you saw they were all laying there, asleep. The faint glow from the TV didn't light the room up that well. How when you took a picture with the flash on, trying to get a picture of them looking dumb.

About how the room lit up, only for a few seconds because of the flash and you could see the pooled blood around their body’s. How you covered your mouth with your hand, the picture still on your phone, lighting up your face. Turning on the balls of your feet to run out of the house was the only smart idea – at least to you. But in the moment, did you think about how you already checked the garage was locked? 

About how John “Soap” MacTavish was waiting in the garage for you, waiting for you to run past. Humans were oh-so foolish, simple minded, and easy to plan for. How he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you up and slapped a hand to your mouth, only for the behemoth Simon “Ghost” Riley to walk into the garage right behind you. No matter where you would have gone, they would have caught you.

About how Simon “Ghost” Riley took your phone, saying you won't be needing that, his accent and deep voice sending shivers down your spine as tears welled up in your eyes. How John “Soap” MacTavish handed you over to Simon “Ghost” Riley while you bit, kicked, screamed, tried anything to get out of their iron-like grip.

Careful now bunny, stay still, the scotsman whisperer, pulling his arm back before he landed a good punch to your temple, knocking you out.

a/n: constructive criticism is welcomed <3

request:

reader jokingly puts a bell on miguel o’hara since he approaches so quietly he tends to startle you and the other spiders. he tolerates it because the humor improves work morale

little did he know that the bell will be jingling all night as you fuck him mercilessly

𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 male reader x miguel o'hara

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 top!amab! reader, bottom! miguel, public blowjob, anal sex, saliva used as a lubricant, consensual suffocation, breath play, implied reader being a spider. minors dni.

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 my archive of editable images of miguel is over, accept this random edit then. I used a lot of words that I don't know very well, so please let me know if I've used something wrong

It was hard to hear anything but the unbearable jingling of the silver bell reverberating through his sensitive hearing; the little ball of iron inside the round shape swayed with fairy clinks where it was attached to the leather strap that tightened around his neck. A joke, had been how Miguel interpreted the unusual gift you said laughing that it was to know when he approached. A lame joke, but still, he let you close the noisy choker around his neck and accepted the kiss you pressed against his lips pursed in annoyance.

During the day, when the spiders shared laughter and a fun that Miguel didn't understand at the gift you gave him, Miguel hadn't paid attention to how the choker tightened his neck, how it accompanied the rise and fall of his throat ─ that he only noticed when you had him on his knees in a blind spot inside the Spider Society tower, and at the risk of being overheard by all nosy and curious spiders, pressed your cock deep into his tight throat until Miguel gasped and struggled for breath, bell rattling violently. The choker felt like your hands squeezing his neck.

After that, the ringing of the silver bell brought a faraway look that no one understood to his face, no one but you. He was remembering that moment, remembering your cock straining his mouth and the sounds you made each time his fangs grazed your cock, the danger of the act that was enough to make you both come, quickly. He found himself unable to get rid of the accessory.

And Miguel was aware of your eyes fixed on his neck as he spoke. Hypnotized. And he would be lying if he said he didn't know what was coming next.

The bell sounded like a drum as you smacked him against the front door of the apartment before Miguel could even close it. You demanded his attention, ravaging his mouth with symbolic violence and sweet urgency, tearing the civilian clothes Miguel wore until they were mere scraps of rags lying on the floor. All this so you could get your hands on his bare skin, map out the scars, the muscles firm and strong and his cock already eagerly hard for you.

You always seemed to want him so badly that it never ceased to amaze him.

You grabbed his bare thighs and lifted him into the air, pressing his back against the rickety door. As if he weighed nothing. Your strength would always surprise you, not because there wasn't someone stronger than Miguel or unable to take him down with pure physical strength, but because you never used your strength to hurt him, you treated him as something fragile and that should be taken care of.

And when the hurried stretching of his hole left him panting and clinging to you, silently begging for more through his grunts and moans and gasps, you kissed him and using only saliva to facilitate penetration, you slid your cock inside him.

The slide knocked the breath out of Miguel's lungs, the friction undiminished by the makeshift lubrication leaving him feeling every delicious inch of your cock opening in his flesh, demanding space.

Lips against his, even though you weren't kissing anymore and the hand that wasn't holding him high, closing around his neck just inches away from the choker, you started fucking him hard against the door. The bell reverberated with a loud bang, swaying along with your movements in and out of his ass and that was all Miguel could concentrate on: the stretching, the burning still there, the sound of the damn bell.

Miguel's eyes rolled back, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and he searched for air, desperately gasped for oxygen ─ and you didn't have to look at his face to know it, the divine image of open mouth and spittle running down his chin; you could feel his throat rippling under your grip, heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingers. The leather strap there, close to your hand, seemed to become tighter, reflecting the pressure imposed by your fingers.

Miguel was shaking now, talons drawing blood from your shoulders, legs gripping around your waist, unable to move, unable to get away from the deep thrusts he could feel in his stomach or the bell that deafened his senses. He couldn't breathe.

White filled his vision and Miguel gasped as the oxygen suddenly handed back to him, the thud of his head hitting the door a distant sound. Maybe he came, maybe he passed out for a few seconds in your arms, but it didn't matter, he knew you were far from done with him.

In case anyone wanted to know.

Many Nazi's and white supremacists have dog whistles or 'tells' that they can use to find or show others of thier views.

Theres a website that archives these. It's called the hate symbol data base. Aka ADL

Find it here.

Be aware and look out, cuz yeah. Growing up around these kind of bigots are horrid. So here.