Day 3 Of Inktober : Path

I need bratty sergeant and Simon Riley smut (im sorry if this is too blunt and also you don’t have to do this, okay ily)

"if you don't shut it, i'll shut it for you" / one-shot -> bratty!sergeant x simon riley [3] (can be read independently) part one - part two

⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . dead-flight .ᐟ masterlist -> REQUESTS OPEN!

cw: smut smut smut, oral (simon recieving), fingering (r), edging, overstim, rough sex, helicopter-fuckin', "pup", consentual sex!!!, fingers in mouth, one face slap, "slut" x1, p in v, creampie

he's fucking tired, the lot of his muscles aching with a deep, cloying need. he wanted to collapse on his barrack and dissapear for a week. the helicopter rumbles with sound as he sits on a jumpseat, closing his eyes to lean his head back against the walls.

"Lt!" his eyes open, and he swears, if he hears your voice again, he's about to pick you up and throw you off the fuckin' chopper.

"did you see that shot i lined up? wasn't that so cool--"

"sergeant. if y'don't shut y'reself up, i'll stuff y'r mouth myself," simon mutters, and if looks could kill, you may as well be on the ground, bleeding out.

you pause for a second, and then start right back up, moving to sit right beside him, prattling on and on about the mission, about your plans when you get home--

then you went and leaned over. just close enough to check if he was really listening. you barely even noticed what you were doing, but he did. tits pressed against him, your head craning to see if he was actually paying attention.

"sergeant, what the hell did i tell you?"

you freeze. are you actually in trouble, this time? the rest of the ride is filled with a tense silence, and you stare at him awkwardly, giving him big, apologetic eyes every time he looks at you.

how can you blame him for acting the way he is? pent up to hell, cock clubbed up in his pants, straining needily against the fabric? he nearly dealt with it the moment you landed. he wanted to shut you up, and wanted to see you cry when he did.

"so fuckin' loud," he huffs under his breath, and the moment the rest of the squad leaves the helicopter, simon takes the opportunity to grab you as you're leaving, forcing you back into a jumpseat and slamming the door closed.

the moment your back hits the jumpseat, you should've known you were fucked. "you just don't stop talking, do you, sergeant? like a ditzy, dumb f'ckin' pup."

he stands over you, his hand tugging your chin upwards, "what'd i say? that if you ran your mouth, i'd shut you up, yeah? i just fuckin' might."

your breath quickens, and you dig your fingers into his forearm, trying to pull him off, "sir--m' sorry, won't talk as much--" here you were, thinking he was going to sentence you to a thousand pushups and a hundred laps around base, but simon had other ideas.

"shut up." he stuffs his thumb into your mouth, pressing the digit down against your tongue.

you let out a strangled choking sound, blinking up at him in surprise. "god, m' gonna stuff your fuckin' mouth..." his eyes are dark, heavily lidded, and as you search past the mask, you note the lust taking over the forefront of his mind. "nod, lass, if y'want me to. i don't wanna hear words 'less you want me to stop."

you manage a nod. he gives you a nod of approval, his thumb dragging out of your mouth, smearing your saliva on your cheek. "fuckin' good pup."

his gloved hands pull at his plate carrier, tugging it off and dropping it on the seat opposite to you, shedding his headgear with it. he rolls his shoulders, grunting as he tugs off his shirt, leaving him in a tight, compression undershirt. you watch him like you're starved, taking in every contour of his muscles. he sheds his gloves too, tosses them to the jumpseat.

"like what y'see?" he teases, moving close, grabbing you by your hair, fingers digging into the strands. his free hand tugs down the zipper of his pants, reaching into his boxers and freeing his cock. it's heavy in his hand, flushed tip already drooling precum.

you blink up at him, eyes pleading silently, "sir, please, can i--"

his hand comes down on your cheek. "what'd i say, sergeant? shut up."

he's pulling your hair back, guiding you to open your mouth, and you do, his hips easing forward, the tip of his cock spreading your mouth open around his shaft. "suck, sergeant," he hisses, biting his tongue as you do.

you do. and fuck him, he's not touched himself for a damn long time. your lips seal around him like you're trying to milk him dry, your tongue flicking over his slit, sucking up precum and moaning while you do it--he almost cums right then and there.

"fuck'n hell, lass, you're..." he tightens his grip on your head, pulling you away, his chest heaving, "fuck."

"strip f'me, doll. wanna see y'spread out f'me, yeah?" he watches you, and it's not meant to be sexy, it's messy, how you tug your clothes off desperately, wanting to feel him against you. that desperation makes warmth pool in his gut.

he stops you when you're in your bra, your panties, nude coloured undergarments. but it makes some part of him scream. he kneels before you, eyes trained on your cunt.

"gonna be good f'me?" he's shoving your panties to the side, his thumb pressing to your swollen clit, satisfaction reflected in his eyes as your hips jump forwards needily. the way he speaks to you--speaks to your pussy--as if you aren't even part of the conversation has you leaking.

he smears your juices across your folds, twisting his hand to push a meaty finger in you, massaging your velvety walls, and he moans, his free hand digging into the skin of your hip, "fuck, doll, you're so f'ckin tight f'me."

all you give him is a series of choked moans, a breathy "please, please, please," and a tight squeeze of you around his fingers.

"so wet, i could slide right in, huh?"

it was like being pulled apart and stitched back together, as he curls his fingers deep against your gummy walls, drawing you right there. so close, if only a hair's breadth from falling apart--

he pulls away.

"fuck, simon!" you whine, your eyes welling with tears, "please, please..."

"no," he mutters, slapping your soaking pussy, a sadistic grin falling over his face as he watches how your hips jolt upwards, seeking more. his hand moves to pull off his balaclava, and before you can gawk at his face, he leans up, kissing you--the action is gentler than before, his tongue sweeping your mouth and claiming.

when he pulls away, he's panting, his hand moving to grip his hard shaft, fisting it, pushing against your thigh. "fuckin' hell." he lets go of his cock, pulling you up and holding you up over his cock, lowering you down. one hand holds you, wraps around your waist like you're weightless, the other guiding his cock past your tight entrance.

"tight as hell, sergeant. who knew y'r bratty mouth could be shut up so easily by a good fuckin'?"

he lowers you down slowly. just enough to keep you clenching desperately as you try to ease more of him in, to accomodate more--the burn is deliciously pleasurable. when you ease all of him in, he moans into your ear, his teeth moving to suckle at your neck.

he pounds into you, ferally. lifts you up, drops you down over his cock, your combined fluids dripping down his shaft and falling to the floor.

"fuck, gonna make me cum, this fuckin' cunt... s'pretty f'me, drippin' so much..."

you moan, squeezing harshly down on him, clenching, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave marks. he buries his head in your neck, bites down on your skin like he'll leave a mark, muffling his noises.

"you keep clenchin' on me like that n' i'm gonna--" you're mewling, drooling against him, fingers tugging at his messy hair. he's wanted you like this for the longest time, spread out for him and at his mercy... suddenly the hours of torture of you teasing him is all worth it.

but you're so on edge, from his denial of your orgasm, that when he bullies his cock right against that spot in your walls, you're clenching down on him, digging your fingers into his trapezius and throwing your head back. you're a wreck, but simon's not done.

keeps you bouncing on him, and he's just so close, spurred on by your spasming walls and desperate whimpers. "mmh, fuck, who'dve known that such a fuckin' bratty little slut 's just a needy fuckin' bird," his voice is hoarse, stuttered by grunts as he uses you like a toy.

"fuck'm coming, take--take it all," he manages, pulling you flush against him, your hips right against his pelvis as he pumps his load deep inside you, filling you up. like he owned you.

for once, you were quiet. but now that you know you can get him to behave like this? you won't be quiet for long.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

More Dwobbit Frodo! This time it’s baby Frodo with his adad! I was given on discord the idea dwarves wearing baby wraps to carry their babies with them and I loved it so much I just knew I had to draw Thorin carrying Frodo in one. In the first one Frodos maybe 1 years old? His crazy amount of hair is explained by his dwarven genes lmfaoo. In the second one he’s maybe a few months old. Anyway- I love the trope of a tough guy with a small babe, that’s literally them.

Every time I think I’m out of my lotr phase I hear the beginning of the bridge of kazhad dum and immediately get thrown back into the trenches

i am literally begging someone to do a side-by-side gif comparison of 

a) Elrond fighting the ring-wraiths in The Hobbit vs Aragorn fighting them in The Fellowship (besides obvious parallels they move!! the same!! way!!) 

b) Elrond commanding the archers at the Battle of Five Armies vs Aragorn commanding the archers at Helm’s Deep

I just have a lot of feelings about how Elrond’s fingerprints are all over Aragorn everywhere you look and how it’s very clear that he taught him medicine and music and how to lead an army. My boy was singing about Luthien late at night during Fellowship and you cannot tell me that he didn’t learn that from Elrond as a bedtime story. I have FEELINGS, okay. 

One of my fav authors guys

Guys

I can't

This person dragged my ass into the trenches of this fandom in the very beginning

Hi!!! Idk what happened but you disappeared from my dash for a while and now you are back and it feels a lot like seeing the return of greenery to a burnt forest :D very happy

YOU'RE SO SWEET!!! I literally made a little squeak out loud and I think it might've spooked my boyfriend, so congrats on spooking a full grown man.

I hope to post a lot more! I love posting regularly, and I love love LOVE asks and replies to my posts! Seriously. I can't stress how much it makes me smile and giggle and blush. I just can't control it.

I have some ideas for fics (including an upcoming centaur au???) but I am curious about what sort of fics people would like to see! If you have suggestions, please let me know!!!

I drew these a year ago but I just made a Tumblr so it's time to spam my obsession sorry in advance

Galadriel is a true role model because a hot guy said, “You can fix me.” And she said get f*cked

Thinking about !Butcher Simon Riley with his sweet regular customer..

Simon Riley who doesn’t believe in starting over. Not really. Retired from the military, he’d traded one kind of blood for another. The butcher shop wasn’t much—small place tucked in the corner of Manchester, no fancy signage, no bright lights—but the regulars came. You came. Twice a week, Wednesdays and Fridays like clockwork.

Simon Riley—your butcher—moves with a kind of brutal grace behind the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms cut from marble and hard labor. You watch him work the cleaver like it’s an extension of his body. Focused. Calm. Every slice is deliberate, clean, respectful. There’s no waste in his motion, no hesitation in his hands.

You tell yourself it’s just the way he works—but your heart tells you otherwise. It stutters every time he glances up and catches you staring. You always look away too fast.

He’s seen things, you can tell. Something in the set of his shoulders, in the way he carries silence like a second skin. They say he was military once, but no one in the neighborhood asks. They just buy their lamb chops and brisket, nod respectfully, and leave him be.

But not you.

Sometimes you don’t even need anything. You come into his shop just to linger by the display case, pretend to think hard when he asks what you’re in the mood for, and always end up letting him choose. You like the way he speaks when he’s talking about cuts—like meat is an art form and he’s the only one who understands it. Like there’s a language in bone and fat and sinew, and he knows how to read it all.

He knows you’re into him.

You think he doesn’t notice—how your eyes linger on the flex of his forearms, how your breath catches when he tightens his grip on the knife. But he does. He knew from the first time you smiled at him over a pound of sirloin, all nervous and bright-eyed.

And he liked—more than he should’ve—how you smelled faintly of sugar and coffee when you leaned in to hand him cash.

It wasn’t anything serious. Not at first. Just a little dance. A tilt of your head, a brush of your fingers when he passed you the package. He told himself it was nothing.

But he starts saving the best cuts for you. Packs a little extra into your order. Keeps the shop open late on days when you run behind, just in case. It’s nothing. And it’s everything.

The day you tell him about your promotion, you’re practically vibrating. He can see it before you even speak. You ask—halting, hopeful—if he’d like to come over for dinner. Just dinner. Maybe.

He says yes.

Later, in your tiny kitchen, you cook with meat he cut for you himself. he watches you handle the meat. Sees the way your hands move, careful, precise, even if you’re nervous. You ask him how thin the slices should be. You ask him if he likes garlic. Ask if he likes bourbon. Fuck—darlin’, are you trying to get yourself a ring?

He’s still all knives and scars and quiet edges—but with you, he doesn’t have to be just that. So when you ask him if he wants to stay a little longer after dinner. With that soft, bright smile like you’re not afraid of what’s under his skin, something in him loosens. Maybe even heals, just a little. And he finds he doesn’t mind saying yes to that either.

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Okay genuine question, do people prefer reposts or commenting on their posts? Because ill see a post with like, a thousand notes and no comments ;-; please just tell me how best to show my love