#*wheezes and spits lungs out*

[perelka-l]

Do you have any HCs about Proton or Petrel? Weirdly, I have brainworms abt them today, akin to hurt/comfort shipping, but idk if I consider their relationship platonic or what. I definitely think of them as close. Proton is an evil little freak who’s gone through the wringer, and Petrel is so laid back + morally grey that he literally doesn’t care what an evil little freak Proton is. (Other people read it as Petrel being THAT dumb and unaware…but that ain’t it, he’s just consciously giving Proton a pass because Whatever)

I’ve been playing around with this HC that Proton lowkey hates Giovanni because he more or less wants to BE him (power-wise - like he’s just got so much rage in there, and subconsciously, he has decided that having MEGA-CONTROL will fix it), but it’s starting to..become apparent + difficult to suppress. Like he’s toeing the line of like bEEFING with Giovanni which is obviously incredibly stupid…but Proton may be incredibly stupid…like that is not going to work out well for him, but he’s such a spiteful dude that he can barely help himself

I like to think that if you squint, all Executives are at the very least platonic towards each other. They've been through some proper shit together and there is definitely some bonding stemming from that. Brothers in arms, so to speak. But you know. More mafia/yakuza-ish. They maybe wouldn't die for each other, but kill? Sure.

With Petrel, 100% of my headcanon about him stems from this fic on pokanon kink meme (which, as a side note, nicely matches Pokemas portrayal as well. I like his consistency). Well, ok, 80%. I have some more thoughts about him that stem from nowhere.

First thing is that I see him as oldest out of the bunch. Maybe not as old as Giovanni (maybe) but old enough to possibly even remember Madame Boss. I like to think him getting as far in the ladder as he did stems from survival instincts and capabilities but also that he just was in TR for quite a while, and his slow climb just happened over time. And yeah, he is very morally grey, he can be nice but it would be dangerous to assume he is nice.

And Proton is... yeah. Youngest of the bunch and I saw him once described as a both a rabid dog to sic at target and most spoiled little cat which both match him, I think. He does feel a bit spoiled, but I think it is tied with the fact that he can be quite violent (I also have a Formative Kink Meme Fic for that, but this one I will not link. It's Proton/Silver and ngl, it was one of the most uncomfortable things I have ever read for sheer amount of triggers. Formative but MAN was it uncomfortable. Feel free to ask me but. Uh. Yeah.) and TR serves him to satisfy that. In some other fic, don't remember which one now, I saw someone theorize that possibly Proton's loyalty sides more with Archer, since Archer know how to use him well, as well as after when Giovanni was gone.

By the way, what do you mean by "gone through wringer"? I know what it means but I am unsure what you mean by that.

Proton, in pokemas at least, claims that he admired Giovanni due to him being "ruthlessly decisive". But at the same time Proton is made a bit more into a joke which... I can see why they would do it, it's easier to make him funny than make him serious in that particular franchise, and I politely ignore that bit while nodding in understanding. Though OK, bootlegs is vile shit. But back to main point - I can see where you come from and I think following that line of thought that what would make Proton envious of Giovanni is his, in a sense, freedom.

Giovanni has plenty of responsibilities that, I would imagine, Proton wouldn't ever wish to shoulder (I like to think his executive task first things first is to be a scarecrow to keep grunts in check...) but at the same time Proton could burn for the way Gio has enough power to handle it all and control and decide freely what to use, even with Proton, and do so effectively. And Proton could probably wish to have that, freedom to do as he wished, to decide what to do. He is young (I wouldn't say he is older than in his early 20s), so he wants all the power without responsibilities coming from it (gah, sudden spiderman!). I could imagine that when Giovanni leaves, Proton is hit with injustice of it. Giovanni can just leave. Can just go, drop everything that Proton thought he desires and vanish into thin air. And Proton is tied to TR because this is his protection and this is where he can do what he wishes to do (as in, violence) and be protected for that from police and such. He wished for that. He can't ever have that.

Everybody being aware of Protons issues could be amusing, and Petrel being the one to keep him in line is a nice thought. Petrel seen it all, knows how TR works better than most, Proton being a bitch is honestly not the worst he's seen but he is aware what the result can be, maybe saw such a few times. And he likes Proton, he's a skilled kid, would be a shame to have him disappeared if Giovanni's amusement over his antics turn into anger (And that would probably fall to Archer and Petrel knows Archer likes Proton as well but Archer's loyalty overrules literally everything else and wouldn't even blink if Giovanni decided enough is enough). (Also, now I ponder on Giovanni personally manhandling Proton when he gets a bit irked a bit and whoa oh erm whoa)

Thank fuck Proton is as reliable as he is, dangle a task in front of his nose and he'd follow, a rabid dog eager to sink his fangs into something. Petrel though knows how to handle the leash so Proton won't bite the hand that feeds him.

[screampied]

Omg hi can I request like a loving, cozy, domestic pronebone with Suguru?? Like he’s just like “shh be quiet Satoru is in the room next door we can’t wake him up” while pressing adoring kisses to the back of your neck omg😵‍💫

trying to keep quiet with suguru ★

cw. fem! reader, prone bone, unprotected, finger sucking, dirty talk, praise

“. . . shhhh,” he’d shush against the corner of your ear, presenting you deep low strokes. a winded gasp wretches from your throat as a palm of geto’s glues against your mouth. he’s so deep, a free hand of his ghosts against the backsides of your spine. an eye roll overtakes your pupils as he’s giving you such righteous hits against your yawning core. geto’s weight just narrowly hovers over you as he’s pressed right up against you, spit slicked lips of yours gnaw and gnash together before you whine again. ���gotta be quiet sweetheart. unless you want ‘toru to hear us. you want him to hear how sloppy you are f’me, hm?”

craning your head slowly, you shake a sweet little no and he chuckles, a kiss going against the crown of your head. “so cute,” he purrs in a husky tone, a hand of his gripping against the very edges of your arced hips. fingertips of his dance alongside the very curvature of your body — he takes pride in the way your body responds to him. you’re flinging back and forth, forward against the screeching mattress. geto’s skin, coated with a sweetened sheet of sweat sticks against your own m with each ruthless thrust. “ugh, h-hey, are you licking my palm? mhm, such a filthy girl.”

you were,

with the flatness of your tongue, it lathers against the very center of geto’s palm — tasting the insipid areas of his hand. it follows the creasing flexion lines that runs against his skin.

not before long, you dig your teeth into his hand as your muffled moans vibrate against his luscious tasting flesh. “ah, let me guess. you wanna suck on my fingers too, baby?”

“mmf, y- yes,” you whine as he momentarily departs his hand away. a nice trail of spit looks almost adhesive, its stickiness pastes against his hand as he pries his hand away from your wet mouth. geto’s sharpened hips still deeply drilling into you in the background. your loving hole flutters as you’re just vigorously being pounded beneath the sheets, each wheezing gasp that snatches from your lungs feels like it’s going to be its last. “pleaseee.”

“my pretty girl,” he whispers, the head of his cock never refusing to hit the right angle. with an easy direction of his fingers attaching to your hips, he makes you raise your torso upward to reach more bottomless areas. oh, your mouth forms into the letter ‘o’ at the way he’s stuffing you full of shaft. it’s almost mouth watering,

it is mouth watering.

as you bury your head into the crook of your elbow, geto leans in to place a few kisses near the indenting lines of your back. “look at this gorgeous body,” he purrs, his hips ultimately slowing its maddened pace down — yet despite his tempo suddenly losing its quickened haste, geto’s chest deflates. as he’s leaning up closer to you, his ravened locks of his dance graze up your shoulders as he moves.

back and forth, back and forth,

his rhythm was purely enticing. your jaw aches a bit from how it’s just idly hanging open before he showers you with more delicate kisses.

this time near your neck.

geto’s slow and precise. he starts by your nape, a tongue gradually rolling out to get a taste of your saline, salty skin.

“can never get enough of your taste, fuck,” he murmurs, you’re still plugged in with a good amount of his dick. geto’s so full, swollen rotund balls of his continues to cuff and cuff and cuff against your slick pussy. your ears knell from the never ending paps your own arousal sings as a response. “open wide, baby. get my fingers wet.”

not even seconds later, your lips happily part in preparation for geto to stuff his thickened fingers into your drooling mouth. he grins, already telling how eager you were—milliseconds leisurely passes by and you’re already relishing in the taste of two of his digits curling inside of your mouth.

“thaaat’s it, get it wet ‘cause i want a taste too when you’re done.”

your long lashes flutter against your own eyes as geto starts to pick up his pace again. his other hand still grips onto your waist as he feels your ass writhe against him. fuck, he’s getting closer and closer by the second. geto groans from how you stick against him — he’s already given you a sweet velvety load already. obsidian-black irises of his leer down at the lewd scene at bay. you’re trying to keep up with his pace, but his girth. the wide end stretch alone has you hearing plethora amounts of fuzz pour out of your ears. “s-shit, you’re so perfect arched over for me, sweets..”

with a tongue still lolling around, you merely prevent yourself from gagging once you feel the tips of his digits prod against the very roof of your mouth. just a few inches away from your uvula, a sheeny trail of saliva starts to dribble down your chin before he leans in to kiss you more against your neck.

geto even creates a little trail of kisses . .

numerous times, the warmth of his lips makes your cunt twitch up in total desperation.

trying your best to stay quiet, a loud roaring whimper tugs out of your throat at the head of his cock thwacks repeatedly against your g-spot. you gasp, two fingers of his falling out of your mouth before you’re just pornographically moaning again and again. “f- fuck, right there sugu. hngh.”

“this spot, yeah i know pretty,” and he’s heaving right with you. the undersides of the bed resumes to grate and screech in harmony. he pauses for a bit, popping his own two wet fingers into his mouth. he hums at your taste, relishing in it entirely. so sweet. as geto’s body lingers over you, your ass continuously rebounds against his. a sharp throaty rasp slides out of his lips and he hisses. “gonna cum, f-fuck, ‘m gonna stuff you so full again.”

“i- inside, sugu,” you whine as he gently delves his teeth into the left juncture of your collarbone. it was all exposed—he couldn’t help but leave a little piercing mark from his pearly white canines. geto loves getting carried away and smothers your entire skin with his own homemade moist, needy kisses. airy hot breath collides against your skin, sending you various shivers before you feel your pussy throb. it’s throbbing only divides and multiplies. he hits you in every angle, the curve of his dick ruptures through you and you moan as you feel the arch in your back perk upward. “don’t miss, wan’ it s’bad, want you.”

“i want you too,” he huffs, though with a deep voice — his voice sounds a bit shaky, a bit needy..

maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but you were almost positive geto just whined for you. you had him so sensitive, his jaw tightens as he continues to ram his fat cock into your compressing, dense walls.

the bed’s sobbing from the hefty weight wringing against the furniture. the same creaking sensations reverbs throughout your ears and the room itself before within seconds. he’s dumping yet another oozy load into you.

with a sleazy wry grin, geto toots your hips up and he starts to grind against you.

your head’s pressing against the silky reddened crimson sheets before you grow quiet. huffs and puffs were the only noises that could be heard, as well as geto’s whimpering that subsides as he starts to finish his longing high. “god, you always know how to m-milk the shit out of me,” he hoarsely titters, wrapping a good amount of fingers around his twitching shaft. geto fists his cock as he’s still gushing a sizable portion of cum into your rapacious hole. still being a tease, you rub up against his lap as you’re still bent over, feeling his hands trail against the very curvature areas your ass. “huh, want more, do ya?”

“don’t stop, sugu,” you mewl out in a desperate plea, craving for more of his seed. it trickles down between your thighs, leaving you so sticky, a mess.

his mess,

geto can’t help but smear the fat of his thumb over your emitting entrance. the print of his finger ghosts against your gooey slit.

the gooey warm cum that streams down and outside your slit makes him groan. “i’ll never stop, baby. y-you can milk me for as much as you’d like,” he pants, preparing to realign himself again. “now let me,” he pants, the entirety of his lungs inhaling air from each second. his lips press against your neck for a final time before he whispers. “let me love you, baby. bend back over f’me, ‘m not done with this gorgeous body yet.”

[pucksandpower]

Made with Love

Charles Leclerc x amateur baker!Reader

Summary: in which Charles would rather risk the entire paddock getting food poisoning (again) than break your heart by telling you that your baking is horrible

You hum to yourself as you pull a tray of freshly baked cupcakes out of the oven. The sweet, chocolaty aroma fills Charles’ kitchen, making your mouth water.

This batch is sure to be perfect! You’ve been practicing your baking skills for months now, determined to get it just right.

Charles wanders into the kitchen, drawn by the scent. “Mmm, something smells good in here!”

He peers over your shoulder at the tray of cupcakes. They’re a bit misshapen, with cracked tops that deflated the second they were taken out of the oven. The frosting is glopped on unevenly.

To you, they look absolutely mouthwatering. To Charles, they look … well, he loves you too much to say.

“Try one!” You urge, holding out a cupcake. Charles flashes you a hesitant smile before taking it. He peels back the liner and takes a bite. His eyes widen and he forces himself to chew and swallow.

“Well? How is it?” You ask eagerly.

Charles clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s great. Your best batch yet,” he lies. In truth, it’s dry and dense, with a strange bitter aftertaste. But the delight on your face makes the fib worth it.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. “Yay! I can’t wait to share them with the team this weekend.”

Charles’ stomach drops. The thought of the entire paddock pretending to enjoy your baking makes him cringe internally. But he plasters on a smile. “What a nice idea! I’m sure they’ll love them.”

The two of you arrive at the circuit and you can barely contain your excitement as you carry a large container of cupcakes into the paddock. Charles trails behind you, backpack slung over one shoulder, his other arm wrapped around your waist. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before you flit off to distribute your baked goods.

You first approach Max Verstappen, holding out a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. “Here Max, have one!”

Max eyes the treat dubiously but accepts it with a polite smile. “Thanks Y/N, that’s really nice of you.”

You beam and turn to Charles, missing the look of apprehension on Max’s face. Charles catches Max’s eye and draws a finger across his throat in warning. Max’s eyes widen but he nods in understanding. Charles won’t let anything ruin your mood today.

You make your way through the paddock, handing cupcakes to mechanics, engineers, PR reps, reporters, team principals, and drivers. Charles hovers behind you, keeping a watchful eye on each recipient.

Daniel Ricciardo visibly gags on his first bite when you turn away. Charles glares and shakes his head sharply. Daniel rearranges his face into a smile and gives a thumbs up.

Lando Norris takes an overly large bite and Charles has to pound on his back as he chokes it down.

Esteban Ocon discreetly spits his cupcake into a napkin when you’re not looking. Charles lunges forward and grabs his arm, squeezing tightly until Esteban wheezes out “Delicious!”

You remain blissfully unaware of the chaos that falls over the paddock in your wake, oblivious to Charles’ desperate interventions. All you see are your friends and acquaintances enjoying your baking.

When you finally offer a cupcake to Charles, he takes it and eats the whole thing without hesitation. Because even if it tastes like sugary sawdust, the delight on your face makes it the best treat in the world.

“Wasn’t that fun?” You gush to Charles afterwards. “I can’t wait to try out a new recipe soon!”

Charles just kisses your frosting-smudged nose and says, “I can’t wait either, mon amour.” As long as you’re happy, he’ll choke down all the questionable cupcakes you offer. Because your smile is the only thing that matters.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you and Charles arrive for the next race weekend, yet another batch of fresh baked goods in hand. You’re eager to share your latest creations — classic chocolate chunk cookies. You spent hours carefully following the recipe, determined to get them just right.

As you make your rounds distributing cookies, the reactions are the usual mix of forced smiles and discreet spitting. Charles trails behind you, glaring at anyone who doesn’t immediately rave about how delicious they are. The drivers and mechanics quickly catch on, showering you with praise and shooting Charles grateful looks when he turns you away.

You finally offer a cookie to Graham, a mechanic from the Mercedes team. He takes it hesitantly, eyeing Charles standing behind you. But Graham is new to the paddock and unaware of the baked goods situation.

He takes a bite and immediately grimaces. “Ugh, these taste terrible!” He blurts out.

You gasp, stumbling back as if struck. Tears well up in your eyes. Charles is at your side in an instant, pulling you into a comforting hug. Over your shoulder, he shoots Graham a look of absolute rage.

Graham realizes his mistake too late, shame washing over his face. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean ...” he stammers. But you’re already pulling away from Charles and rushing off, sobbing.

Charles turns on Graham, eyes blazing. “How could you? All she ever wants to do is make others happy!” Graham cowers before him, other mechanics backing away nervously.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Graham says miserably.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Charles snarls. “You stay away from her, you hear me?” Graham nods shakily. Satisfied the message is received, Charles races after you.

He finds you behind the garage, face buried in your hands. “Oh mon ange,” Charles murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “Don’t listen to him, your cookies are perfect.”

You cling to Charles, sniffling. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone. But I’m so horrible at baking!”

Charles tilts your chin up. “You listen to me. You have the biggest, kindest heart. It doesn’t matter if the cookies are a little, er, overdone. What matters is you put love into making them. Don’t let someone like Graham get you down.”

You smile tremulously. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

Charles grins. “Hmm, I don’t mind hearing it again.” Laughing through your tears, you tell him again, punctuating it with a kiss.

After ensuring you’re okay, Charles seeks out Graham. “I trust you’ll be more considerate going forward?” Graham nods meekly. “Good. But just so we’re clear, if you upset her again, you’ll be out of this paddock for good.”

The next day, the news breaks that Graham has been dismissed from the Mercedes team for “attitude issues.” You feel a bit guilty, hoping your cookies didn’t cause him to lose his job. But Charles seems strangely satisfied, so you don’t dwell on it.

From then on, Charles redoubles his efforts to protect your feelings whenever you provide baked goods. The paddock falls in line, fawning over your overly salty pretzels and dry banana bread.

The brightness of your smile makes it all worth it to Charles. Because keeping that joy and kindness shining in you is what matters most to him.

***

You step out of Charles’ Ferrari, the engine purring as he puts it in park. Taking his hand, you smile excitedly — today is another fan meetup organized by the team, and you can’t wait to connect with Charles’ supporters again.

“Are you ready, mon cœur?” Charles asks, squeezing your hand gently. His green eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at you adoringly.

“Absolutely!” You chirp, patting the large picnic basket hanging off your arm. “I made lots of treats to share today!”

Charles grins and leans in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sure they will love everything you made, as always.”

You beam, bolstered by his encouragement as you both make your way to the event. The meetup is being held in a local park, with tents and tables set up amongst the lush green grass and towering trees. You spot a long line of fans waiting eagerly for Charles’ arrival. Most are dressed in the familiar rosso corsa of Ferrari, holding posters and memorabilia for him to sign.

“Charles! Charles!” They chant excitedly when they see him. You hang back happily, letting him have his moment with his dedicated supporters. Charles takes selfies, signs autographs, and chats animatedly in Italian, French, and English. The fans are thrilled to interact with their racing idol.

After some time, Charles waves you over. “I would like you all to meet someone very special to me,” he announces, wrapping an arm around you. The fans erupt into cheers and applause. “This is Y/N, my love.”

You blush at the attention but manage to give a little wave. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to be here today.”

Charles addresses the crowd again. “As some of you know, Y/N loves to bake and has brought some special treats to share with you all today.”

This is met with more enthusiastic cheers. Though none of them particularly enjoy your baked goods, the fans appreciate the effort and know Charles likes to reward them for humoring you.

You open up your large picnic basket, beaming with pride. “I made my favorite oatmeal raisin cookies, some lemon squares, and my famous rocky road fudge!”

The fans try not to visibly cringe, lining up politely with plates held out. You happily distribute your overly dry, burnt cookies and gooey, cloying fudge. The lemon squares are mushy and saccharine. But the fans accept it all with smiles and encouragement.

“Mmm, delicious!” One teenage girl forces out through a mouthful of your fudge.

An older man gives you a thumbs up as he chokes down a cookie, eyes watering. “So good!”

You beam, pleased that they enjoy your baking so much. As you chat with each person, you don’t notice Charles discreetly handing out autographed photos, caps, and other prized memorabilia to reward the fans for their efforts.

After you’ve handed out all your baked goods, Charles suggests a stroll through the park gardens. As you walk hand-in-hand admiring the flowers, he says softly, “You have such a big heart, Y/N. The way you care so much about connecting with the fans means the world to me.”

You squeeze his hand gratefully. “It’s the least I can do — they support you in everything, so I want to support them too.”

Charles stops and turns to you, his expression tender. “You are amazing, truly. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He leans in and kisses you sweetly. Your heart flutters just like the first time your lips met.

When you return from your walk, the event is winding down. You say goodbye to the fans, who thank you profusely for the treats and making their day so special. You tell them you can’t wait to bake for them again soon!

After the last fan leaves, it’s just you and Charles. The late afternoon sun casts golden light on the empty picnic tables.

“Did you have fun, mon amour?” Charles asks, caressing your cheek.

“The best time!” You say enthusiastically. “I just love baking for your wonderful fans and seeing how it makes them smile.”

Charles’ eyes are full of love. He kisses the top of your head. “As long as it makes you happy, that’s all that matters to me.”

You snuggle into his chest happily. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I don’t think so,” Charles teases. “Why don’t you remind me again?”

You grin up at him. “I’ll tell you over dinner … I have a new donut recipe I want to try out.”

Charles fights down a grimace as he reminds himself that your love is more than worth suffering through another dreadful dessert. “I can’t wait!”

***

“Mate, you have to stop her before she poisons someone,” Max whispers urgently to Charles as you step out of the room.

Charles furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Your girlfriend. Her baking. It’s … it’s just terrible. I’m sorry, but it has to be said.”

Charles lets out a dismissive chuckle. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Max raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I chipped a tooth on her brownie last week!”

Charles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he avoids making eye contact.

“Look, I get that you don’t want to upset her,” Max continues, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “But we can’t keep lying and pretending it’s good! One of these days, someone is going to end up in the hospital.”

Charles sighs deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. “What do you want me to do? If I tell her the truth, she’ll be devastated.”

You return to the room then, a bright smile on your face as you carry a plate of freshly baked apple tarts. “Who wants one?”

Max cringes almost imperceptibly while Charles shoots him a warning look. “They look great, ma belle!” He says with forced enthusiasm, taking one and bringing it to his lips.

The apple filling is gelatinous and tastes faintly of soap. Charles forces himself to swallow it with a strained smile. Max quickly declines when you offer him one.

Later that evening, Charles finds Max alone outside his apartment building. “I need your help,” he admits defeatedly.

Max looks at him expectantly.

“With Y/N’s baking … how do I get her to stop without completely crushing her?”

His friend contemplates this for a moment. “Well … you could try convincing her to take up a new hobby instead?”

Charles shakes his head. “I’ve suggested that before, but she’s dead set on baking. It’s her biggest passion.”

“Okay, then you’ll have to take a different approach.” Max strokes his chin thoughtfully. “What if … you told her a bunch of us were going vegan or something, so she couldn’t bake for us anymore?”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, but then slowly nods. “You know, that could actually work …”

The next day, you eagerly bring a fresh batch of blueberry muffins to the paddock to share with everyone. Charles takes a deep breath before pulling you aside gently.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He starts, trying to keep his expression neutral.

You blink up at him curiously. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well …” He clears his throat. “I was talking to the guys and … Lewis has actually convinced a bunch of them to go vegan. Lando, Max …”

He lists off a dozen more names, watching as realization dawns on your face. Your shoulders slump slightly.

“Oh … I see.” You glance down at the muffins in your hands. “I guess that means I can’t really bake for them anymore.”

Charles feels a pang of guilt at the disappointment in your eyes. But then, your expression brightens again.

“I’ll just have to start baking vegan treats instead!” You declare happily. “This is so exciting, I’ve been wanting to experiment with more plant-based ingredients!”

Charles’s shoulders tense as the plan epically backfires. Of course you’d take this as an opportunity to bake even more.

Over the next few weeks, you gleefully embrace the vegan baking lifestyle. Charles has to smother his laughter when Max nearly chokes biting into one of your “chewy” vegan brownies. Lando spits out a mouthful of your gritty vegan chocolate cake when you’re not looking.

You, however, remain blissfully unaware of how dreadful your creations are. No matter how many hints Charles tries to drop, the problem only seems to be getting worse.

One evening, you set a plate of fresh-from-the-oven vegan peanut butter cookies on the coffee table, plopping down on the couch next to Charles with a proud grin.

“Try one!” You insist, picking a cookie up and holding it in front of his lips.

Charles hesitates for just a second too long. Your face falls and he scrambles to take a bite, barely suppressing a wince as he chews on what feels like a solid lump of chalk mixed with peanut shavings. He forces himself to swallow it down with an enthusiastic grin.

“Wow, these are incredible!” He lies through his teeth. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

You perk up immediately, the dejected look vanishing. “You really think so? I tried a new recipe I found online.”

“Definitely a winner,” Charles affirms, trying his best to sound convincing. “We should bring some to the paddock for everyone to try.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion and guilt twists in Charles’s gut. The last thing he wants is for the other drivers to have to suffer through these … confections. But he could never be the one to shatter your baking dreams.

The next day at the track, you eagerly pass around the plate of peanut butter hockey pucks to the drivers and crew. Charles discreetly pulls Max aside with a pained look.

“Please, I’m begging you …” he murmurs under his breath. “Just smile and nod, no matter how bad they are.”

Max grimaces as he takes an experimental bite of one of the cookies, his expression doing little to mask his revulsion. But he meets Charles’s pleading gaze and forces out a strangled, “Mmm … great!”

One by one, the others follow suit — fake smiles and strained praises as they choke down your baked atrocities. You remain obliviously pleased, unaware of their suffering.

Over the next few weeks, the vegan baking experiments only seem to get worse and worse. The paddock has become a silent circle of culinary martyrs — all sworn to an unspoken code to preserve your feelings at all costs.

You proudly present a tray of charcoal-colored muffins that leave the entire garage coughing from the plume of burnt flour. “Tried a new recipe for dark chocolate avocado muffins!” You explain brightly.

“Can’t wait to dig in,” Lando is close to crying, his eyes already watering.

Charles has to bite back a laugh as Max takes a heroic bite, barely managing to keep it together. He pats the Dutchman on the back firmly as the poor guy fights back a gag reflex.

“Two more words about her baking and you’ll be racing with three wheels next season,” he warns Carlos in a low mutter after witnessing the Spaniard nearly vomit up a slice of your “moist” vegan zucchini bread.

The sheer willpower it takes for the entire crew to maintain the facade is almost impressive. Technique and strategy meetings have now become immense displays of unspoken fortitude — everyone driven by the simple goal of not letting you catch on that your baked goods are, in fact, completely inedible.

Charles has started bringing backup protein bars and shakes to every race just to make sure nobody accidentally lapses into baked good-induced delirium.

He really has no idea how much longer this can possibly be sustained. But he also has no idea how to safely extract the situation without demolishing your passion and self-confidence in the process.

For now, his main objective is to ensure your bright smile and cheerfulness remain unchanged — no matter how many mouths he has to personally silence to make that happen.

At the end of the day, having you by his side, radiating that infectious joy and following your heart’s desire, is worth enduring all the subpar vegan muffins in the world.

He’ll take a bite of your latest abomination with an adoring grin, because that’s what partners who truly love each other do — they support each other through the good, the bad, and the burnt-to-a-crisp.

***

It’s the start of a new season, and Charles has been racking his brain for a solution to the ongoing baking saga. As much as he loves indulging your passion, the charade is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. The entire paddock is at their wits’ end trying to choke down your vegan torture devices week after week.

That’s when he has an idea — one he hopes will be a win-win for everyone involved.

“Surprise!” He says with an excited grin, presenting you with the envelopes. “I got us signed up for this baking course. I thought it could be fun for us to take some classes together!”

You’re beaming as you throw your arms around his neck. “That’s such a thoughtful idea! I would love nothing more.”

Of course, Charles being Charles is hardly fully forthright about his motivations. “To be honest, I’m the one who really needs the help,” he fibs sheepishly. “We all know I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But with your talents guiding me, maybe there’s hope!”

Over the next few weeks, you and Charles diligently show up for your baking classes. The instructor walks you through fundamentals like properly measuring ingredients, controlling oven temperatures, and mastering technical skills. Slowly but surely, your creations start emerging looking (and smelling) better and better.

One evening, you return home with a fresh tray of beautifully baked chocolate chip cookies — the first delicacy you’ve felt confident enough to bake since the lessons. You present them to Charles with bated breath.

He takes one tentative bite, his eyes widening in surprise. These are actually ... edible! More than edible — they are legitimately delicious! The dough-to-chip ratio is perfect, the texture is chewy but not dry or crumbly. He quickly stuffs two more into his mouth with an appreciative moan.

“Ma belle … these are incredible!” He gasps out between bites.

You clap your hands over your mouth, eyes shining with glee. “Oh my gosh, you really think so? I was so nervous!”

“Are you kidding? I could eat this entire tray all by myself!”

The two of you dissolve into celebratory laughter and hugs, the sweet taste of success quite literally on your tongues.

“I think it’s time for the real taste test,” you declare one day, rolling up your sleeves as you start prepping an array of fresh baked goods. “We’re taking these bad boys to the paddock!”

The next race weekend, you stride in carrying bakery boxes of your fresh chocolate chip cookies as well as some decadent fudge brownies.

“Fresh out of the oven!” You announce proudly, setting them down with a bright grin. “Who’s hungry?”

For a long beat, nobody moves. The drivers exchange wary glances, their self-preservation instincts kicking in as they recall the many baking debacles of the past. Lando bravely reaches for a brownie first, his face scrunched up preemptively-

Only to blink in surprise as the rich, fudgy flavor hits his taste buds. His eyes widen comically as he takes another bite. “Bloody hell ... this is actually good!”

The words seem to shatter the suspended tension. Soon the entire paddock is swarming the trays, devouring the fresh baked goods with delight. Charles watches on in disbelief, his own taste buds experiencing flavors he didn’t even know were possible from your former creations.

He sees Max take a bite of one of the cookies, freezing in place as his eyes slip closed with an expression of pure bliss. When they open again, Charles is alarmed to see they’re glistening with unshed tears.

The Dutchman wordlessly holds up the cookie, gazing at Charles reverently as a lone tear trails down his cheek. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he brings the baked good to his lips and takes another sensual bite, savoring it like it’s the first good thing he’s ever tasted.

From then on, it’s like a switch has been flipped. The paddock that once dreaded your baking now seemingly can’t get enough of it. Every race weekend, they await your fresh creations with unrestrained enthusiasm, like kids on a sugar bender.

Charles has lost count of how many times he’s caught drivers and crew sneaking off to wherever you’re prepping the latest batch, nostrils flaring as they try to scout out that heavenly aroma.

It’s gotten to the point where Max’s performance coach has had to implement strict rules about his treat consumption to prevent indulgences from derailing his season.

“Easy there, Max!” Rupert calls in a booming tone, swooping in to physically restrain the Dutchman as he makes a mad dash toward where you’re unpacking that week’s fresh delivery. “You know you have a limit on those.”

Max strains against his performance coach’s grip, eyes zeroing in on the platter of goodies being unloaded with unrestrained longing. “I don’t care, she brought triple chocolate cookie dough brownies this time! Let me go!”

Rupert grunts in exertion, struggling to keep his driver in check. “This is for your own good! Think of your diet!”

“That’s irrelevant!” Max practically snarls, pupils blown wide like an addict suffering from withdrawals. “Do you have any idea how long I waited to have real baked goods again?”

It’s a battle of wills and metabolism that quickly becomes a weekly sight. Charles can’t help but chuckle fondly as he watches Max and Rupert’s familiar tug-of-war happen like clockwork every Sunday.

As much as he’d love to intervene, he knows better than to come between Max and your heavenly baked creations. He’s just thrilled that this baking journey took such a delicious turn — both for your invigorated culinary passion and for the safety of everyone’s tastebuds.

Honestly, he’ll take the sight of a feverish Max drooling over freshly baked goods any day over having to choke down burnt muffins and brittle biscuits. This is the sweet upgrade everyone had been dreaming about.

The true recipe for happiness was sticking by each other’s side through all those halfbaked stumbles.

[saturnsorbits]

Skintight

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Suggestive, Word Count: 2.1k.

Summary: Sero's got an embarrassing problem.

A/N: This is a new flavour of Sero for me, but I love this one just as much.

'You can't laugh...' Sero's voice is thick in the back of his throat forcing him to attempt to cough out it's awkwardness.

It doesn't work.

There's still the tell tale pinkness of a deep blush around his cheek bones, one that streaks down his neck and vanishes beneath the high, black neck of his suit.

Holding open your front door, you raise your eyebrows already on the cusp of giggles. He's leaning on your door frame, his arm pinned above his head, elbow pressed into the wood in a way that was almost charming. 'Okay...'

'Can – Actually...' He leans back, glancing down the corridor. 'Can I come in?'

'Of course.' Stepping aside, you watch as he slips into your apartment keeping his back almost flush with the door. You watch as he goes, side-stepping his way into your living room before turning quick on the balls of his feet to face you – the same sheepish smile etched into his features. Pausing, you tilt your head. 'Are you okay?'

'Y – yeah, uh...' He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he fidgets.

You raise your eyebrows, tipping forward slightly on your tip-toes.

'I – ha... See it's funny really because -.'

'Hanta, spit it out.'

He sighs. 'I'm stuck in my suit.'

You can't help it, a chuckle bubbles up your throat and spills helplessly over your lips.

Rocking his head back on his shoulders, Hanta groans. 'I said not to laugh...'

Sucking in air through your teeth, you struggle with party balloon lungs until the wheezing subsides and you can stand a little straighter again. 'Yeah, yep, sorry...' A stray gasp leaks from your lips, forcing you to bite down on the seam to silence it. 'Go on.'

'It gets worse.' He sighs. Squeezing shut his eyes, he licks over his lips before admitting. 'I'm naked in here.'

'I'm sorry, what?' You cough, disguising the tension in your lungs. It's hard not to look then, to really look, given the new information you've just been presented with.

Black spandex, strengthened with some obnoxiously named polymer stretches over the expanse of his shoulders. He's wide there, wider than you'd expect given his slight frame, but there's no denying the muscle that lingers under the material. The black extends, covers the swells of his pecs and then tapers, cutting into odd triangles that frame the ripples of his stomach. He's not as well muscled here as he is in his shoulders. Instead of the rough blocks of abdominal muscles, his are streamlined, forming two long, thick stripes of muscle that are almost totally visible through the pale of his suit.

Letting your eyes sink lower still, your gaze lingers on the thin strips of malleable metal that serves to strengthen his suit, but also inadvertently seems to perfectly highlight the deep creases that mark out his torso. You swallow. Hidden under a black square of material, barely contained by what you have to assume is at least two layers of material is a thick bulge. The swell is obvious, casting darkened shadows onto the twitching muscles of his thighs.

'Naked, me, under here...' Gesturing his crotch, he widens his eyes.

'The fucking zip snapped and I can't ask anyone to fucking help peel me out because whoever does it is going to get an eyeful of, well... Me.'

Blinking repeatedly, you swallow the saliva collecting in your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his. His jaw is tight, his stare worried and wild as he looks at you for an answer to a question you're not sure he's got the balls to ask.

Although, new information could prove you wrong.

It's in that instant that the silliness of the situation hits you right back over the head again. You manage to hold your laughter for a solid three seconds before it's tumbling out of you again. This time, it catches you off guard, rolling through you and almost reducing you to a crouch as Sero winces in front of you. 'Why couldn't you get one of the boys to help? Surely they've seen everything before...'

'And have Denks take the piss forever? No thanks.'

'Oh...' You fold your arms across your chest. 'And you think I won't take the piss? Is that it?'

'No.' He answers too quickly, but manages to trap the rest of his half-baked confession behind his teeth before it drops into the palm of your hands. The truth is, he doesn't think he'd mind you taking the piss – he doesn't think he'd mind you doing anything to him, in all honesty. Maybe that's why instead of slinking back to the agency and hoping that Hatsume was in her workshop, he'd found himself here, almost twenty minutes out of his way. He shrugs. 'But, maybe you'll be nicer about it?'

Locking eyes with him for a moment, you pause to watch him sweat before rubbing your hands together. 'C'mon then...' You smirk. 'Let's see how big that dick is.'

'Can you not?' Sero snaps, shivering when your palm meets the muscle of his shoulder. You slide your touch across him, moving in one solid stroke from his deltoid to the thick muscle of his back. The touch, as innocent as it is, makes his stomach tighten, molten lava churning as he submits to your teasing. A soft giggle slips your lips, sliding into his ear like sweet sherbet, making him half regret his decision to ask you, but then, your fingers are playing at the dips just above his collarbone and stealing coherency from him once more.

The suit is cooler than you'd expected. You can feel it, the tips of your fingers growing colder as you search across his chest, fingertips pressing against him in a search that quickly becomes fruitless.

Scratching, you use your nails to rake down his chest and attempt to ignore the way you can feel him respond. His whole body bristles, muscles tightening as a ripple uses his spine like a fire pole. You lick over your lips and hope he can't hear the shake in your voice. 'Where the fuck is the zip on this thing?'

Stretching back his shoulders, Sero swallows. 'It's, uh, around the back...' Gathering the loose hair

Immediately, you lift your hands as if burnt. Now, your groping feels gratuitous – sexual in a way that it wasn't meant to be. Not really. When you step behind him, twisting your hip to avoid bumping it against his, you don't let your fingers wonder.

It's not hard to find it, not now you're laser focused. There's a small bump. The slightest overlap between the two sides of his suit as it wraps around the base of his neck. A few hours ago there had been a zip, the thin strip of metal poking, just, from the material, but now, there's nothing there: Just the slight bump.

Laying one hand flat against the muscle of his back, you use your index finger to skate up the zip – parting the fabric as you go. At the top, you hook your finger under the suit and begin to work at opening it.

Each touch sends a series of short static shocks up through his body, forcing him to tense the plain of his stomach to keep him from folding over. He can feel it, the delicate slip of your fingers as you manage to shift the zip from the top of his spine to near between his shoulders. Inhaling, he starts to wonder if this was a bad idea after all.

'You want me to just keep going, yeah?' You move slowly now. It's almost obscene. A private strip show. One you're participating in, that wouldn't even be happening without you. The thought has you fighting your own composure, forcing you to lock your knees to keep them from shaking.

'Ye – yeah.' He forces a laugh into his voice, but it catches behind his Adam's apple and slips out of his mouth a rasp. 'It stops like, like,' he coughs. 'Like just above my ass.' The bridge of his nose crinkles, a cringe folding his features as he stops talking.

'Okay.' Your fingers feel like they're burning as your decent reveals more and more skin. The smooth plain of his back is revealed, the muscle underneath rippling as it's loosed from it's material confines.

It's intimate in a way you'd never expected as with the slick of his suit, so too are hidden secrets revealed. There's a mole just under the curve of his right shoulder blade. A scar that runs parallel to his spine, the skin still pink and fresh. The edges of black ink that wraps around the edge of his left hip.

When the zip finally draws to a stop, you can see the cleft of his ass. If you were to slip your hands inside, splaying your fingers across the warm breath of his lower back you'd be able to sink your thumbs into his back dimples. You imagine he'd sigh. Let his head roll back on his shoulders as you press close to him. Maybe you'd let your hands slink further, following along the grooves of his hips; lines that would lead to lower and lower, until...

'All done?' His voice is wound tight when he speaks, locked somewhere in the basin of his throat and released as if thrown out on a breath.

Your reluctant to step back, to recede from the heat of his body, but you manage it. 'Yep.' You pat his back, feeling the muscle relax under your touch. 'All done.'

He turns, already wriggling his shoulders free from the material of his suit. 'Thanks, thought I was going to be trapped forever in this thing. It's so...' Slipping his fingers under the latex clinging to his left shoulder, he stretches it from his skin. 'Difficult to fucking get out of.'

You chuckle and watch him struggle. He twists around himself, peeling the second skin of his suit away only for it to snap back and illicit a hiss from between his teeth. 'C'mere, before you do yourself some serious harm.'

Sero shivers as your hands skate underneath the suit and peel him from it. He'd close his eyes to hide from the intimacy of your slow undressing of him, but all that would do is conjure images of what he wishes would come afterwards. Images of him repaying the favour, slipping you from your oversized hoodie and sinking to his knees then repaying you again in a wholly different way. He can already imagine how easy it would be to have you, and yet... 'Thanks,' he mumbles.

'No worries.' You giggle, catching his eye before you step back: his shoulders and arms freed. 'Tell you what though...' Your eyebrow arcs, a coy smile playing at the edge of your lip. 'That really doesn't hide anything, does it?'

Eyes widening, he swallows hard. The knowledge of your staring, dare he even dream admiring, sends a shock wave of tension directly south. He cock kicks, his ass clenching as if to try and disguise the too obvious bulge against the front of his costume. In an instant, his hands sink, the top-half of his suit bunched in his fist as he plays the move for comfort and hopes you don't notice a thing. 'I...'

'I'm just joking around, Han.' You chuckle around the lump in your throat. There's a notable pulse in your stomach, one that sinks by the second and has your thoughts turning savoury.

'I'll...' Sero hedges. There's an energy in his muscles, one that makes him want to bounce on the balls of his feet and do something silly.

'Do you want a t-shirt?'

The more he looks at you, the more kissable you look. You always look kissable, but right now, with the sun coming in from your living room window and that small curious smile itching at your lip... You look phenomenal. He shakes his head. 'I'll just swing home. I'll be too high and too quick for anyone to notice that I'm semi-shirtless... My place isn't far.'

'Oh, okay.' You try not to let your disappointment show, but there's a notch that forms between his eyebrows that makes you wonder just how successful you'd been at disguising it. Slinking to the door, Sero has one foot over the threshold before he turns.

Fuck it. He thinks.

'Can I tell you something?'

Your eyes shine, head tilting. 'Of course, anything.'

'I really, like, really wanna take you out to dinner.'

Your lips break into a smile, forcing apples into your cheeks as a chuckle slips through your teeth. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' His smile matches yours, reaching his eyes and making him glow. 'Next week? That new place down town?'

You nod, chewing at your lip as you try not to feel like an excited school girl. 'It's a date.'

Sero's heart stutters, thudding in his chest. 'It's a date.'

-> Masterlist

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

[stardustshuji]

. ★⋆. ࿐࿔ mma fighter! rindou is untouchable.

cw: graphic depictions of violence. blood.

rindou doesn’t believe in luck.

luck is for people who rely on chance; success is for those who work for it. it's a belief that's held up his entire life.

at least, until you came along.

in the two years that you've been together, he's yet to lose a single fight. every opponent, no matter how skilled, has ended up tasting the mat by the end of the match— and it’s all because of you.

your unwavering support gives him a sense of focus, a clarity he didn’t know he was missing. with you, there’s no room for doubt. just raw determination, steady resolve, and a fire that fuels him in the ring, making him even more ruthless than before.

bouncing on the balls of his feet, rindou's gaze is sharp as he sizes up his opponent. the guy has some height on him, an advantage he probably thinks he can use to keep rindou at bay.

but rindou can read him like a book: the stiffness in his stance, the subtle hesitation in his footwork, the way his shoulders bunch just a little too much before each movement. he may think he’s slick, but he's broadcasting his intentions before he even acts.

out of habit, his eyes flicker to you in the crowd. you're sitting in the front row, dressed in a little black number that hugs your figure just right, your eyes locked on him as you chew on your bottom lip.

that brief moment of distraction costs him.

his opponent lunges forward, landing a heavy blow to his jaw that rattles his teeth and sends his mouthguard flying. it snaps his head back, and his vision flashes white as the metallic taste of blood hits his tongue.

spitting it out onto the floor, rindou only grins. “alright,” he mutters, wiping crimson from his lips. “my turn.”

rindou surges forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. with a feint to his left, he draws his opponent in and delivers a brutal right hook to his ribs. the guy stumbles, gasping for air, and rindou follows up with a low kick, knocking his balance clean out from under him. the man manages a desperate swing, but it’s clumsy— futile, really— and rindou ducks, slipping beneath the punch with ease.

there’s a rhythm now, a punishing pace that rindou sets as he doles out a series of precise strikes. he opens with a sharp jab to the jaw, one that rocks his opponent’s head back, causing him to lower his guard. it leaves him wide open, and without hesitation, rindou lands a crushing uppercut to his chin to disorient him even further. the guy staggers back, his eyes unfocused, but rindou doesn’t let up.

he presses forward, driving his knee up into his stomach with enough force that he hears a wheeze before the man doubles over, swaying slightly. somehow, he manages to stay standing, and lavender eyes narrow as rindou calculates the end.

planting his feet on the ground, corded muscles ripple beneath inked skin as he pivots his body, swinging his leg up in a roundhouse kick that connects squarely against his opponent's temple. the impact is immediate, a definitive crack that sends his head whipping sideways before he crumples, unconscious before he even hits the mat.

rindou stands over him for a moment, rolling his shoulders back as he spits out another mouthful of blood. he hears the referee blow a whistle, calling the match, and he turns back to the crowd, his gaze landing back on you as he raises his fist in the air.

a smirk tugs at his lips when he sees you jump out of your seat, clapping and hollering along with everyone else. your smile is radiant, brimming with pride and admiration, and that alone makes everything worth it.

“i’ll need a reward for that one, yeah?” he calls out to you, his voice carrying over the cheers of the crowd. your cheeks tint an endearing shade of pink, and his smirk stretches wider as he strides out of the ring. “i’ll be waiting for it in the locker room.”

no, there’s no such thing as luck— but with you by his side, rindou doesn’t need it.

[chadillacboseman]

OKAY OKAY OKAY

IDEA

WHAT IF THE READER IS PREGNANT WITH MAKAROV'S KID AND HE'S HELLA PROTECTIVE AND THEY'RE OUT AND ABOUT AND SOMEONE IS STUPID ENOUGH TO LIKE. GET ANGRY AT HER AND BECOMES THREATENING AND UNFORTUNATELY (not really) MAKAROV IS AROUND??

"Walk carefully," Makarov rests a protective hand on the small of your back, rough fingers massaging the fabric of your shirt as he guides you down the curb.

"I'm fine, V," you protest indignantly, "I'm pregnant, not frail."

Makarov grunts and his dark eyes find yours, "With my child, yes? I need to keep you safe."

"From the curb?"

He ignores your sarcasm, instead scanning the street for any threats, any faces he recognizes. The neighborhood is rough, littered with refuse and graffiti.

You bury yourself in your phone as you trot along beside him, thumb swiping past articles that didn't catch your eye. Perhaps if you'd been more observant-

You crash into something-no, someone, bouncing back a few inches as your phone clatters to the pavement and shatters on impact.

"Oh! I'm sorry-" you scramble to pick up your broken cell.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," a loud, slurred voice booms from the figure you had bumped into.

You look up into his face, stubbled with dark halos around his hate-filled eyes. He smells of whiskey, positively reeks of it, and he looks unsteady on his feet.

"Excuse me?" You straighten and instinctively place a hand on your stomach.

"I said-" the man moves his face closer to yours, "Watch where you're fucking going!"

It happens in a split second.

He shoves you, hard, and you stumble back, losing your footing and falling unceremoniously to the concrete, wincing at the unwelcome contact.

The man takes a step forward, his face a twisted visage of rage. Genuine terror takes root in your chest as you try to scramble backward and out of his reach.

In an instant, the man's head jerks violently to one side and a spattering of bright red blood showers from his temple, painting the ground at his feet.

You watch with wide eyes as he crumples in a heap and Makarov shakes his hand, ridding it of the crimson that smears his knuckles.

The man groans and tries to roll to his feet; blood rolls in thick, red rivulets down the side of his face. He's drunk and pain clearly isn't an issue.

If there's one thing Makarov loves, it's a challenge.

His foot connects with the drunkard's ribs, taking the air from his lungs and sending him back to the concrete once more.

"Stay down," Makarov snarls.

"Fuck you," the man spits through wheezing breaths. He attempts to get up once more, blood now staining his rumpled shirt.

Makarov hits him again, this time with his fist, connecting his sharp knuckles with the man's face with such force that it sends him toppling onto his back.

This time, he does stay down. But Makarov isn't satisfied- another kick lands, this time in the gut, and the man lets out a wet, heavy cough.

As the man lays in the street, Makarov comes to you, his face painted with concern, hands reaching for yours as he pulls you to your feet.

"Are you alright?" His eyes flick up and down your body, searching for injury.

"I'm okay," you pant, nerves still wrung taught like rubber bands, "thank you..."

Makarov waves a hand at you dismissively, his eyes still full of worry. Calloused fingers find the swell of your stomach and he runs a rough palm over the bump.

"Any time."

[lieutenantsluvr]

༉‧₊˚✧

❝ cough medicine & kisses ❞

pairing : sick!simon riley x fem!reader

tags : NSFW, Undefined relationship. (Unprotected p in v, mentions of overstimulation.)

Synop : sub!simon who isn't actually a sub, but just so overworked he wants to fuck himself dumb.

w/c 3.8k

Sick. It’s a word you never thought you’d hear from your Captain’s mouth. “Sick?” You repeat, like a broken record. It only earns a small nod from Price, followed by a short breath of annoyance. Yeah, Okay. You can practically read the older man's mind, “Go check on him yourself if you’re so worried.” Is what he would say if he had any less humanity in him. But, he saves you the hit to your already fragile ego. Did you even want to see Simon? The feeling of seeing him in a state any less of… cold? makes your stomach churn in an uncomfortable turmoil. 

Softly knocking on the door to his barrack, peeling your knuckles away from the cold wood frame. Noise within his barrack ceases, only for a few seconds before you hear a groan. Followed by a cough. Maybe two, or three more. Simon opens the door. He's still sporting his usual balaclava - But, his eyes are deep, darker and glossy. Dark circles line the bottom of his lids, similar to that of a raccoon. Blonde hair slightly tufted up, messily sprawled over his head. Sure enough, he looks sick as a dog. 

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice an octave lower than it usually is. Still dark, gravelly, but it has more ache to it. The way his voice strains almost sends you to your knees. Vulnerable. It’s the only word that comes to mind as you look at him right now. Would he tear the limbs from your body if he knew you thought of him this way? Absolutely. But, as much as the big brute tries… you care for him nonetheless. “I’m here to check up on you.” You state, voice coming out a little bit more weakly than anticipated. Nice one. You try to recover, eyes briefly flicking somewhere else in the dimly lit hallway to escape his unrelenting gaze down. “You haven’t come out of your room in two days,” You add with a small tut of your lips, breaking the silence that seems to only make you uncomfortable. “Have you been eating?”

“I don’t need a nurse.” He states, flatly. His eyes languidly trail against your body, as if sucking up every detail, and then spitting it back out. Simon has taken a comfortable position in his doorway, his arm hiked up above himself to lean against the frame of the door. He has a fever. In fact, you know he has a fever. Tiny sweat beads forming above his brow, barley in sight from the way his balaclava is messily dragged across his face. He heaves for a second, as if trying to conceal a cough. Then, he spits it out - Coughing again, throat dry and raw. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, blinking away the blur that choked itself into his vision. “And, I eat when I feel like it.”  Despite the sickness, he doesn't step down from his authoritative role. Big fuckin’ baby. 

“I can practically feel your fever from here.” You huff, a quick folding of your arms to defend yourself from his princess attitude. “Have you taken medicine?” You continue, feeling the urge to take care of him swirl in your gut. No, you weren’t a mommy to the men of the taskforce, but more often than not, you found yourself stirring up a pot of soup to soothe their aching throats. Or placing a cold cloth on their foreheads when they ignored the chill in their bones. As much as you loved to tease them about their uselessness when it came to taking care of their bodies, part of you actually enjoyed the play. Okay, maybe you were mommy. 

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” He chuffs, a small wheeze from his constricting lungs. You can feel the heat radiate from his body. The smell radiating from the inside of his barrack is deep, and musky. A mixture of his sweat and natural scent. Something about it makes your skin rise, and your heart scutter. You remind yourself that he’s sick, and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the thought of getting you sick either. The sound of him clearing the phlegm from his throat quickly pulls you from your thoughts - now, no longer turned on. . . just a little more empathetic, you sigh. It’s like the man can feel your persistence from where you stand in the doorway. You just won’t back down. His head slightly lowers, eyes shutting for a second before they reopen and stare back at you. “No.” He says, flatly. All you do is quirk an eyebrow in wake of his question, and he’s shifting in front of you. Clearly his sickness is wearing down his resolve, and he’s almost submitting to your obvious request to take care of him. It's like a cowboy stand-off. Two idiots staring each other down, too stubborn to admit they just want to cuddle. 

The stare is only broken as he wheezes out a choked out cough, eyes fluttering shut against the tears that build against his lid. “Fine,” Another cough, “You win.” He slides his arm down from the frame of the doorway, fingers flexing for a moment before resting at his sides, now unmoving. A single stare, until he crosses the room to his bed, sitting on the edge - almost robotically. Clearly he’s uncomfortable with your presence. Clearly he’s uncomfortable even having someone in his room. 

You step into the room, eyes taking in the unfamiliar sight. A sight you’ve honestly been dreaming of. It’s a larger room, one that comes from the privilege of being Lieutenant. There aren’t really any decorations, perhaps a plant or two. Mixtures of grays and blacks littering the color scheme of his room. From there, your eyes drift to his bedside table - a tiny bite of what seems to be four crackers on a paper plate, an empty glass of water, and a multitude of used tissues. Not the… good kind of used. Nonetheless, your brain wracks with the sudden realization. He’s sick. Not just, sniffly, but genuinely sick. 

“Go on,” You prompt, a soft wave of your hand, “Lay down.” He’s quick to obey you, though, not without protest. He grumbles to himself, incoherent sick whining. Eyebrows furrowed, and an ached whine as he slides himself into bed. “I’m not tired.” He chuffs, but even he knows that’s bullshit. His eyes are barely opened, glassy, and the dark circles that line them almost look painful. “You’re tired.” You reply, knowingly. It’s a quick walk across the room, opening his bathroom door and searching for a washcloth. Once found, you wet the rag, wringing it from excess water and then trotting back over to the side of his bed. Eyes falling down on his sicken frame, you see the way his muscles contract with every labored breath. Simon seems in pain. His scowl visibly softens, his eyes flicking between the soft hold you have on the rag, and your face. A quick quirk of your eyebrow, as if saying, are you going to let me do this? His eyes lower, and a pained chuff emits itself from his scratchy throat. You’re already at the side of his bed, there’s no stopping you now. “I’m not a child.” He reminds you, though, it’s clear he could use the coddling. “Yes,” You begin, leaning over and lowering the cloth to his forehead, “Such a big boy.” Tone lacking malice, and only harboring love for the sick man. He's stubborn - even as sick as he is, Simon doesn't want to be babied, even if he knows he desperately needs it. He keeps his lips clamped tight, trying to stay stoic. Stilling even when he feels the cool washcloth press to his forehead, when his skin is flushed and on fire. It takes a great deal of willpower to stay quiet when the cool cloth soothes his aching body. He's breathing deep, and slow now. It doesn't matter how he feels about you, his body needs the rest. 

He’s out like a light. Unmoving, and slow breathing. Broad shoulders, and firm chest rising with every sickly breath he inhales and exhales. A quick glance around the room, and you plan your next attack. Simply cleaning up his barrack, and preparing him a small meal. Though, the tasks do take awhile, having thoroughly cleaned the place. It’s the least you could do. Right? 

It wasn't until he stirred in bed that you finally approached him again, a small groaning emitting from his lips as he stretched the sleep from his aching muscles. “Hey..” You cooed, fingers haunting the area of his forehead to check his temperature. He was still quite warm, definitely entering the cusp of breaking the fever, but still quite sick. His eyes take a moment to register your presence, glossed honeyed gaze rising up and taking in your concerned gaze. 

“You stayed?” The words were like a knife to your gut, twisting, sinking, and ripping it out. Stayed? Why the hell wouldn’t you stay? The realization hits you even harder, a freight train dragging your body the whole span of the track. “Of course,” You sigh, your hand softly trailing down his face, thumb grazing in wake of his jawline, “Why would I leave?” The touch brings him peace. A wake of molten arising on his very skin, eyes clamping shut. Your touch - It's a gentle, comforting gesture, one you seldom see in your line of work. “I don’t know.” He croaks out after a moment, eyes only opening enough to watch as your thumb ghosts the fabric of his balaclava.  He wants to respond, he can feel the words forming at the tip of his tongue. But, they're caught when she drags her thumb down his chin again. He swallows hard, looking around for a way to avoid a response, but finds none. “Shut up,” You interrupt before he can grasp on to the feeling in his chest, “Take this.” 

You’re quick to reach over to the bedside table, handing him one or two pills from the bottle, and holding the glass of ice water in your other hand. He looks at it, awkwardly before taking the medication from your palm. His hand raises to his balaclava, hooking a thumb underneath and raising it up just enough to place the pills on his tongue. You try not to look. Keyword, try. Soft stubble from days of not shaving, sharp jawline, and lips full enough to lay claim against. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Eyes flicking down your face, then down to the glass of water. Simon takes hold of it, his fingers grazing against your own as he slips the glass into his own hand. The contact sends shivers down your body, now aching from the servitude you’ve dove into. It’s like fucking shell-shock, the way his touch rattles up and down your nervous system, until the only thing you can think about is pushing him against the bed, and stuffing down on his cock so- “Are ya gonna give me the glass?” He mutters, a slight pressure as he tries to take the glass. You sputter, only for a moment, before letting him take it. Simon makes quick work to the glass, putting it to his now, unclothed lips, and taking a few swigs - soft drops of water forming against lips. Lips so soft you can almost feel the sensation. Lips so soft you can hear the demons in your head screaming to roll it between your teeth. 

You avert your gaze, hushing the demons that claw themselves from the pit of your stomach. It was like something in your body shifted - a sense of you shouldn’t be here eating up your consciousness. Quickly, you stand up, eyes flicking over only to catch the clink of Simon setting down the glass. “Where are you off too?” His words are thin, and hoarse, as if he can barely speak against the sickness building inside of him. You actually had no clue where you were going, only crossing over to the kitchen to make yourself look busy. Being away from him was helping, though, the butterflies in your stomach pitter pattering against gummy insides. “Just gonna do some of your dishes, no big deal.” You chide, the heat you once felt on your back from his stare very quickly becomes real heat. “Why are you acting weird?” Simon asks, placing a hand down on the countertop beside you, his body loosely caging your presence. You could walk away, simply move from the spot you’re in, and he’s giving you that option. But you don’t. “You’re sick, go lay down.” You usher, trying to get him to back up. Hand slipping to push on his waist, only a little, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his tight gray t-shirt. He’s quick with his movement, a single hand snapping up to grab hold of your wrist - the same wrist linked to a hand pressed a little higher than his hip. “I thought you were nursing me back to health, yeah?” He chuffs, the reverberating ache in his throat causing his usual tone to deepen by an entire octave. So, there he is, caging you to the kitchen countertop. A hand on your wrist, and the other placed against the granite, fingers visibly curling. I might just take him on this countertop, you think to yourself, the demons practically chewing on the bars of your brain. Deep in thought, he takes a small movement in your daze, his hand cascading up from your wrist to your shoulder - a soft grip, but one that still drips of possession. “I asked you a question.” He asks, head dipping down to meet your height. Dilated pupils, a small form of sweat against his brow, and the remaining flush of his fever. His jaw is clenched so tight you swear it’ll stay locked like that forever. It’s really the only tell that he’s affected by the sight of you. The warmth dripping from his body is scorching. Tickling down your entire body, as he inches and inches closer it’s like molten lava clawing at your very flesh. But, there isn’t a single syllable you’re able to utter in response. You don’t know why you react this way when he’s close. You don’t know why you feel your heart slam against your ribcage when you make eye contact. You don’t know why you wish to map out the entirety of his back and use your hands as the ink that cascades down on paper. “I don’t know.” A simple, and blunt answer falling from your still parted lips. 

“Well, figure it out, yeah?” Simon chuffs, before leaning back. The sudden loss of heat is what gets you, knees practically buckling from the cool air kissing at your skin. His eyes drift down, still glassy, and far - but, looking at you, nonetheless. “Si,” You utter, softly. It’s like the gods got tired of looking at the way you pathetically stare at him - deciding, hey, give this one a little push. He tenses, an almost growl as he glances down at you. Fuck, that nickname. “You’re right,” You murmured, feeding into his words, hand sinking back down against his hip, “Let me take care of you.” 

It was like an apparition entered his fucking body. In seconds, hands your wrist, backing you up into the countertop. He falters for a moment, head dipping down to your shoulder - an almost soft inhale of the shampoo you use. The smell alone is practically creating a tent against his sweatpants. Finger curling against your wrists. You glance up at him, only seconds as you catch those dangerous honey-like irises inspecting you. Dilation. Quick to hike up his mask, he kisses you. It’s messy, desperate, and almost clumsy. Giving in, you part your lips - an immediate attack of his teeth drawing in your bottom lip, biting down with a force. Groaning into the kiss, he pushes his hips against yours - the cold granite of the countertop pressing into your lower back. A desperate, “Fuck..” as he flattens his tongue against your teeth. Being sick has obviously caused something in his brain to rewire, something to calm the constant ache in his head - or the warmth your body projects feels like healing. 

His hands cascade up to your hips, a tight grip as he lifts you - almost effortlessly even in contrast to his sicken state. Almost delirious, setting you down on the bed - hands attacking the hem of your own sweatpants. “Lovie,” Simon exhales through a tight groan, fingers shimmying down the fabric to your ankles, “need this… ‘so fuckin bad.” Maybe it’s the cough medicine rewiring his brain, but he’s practically whimpering for your touch. You feed into his head, hand lazily dragging down the fabric of both his sweatpants, and boxers. Obviously, he’s not going to go for any sort of foreplay. He’s too fucked dumb, eyes desperately searching your gaze as you realize just how drunk he wants to get off of your pussy. His hand slides up to the valley between your breasts, pushing down until your back hits the soft plush of the mattress. “so ‘fuckin pretty.” A tightening of his hands against your hips. His eyes flick down, simply just staring at the state of that pretty fucking pussy. A bite to his bottom lip, before placing himself against you. Still watching you closely, he drags the crown of his cock up and down in slow lines - shuddering against the slickness that oats your entrance. 

The sight continues to make him whine. He’s practically teasing himself at this point, only using your body as a means to soothe the sick ache in his head and push his cum so deep into your cunt that he’s the only thing you’ll think of for weeks. You stare up at him, hips circling slowly to further the teasing he plants upon himself. The hand not placed against his cock is quick to snap against your stomach, pushing down until you reside still on the bed. Oh. The crown of his cock latches against your entrance, a shudder from his flesh as he pushes his hips against yours. The motion is slow, sensual and you can practically feel the air leaving your body against the fit. Tight. “fuck, lovie.. ‘so good.. ‘so fuckin good..” Simon whines, his head tipping back from where he stands. The build up is astronomical, in and in, and.. In, until you almost can’t believe he’s not even halfway fucked into you. The tight fit sends electricity to every nerve in your body, gummy walls barely able to clamp together as they get filled. “Fuck, Si-” You choke out in hesitance, only for it to be met with another whine from his throat. Somewhere between a cry, and a whine, he lowers his torso down to meet yours - within seconds he’s buried fully inside of you. 

He’s plunging into you like a man starved. Back, and forth - creating his own whimpers. He likes to drag it out, pulling his cock all the way out, leaving only the tip - stirring there for a moment until his own body constricts, and then slamming in as hard as possible. Hands vice gripped around your thighs, bringing you to and from him like a pocket pussy. “fuck, such a good girl.. Oh my god..” Simon whines, his face burying itself deep into your locks, inhaling deeply to consume every last fiber of your scent. Lazily gasping between every fluid motion of his hips, clumsiness peeking around the corners as he fucks into you. “oh, lovie.. jus’ what I need.. ‘so fuckin good.” He whines again, his hand curling into a fistful of your hair just to stop himself from jerking about. Simon constricts for a moment, pulling out, and then circling his tip at your entrance - his body twitches, and convulses as if overstimulating himself on purpose. Pussy sloppy around him, already drenching the area between you two - wet squishing noises as he drags back the mixture of pre and slick, just to bury it back inside of you. “sweet girl, oh fuck.. fuck..” He sputters out again, another whine into the crook of your neck as he clumsily slams his hips down against yours. What the fuck was in this cough medicine. Lifting himself up, a hand placed at the side of your head, fingers curling into the sheets. His eyes trail down to your connection, and now you’re painfully aware of just how pussydrunk he’s become. Bottom lip taken between his teeth, glossy eyes staring down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out. “Up.” He shudders out, his other hand slipping from the sheets and placing itself behind your lower back, holding you up against the edge of the bed. His knee sinks up onto the comforter, and now he’s plunging into you even deeper. Fucking the same spot, over and over again - abusing the gummy wall he seems to be intent on murdering. “sweet girl,” He practically wheezes, the reminiscent of his sore throat, “just like that ‘yeah.. milk my ‘fuckin cock.” You’re too busy blissfully indulging in the art piece in front of you. A man, who is usually cold and stoic, so pussy drunk he’s whining. 

The feeling is quick, sweeping, and hits like a freight train. Your insides curl into a tight coil, and release like the snap of a rubber band. A simple, “S-Si!” Sputters from your mouth, earning a jagged groan from his throat. Simon’s fucking into you like an animal, rutting in and out to ride out the way you clamp down on him. Practically whining, and crying - every time he pulls out, it earns a quick, “Hnng-” from his tickled throat. “fuck, please.. right there, oh fuck, lovie..” He practically cries out, hips clumsily and weakly slipping against your wet meeting point. A continuation of the rutting, followed by a small cry of relief. He cums, and a lot. So hot and filling it practically burns. Simon continues his sloppy pushes in, and out - using the cum to push deeper, and deeper. He’s a writhing mess on top of you, his muscles twitching and contorting as he grinds out the sensitivity. “Ha- Ha.. fuck, lovie.” A quick sputtering, until his face is once again buried into your shoulder.  Simon doesn’t bother pulling out, instead basking in the heat. Soft, and absentminded twitching of his tight muscles - whimpers still slipping from his mouth as he rests against you. Vulnerable.

“Ya’ tired?” You ask softly, eyes flicking down to see his head still buried in the depths of your hair. A few seconds of silence, before you’re met with a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Alright, big guy, let’s get you a nice shower, yeah?” You chide, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his jawline, fingers making their way down his spine - slight tickling of your nails against the aching muscles.

[cherrygukki]

shut you up (m)

➸ pairing: jungkook x f. reader

➸ word count: 3.3k

➸ genres: pwp, est. relationship, slight fluff at the end

➸ rating: M — MDNI..!

➸ summary: Jungkook has had enough of your attitude today, so he decides to fuck the life out of you to shut you up.

➸ warnings: he's a hardcore sadist here i'm sorry but he gets soft at the end, hard dom!jungkook, sub!reader, dd/lg themes, brat tamer!jk, brat!reader, unprotected sex (just don't), creampie, forced orgasms, fingering, degradation (uses of slut/whore), dacryphilia, impact play, manhandling, rough spanking, dirty talk, spitting (only once), uses of a belt (reader only gets tied up), reader gets slapped in the face during sex, brief aftercare, implied safe word (but reader doesn't use it), it's literally straight up porn the moment you click "keep reading", lmk if i missed anything!

"Uh, uh, uh," Jungkook tuts almost disappointingly at you as he forms a pout on his lips, feigning the pitiful expression he's wearing for you. "We have to do something about that attitude of yours, little girl." Abruptly, he lands another harsh spank to your poor, bruised ass for the umpteenth time. You cry helplessly with your wrists being held together behind your back, cunt all wet and sore for the past twenty minutes as your arousal has undoubtedly drenched your inner thighs at this point. You're all exposed and vulnerable to Jungkook's predatory-like gaze, and it's definitely feeding onto his domineering instincts.

"Fuck you," you spit back without any second thought, completely disregarding the heavy consequences Jungkook will impose on you.

And it clearly doesn't take long for you to regret what you have said.

He flips your body around like a featherweight ragdoll, manhandling you with ease before he hovers on top of your quivering figure to wrap a hand around your fragile throat. Squeezing, he restricts the airflow in your system that has your lungs wheezing for its life. You could only watch him laugh at your distress as you squirm around — a futile attempt in making him loosen his grip, really.

Although he doesn't budge a slight inch at your fuss, he still enjoys the entertainment you provide him.

"How about you try saying that again, sweetheart?" He dares you, tilting his head to the side while he stares menacingly at you. It's as if he's taunting you to oblivion until you hide away in pure shame. The things he's doing to you right now were mere warning signals, and your mind can't help but wonder how extreme your boyfriend can get if you justttt push his buttons a bit further. After all, you've been running your mouth the entire day. He didn't seem to care at first — not until you began spewing nonsense that undoubtedly ticked him off.

Getting bold? Then, Jungkook will definitely be twice as bolder than you are.

You both know who's the real one in charge here, and that's—

"Daddy!" You yelp when his nimble fingers unexpectedly come in contact with your gorging clit, pussy clenching around thin air from how desperate he managed to make you feel in an instant.

"You're not daddy's good little girl," he seethes, "Good girls don't act like fucking brats, do they?"

He continues to torture the sensitive bundle of nerves by repeatedly pinching it. He isn't necessarily rubbing you like how he would normally tease you — no, he's searching for your breaking point. His eyes alone are enough to convey his intentions for you tonight.

Eyes that want to mess with you.

And it's not in a loving way.

"Daddy, please—" you whimper, "it hurts."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. "And?"

You could only cry at his curt response, sniffling while being void of the thought that he'd actually show any remaining mercy on you.

He stops to take a brief glance at your face. A few teardrops have already escaped from the glass-like state of your eyes. Unfortunately, your boyfriend remains unfulfilled, for he wants you to fucking sob. He wants nothing less than to shred your body apart until you're begging him while being a pathetic mess, letting out nothing but cries and endless screams of his name until your brain eventually reaches a meltdown.

"This is how brats take their lesson, whore. Daddy's gonna shut you up."

He flips you over again so you're laying on your back, forcing your legs wide as he lands a wad of spit down your dribbling core. Your whimpers are quiet at first, relishing in the sensation of his calloused tips easing over your heat. It's not until he splits your lips open with the sudden intrusion of his thumb, though. You scream and throw your head back as you can only lay there and watch him pump his digit in and out of you at a turtle's pace.

"Daddy," you mewl, bringing your hands down to gain a death grip on his veiny forearms.

However, you're taken aback when he flicks your touch away before sending you a stern command. "No touching, baby. Keep those pesky little hands to yourself."

You pout in surrender, but your face ends up contorting into a pleasurable mess soon enough when he hastily dips three fingers inside you, pumping you full until your back is already arching off the mattress.

"Jesus Christ, I haven't even fucked you properly and you're already squirming like a little girl," he mutters before settling on a ruthless onslaught of his fingers inside you. He's practically jackhammering his arm into your quivering heat, hitting all the right places that trigger your eyes to roll at the back of your head. The way he curls his fingers around has you reeling on the edge for him, knuckles turning white from how hard you're gripping the sheets.

With Jungkook knowing every nook and cranny of your body like the back of his hand, it definitely wasn't a challenge for him to access your g-spot, only realizing that he has hit the jackpot once your cries and screams turn up a notch.

He laughs like the devil himself, mocking you, "That's a good little girl, yeah? Taking daddy's fingers like the useless toy you are."

You can feel your walls clenching sporadically around his fingers, sensing the high that is about to rupture at any moment.

"Daddy, I—"

"Don't you dare cum without my permission."

Quickly cutting you off, Jungkook hastens up his actions, and before you know it, you're writhing off the bed as you scream your lungs out. Nothing comes out from your mouth aside from the desperate requests for him to stop. He doesn't listen, though. Both of you know that he's going to make you release your orgasm one way or another as a mere excuse to worsen the consequences.

You aren't really complaining, though.

"I can't hold it," you sob, legs quivering from the intense bliss he's applying on you.

"Yeah, you can, baby. You don't wanna disappoint daddy, do you?" He feigns a displeased expression. "You don't wanna disobey daddy, little girl."

The hot whisper he sends you has you nearing your orgasm swiftly. You resort to one last scream before your hands are already flying down to push him away.

He angrily scoffs at your futile rebellion, "What the fuck are you doing?" With that, he pins your frail hands above you with one hand, as the other remains unbothered in pumping your cunt full. "Are you too dumbed out on my fingers to follow one simple instruction?" Every time he stresses out on a word, he times it right with the depth of his thrusts.

"Keep. Those. Hands. To. Yourself."

Your moans become high-pitched. Your body is like a bubble beginning to burst any second. You're too long gone in the bliss that you never realized that he's already drowned you deep into subspace. You want to obey him, but his fingers are only urging the opposite.

"I - I really can't hold i—"

The noises you let out are more lewd than the ones you hear in pornographic videos. Your entire figure continues to tremble under the entire wrath of his fingers, but Jungkook's pace doesn't relent when your orgasm washes over you.

It doesn't take long for your voice to eventually grow tired from all the screams and cries you've been doing. All that's heard in the bedroom are the wet squelches of your heat alongside the quiet sobs you make every few seconds or so.

He doesn't utter a word nor show any reaction to your recent high, but you can definitely tell the anger is oozing out of him when he proceeds to overstimulate your abused cunt.

"Daddy, I can't take it anymore," you whimper when he ignores you, overstimulating your poor little pussy into a sopping, white mess.

Soon enough, your second orgasm for the night is already building up rapidly, abdomen tightening as the pain morphs into an indescribable mixture of bliss that certainly has your toes curling.

He fucks you with no remorse, eyes glazed with lust. He licks his lips with pure desire to wash your southern area with filthy white cum sticking everywhere. His appearance alone at the moment is enough to get you off, nearing your end once again when his slender fingers brush your sweet spot for another time.

You gasp loudly, voice increasing while you struggle underneath his iron grip on your wrists. "Daddy, I'm gonna cum..!"

Obscene noises tumble from your mouth like a waterfall as the tidal wave of your orgasm hits you with great impact. Nothing but incoherent babbles and his name can be heard. Jungkook chuckles lowly at the mess he created. The sight below is definitely something memorable to keep — cunt all painted in white as your inner thighs remain sticky from the excess essence your heat is drooling out.

"Your pussy looks so fucking pretty like this, baby."

He growls, voicing his thoughts out loud before pushing three of his fingers in his mouth for a taste. He hums in sheer delight when the sweet flavor of your remains come in contact with his tongue.

"Also tastes as sweet as it looks."

You can only let out small whimpers from his animalistic demeanor, receiving the same amount of desire he has.

With that, Jungkook throws all his patience out the window, for the stiff tent in his sweats has been aching a release the moment he began playing with your cunt. Reaching out for the belt hanging near your shared bed, he restrains your wrists just above your head. You wince in complaint, but it fails to gain Jungkook's sympathy.

The irritating barrier of clothing is off immediately. You flinch after unexpectedly feeling the angry tip of his cock rubbing between your swollen folds, only to feel it slowly inching inside you as your walls easily accommodate his thick girth.

Breathing heavily, you unknowingly clench around him in excitement. He groans in response, burying his head within the crook of your neck. Warm air hits the sensitive surface of your neck one after another. Your breathing is shallow and labored, contrary to the deep rolls of his languid hips now beginning to set another brutal pace coming your way.

How can you ever hold back from withdrawing smutty noises from your throat when he moves his hips oh-so smoothly like the calm waters of an ocean? And speaking of ocean, your cunt is definitely about to get fucked into a chaotic one by your boyfriend's dick alone.

He doesn't give you the additional time you need to adjust when he's already banging the bed's poor headboard against the wall multiple times. He could care less about the neighbors throwing countless complaints against him in the morning. Right now, the only objective coming in his mind is to make you cum more on his cock.

Grunting, he grips your jaw with inked fingers. forcing your gaze to lock on him. "You wanna be a disobedient little fucktoy and cum without daddy's permission, yeah? Well, daddy's gonna make you cum over, and over, and over again with his dick."

You moan wantonly the more he punctuates his hips deeper into the crevices of your heat. He wastes no time in locating your g-spot, nudging the spongy little spot repeatedly with the leaking tip of his cock.

Wailing, screaming, and cries are all that's heard in the room aside from the sound of his hips snapping against your inner thighs. Everything around you is humid, and you can feel more sweat accumulating in your entire body the harder Jungkook fucks you.

If Jungkook already has your world tearing apart merely with his fingers, then you fret how hard he'll wreak havoc on you with him jackhammering into your tiny cunt like a rabbit in heat.

The pleasure's all too much for you to take in, yet even process. More tears trickle down your face and you could swear that you felt his dick stiffen further at the sight of your pitiful state.

However, what he does next catches you off-guard, leaving a sharp pang of pain on the side of your cheek.

He doesn't do it once, though — rather getting addicted to the impact play, making him continue to slap you in the face more than he himself expected. It produces a larger amount of tears to fall from your eyes, and an even greater amount of wetness to gush out of your quivering cunt.

He laughs evilly above you, the pain being inflicted on you only makes his cock rage more in anger. He fucks you with greatness all while appreciating the expression of pain written on your face.

Humming, he caresses your stinging cheeks with benevolent fingers as if he never spanked the hell out of you in the first place. "Keep crying for me, baby," he rasps, "It only makes me harder for you."

You're toppling over the edge immediately, and Jungkook knows it too. You clench hard and tight around his girth, but it plays no hindrance for him to pound into you with all his might. In a flash, he has you screaming and shaking beneath him, your pussy deliciously creaming around him. Your world is spinning heavily and all your vision could see at the moment was white spots of cloudiness. You doubt your body can ever recover from the wave of destruction Jungkook brought you, but he continues to use you like the fleshlight you are nonetheless.

Grunts and pants can all be heard from the man on top of you. The rhythm of his thrusts remain consistent, and he's definitely far from releasing himself.

You whine at the overstimulation. Your entire figure is like a trembling piece of paper on the brink of tearing apart, but Jungkook pays no mind to any of it. You squirm around to protest against him only to have him slap you on the face again.

"Daddy, it's too much—"

"Shut the fuck up," he cuts you off with a growl, making you feel smaller than you already are.

After all, he knows when you actually want to stop.

"Shut the fuck up and just take daddy's dick, won't you? Brats don't deserve to speak."

In fact, you aren't even acting bratty around him anymore! You cry loudly, too deep into subspace to actually beg him to stop. Hence, you try to relax your body into the mattress. However, the lingering pain of his dick abusing your folds is enough to push you over another orgasm. You claw your nails into the palms of your hands, toes curling for what seems like the fourth time tonight as Jungkook triggers another orgasm out of you.

You scream again, your throat barely having the strength to utter out any noise at this point while you're going through another mind-numbing orgasm. All of the energy is drained out of you, and if it wasn't for Jungkook's iron grip on your body, then perhaps you would've fallen limp on the bed, close to it being lifeless.

He pulls out and manhandles you again to readjust you into another position, pushing you onto his lap with your back facing him. You whine for what seems like the umpteenth time when you feel him aligning the tip of his cock between your sopping folds. Your whole body feels like jelly and you might as well melt into a mess the moment he finds himself inside again. If it isn't for the steel grip he has on your hips, then you would've done so by now. He fucks you from beneath with great vigor, lulling you into another sinful daze as your head has itself leaning on Jungkook's shoulder for dear life.

Barely any noise is uttered from you, for he also seemed to knock the voice out of your throat from the power of the orgasms he's been coaxing out of you.

"You're doing so well for me, baby," he coos, placing soft kisses on your tear-stained cheeks. "Daddy's gonna cum so hard inside you. You want that, yeah? Daddy's gonna reward you like the good fucking girl you are." His sentence ends with a hot growl near your ear, sending your eyes to the very back of your head as your pussy clenches in arousal. You mewl, nodding your head in repetitive motions, for you can't sum up the energy to form a simple coherent response.

"God, you just love being used like a dirty cumdump, don't you? Fucking love being a dirty whore for daddy, mm?"

His words are pulling you to another orgasm. Your entire body is reaching the pointy top of your climax. Breathes mingling and struggling, bodies covered in nothing but sweat, a pool of white stickiness continuing to stain you and Jungkook's thighs — no other erotic film can compare to how hard you and your boyfriend are going at it. The feeling of his dick kissing your cervix repeatedly has your eyes seeing stars. His groans become more frequent, tone becoming whiny, and his pace finally becoming an inconsistent line of sloppy and wet thrusts inside of your soaking folds.

He places a hand on one of your tits, kneading it right before he pushes another orgasm through your system. At this point, you're unable to count how many times you've come, but you can definitely conclude that it's enough to make your stamina run out.

He continues to hold his release at bay, too lost in the pleasure of your wet cunt hugging his thick girth as he carelessly fondles with your breasts. A few more deep thrusts has you letting out the loudest screams you never expected to hear for yourself. With that, spurts of his hot cum are loaded in you. You moan in unison while you ride out Jungkook's orgasm by swiveling your hips around his crotch. He hisses once he takes a glimpse of the mess he rather created.

Both of your releases have eventually leaked on his balls and down the sheets — a problem that you'll have to deal with for the aftermath of your erotic escapades. For now, though, you and Jungkook brush it off, wanting no more than to clean each other up and cuddle into the sheets for the rest of the night.

He bites his lip when he pulls out, seeing his member entirely covered with your essence as his cum slowly drips out of your gaping hole. You grind on his cock one more time to get rid of any remaining tension in your body. Soon enough, your boyfriend is already reaching for your sore wrists to untie the restraints of his belt. He kisses them tenderly unlike the harsh treatment he's put you through just mere seconds ago.

Humming, he rubs the sides of your hips to ease you off. "Mmm, did you get hurt, baby?"

"No." You softly shake your head in response, voice barely a whisper but Jungkook still manages to register you nonetheless.

"Did you enjoy it, then?"

You blush at his sudden question, a smile creeping on your face when you reminisce about everything that just occurred which only made Jungkook smile as well.

"You did so well for me, baby." He plants soft pecks on the side of your neck, traveling up to your parted lips. "So, so well."

"Daddy's gonna give you a bath as a reward. Do you want that?" You nod. "We can cuddle afterwards and go to sleep," he says.

"Thank you," you whisper meekly to him, genuinely grateful to actually be dating a man with duality like him.

He sighs in contentment with you resting against his chest, mumbling a "love you, sweetheart" on the top of your head before heading off to the bathroom to prepare your warm bath together.

[tenderleavesbob]

General Impa and Queen Zelda were going to kill him.

Link looked at the familiar ring of light in front of him and groaned. A portal. He hadn’t seen one of these in years. Weren’t they done with these? Wasn’t the timeline fixed?

A message had come from one of the forts regarding strange monsters. Zelda had been nervous about Link traveling alone, but he had assured her that there had been no reports of anything in Hyrule Field. From the sound of it, the monsters had been sighted at the far side of the field. It would be quickest for Link to just go alone and send back word of what he found. If he discovered that reinforcements were needed, he would send word immediately.

He wasn’t even halfway to the fort when the portal appeared. Link sighed and swung his leg off Epona. His loyal mare snorted and danced restlessly. Even she didn’t like a random portal appearing out of nowhere. 

Lana had vanished at the end of the war, too, but Link thought she would at least send a message if something was happening with time again. He sighed and walked a little closer to the portal. It looked similar enough to the ones from the war. 

An awful thought occurred to Link, and he grimaced. He hoped this wasn’t a sign that something had happened to Lana. Anything from an attack on her to Ganondorf’s corruption staining her, too, could have dramatic effects on Hyrule and the timeline.

Not that he wasn’t worried about her being hurt. Just…

Link didn’t like thinking about Lana.

There were no other clues. No other signs. Just a portal in the middle of Hyrule Field. Link sighed and rested his hand on his hip. It seemed like he would be sending word back to Zelda sooner than he thought. Was this how Tune and Mask felt when another adventure popped up in front of them? Thinking they were done and then something appeared without warning? No wonder Mask was so cranky.

Yet a small part of him looked at the portal and hoped. When Mask and Tune left, he had never admitted it to anyone, but it had broken Link’s heart. Plagues took his family before the war started, and between the war itself and his new title of hero, Link found himself with few friends. Those two boys had been his little brothers. It was a popular joke among the camps that they were his kids. Link had been surprised by how much he had liked that. When they left, they took chunks of his heart with him.

He lost them through a portal just like this one. Link cocked his head and studied it, fingers tapping his hip. He couldn’t just go through it. He couldn’t just vanish. He had to report to Zelda what he found. 

But what if the portal vanished? What if this was his only chance to see his boys again?

Link closed his eyes and shook his head. He had to do his duty. He had to report to his queen. If this was like the portals of before, it wouldn’t just --

He opened his eyes again. He looked up. He blanched.

No.

The portal was gone.

No. No. Link looked around frantically, but the field remained empty besides himself and Epona. She was still shifting and dancing, but Link couldn’t bring himself to focus on her.

The portal was gone. His chance to see Tune and Mask again was gone. He should have just gone through it. He should have been more decisive. He was supposed to be the hero. He shouldn’t have --

The portal appeared again. Under Link’s feet. Link screamed and fell.

Startled and frightened, Epona turned and ran back to the castle. Link wouldn’t discover the truth for several months, but his initial guess was correct: General Impa and Queen Zelda were not happy.

Link’s screaming did not last long. He slammed into the dirt and his breath exploded from his bruised lungs. He wheezed and choked on flying dirt and his own spit. He rolled onto his side, arms wrapped protectively around him, hacking and coughing and trying to catch his breath.

“Easy, easy!” a man said above him. Unfamiliar hands grabbed him and pulled him into a sitting position, making it easier for Link to breathe. Normally, Link hated it when strangers grabbed him, but something about this man felt so soothing that Link didn’t question it. He leaned into the man and coughed weakly. His back was going to hurt for a week.

I’m too young to feel this old, Link thought miserably.

“Are you all --”

The man cut off. His grip tightened on Link. Link startled and looked up.

His vision was a little blurry from his hard landing. He blinked and it took several moments for the face in front of him to come into focus.

The face was older. Different. Scarred. It didn’t matter. 

Link would always know his boy’s face.

“Mask?” he whispered. He reached up and cupped the man’s scarred, painted face. 

Mask choked on a sob and placed his hand over Link’s. “Yes. Yes, it’s… I can’t believe it’s really you!”

Bruises be damned. Link threw himself forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Mask. He couldn’t quite hug Mask like he used to, but that was fine. He was happy to practice as much as it took to get it right. 

Mask laughed and cried and hugged him back. Yes, Link decided, clinging to his boy. This was worth every bruise he received in the fall and every shout he was going to hear when he returned to his time.

“I think you’re taller than me, you brat,” Link managed, hugging Mask so tightly his hands began to cramp.

Mask laughed and held Link back just as tightly. “Bigger, too.”

“Still a little shit.” He pressed a hard kiss against Mask’s temple.

It took a long time before Link managed to make himself let Mask go. It was fine. It seemed like Mask was just as reluctant to release his grip. Mask straightened Link’s scarf, and Link almost started crying all over again when he realized that Mask was definitely taller than him and no longer needed to stand on a chair or stand on his tiptoes.

Link couldn’t resist reaching up again and cupping the scarred side of Mask’s face. He rubbed his thumb under Mask’s closed eye but didn’t ask. If Mask wanted to tell him, he would. Link pulled away and asked a more immediate question instead. “Where are we?”

Mask shrugged, grinning. He was certainly bigger and taller. He even looked older than Link. It didn’t matter. That mischief on his face remained the same. “Don’t know. Welcome to your first adventure, Captain.”

Link snickered. At least this meant Zelda and Impa would need to find him first to yell at him. “You’re the expert here, Mask. Lead the way.”

Mask could lead him anywhere right then, and Link wouldn’t care.

He had one of his boys back.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Max Saving You From A Group Of War Boys

Max Rockatansky X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, mentions of death, rotting bodies, stealing, vehicle accident, suggestive materials (reader is worried she'll be placed in Immortan Joe's harem), injuries

Word Count: 2.1k

(A/N:) I have had a heck of a time getting this bad boy finished. But I couldn't have got it done in more perfect timing with the Furiosa movie out in theaters! I'm going very soon and hopefully there will be more Max inspiration take place cause I love Fury Road! I rewatched it here recently and my love for Max has been kindled once more! So hopefully this helps feed my fellow Mad Max fangirls! Enjoy and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

To survive in the wastelands you have to do anything and be willing to suffer any consequences. You could always lay over and just die, letting the vermin that scuttled about in the sands, take care of the remains. Or you could stand and fight, taking whatever you need no matter who it's from. That's how you've survived for so long, scavenging, taking from unlucky fellow survivors that just so happen to be in your path. Food, water, clothing, guzzolene, anything of value it was all fair game. Your biggest score, was your car. Though you didn't take it from anyone living. Raiders had come across some poor sap, killing him and taking everything of value, except for his car. It had taken some doing but you found the key buried under the sand close to the rotting body of the man who had just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His loss became your gain. Now you could make it across in different areas of desert in less time. Though the need for guzzolene became a problem. So far you had had good luck being able to get it whenever you needed it. Though you knew for certain that eventually your luck would run out.

And run out it did. Unfortunately you had grown cocky with your string of wins. The tires of your car spun, throwing up clouds of sand as you tried to gain traction on the loose ground. You released the pedal, quickly shifting into all wheel drive. With a roar from the engine the car finally burst forward, pinning you back. The group of war boys behind you yelling as the chase was on. You hit the steering wheel cursing yourself for screwing up so severely, you'd be lucky to make it out alive. You had seen the war boys yards away and you knew they hauled all the equipment they needed, thanks to Immortan Joe. If you could score off of them, you'd be set for a month. But it hadn't been easy and though your skills was above average you didn't get to swipe one thing until they had swarmed you. Now you were trying everything to get away. Dodging lances and hooks that would kill you in an instant, you blinked back against the sand in your eyes. You hadn't had your car long enough to become an elite driver yet and they were gaining fast. Despair crushed your lungs as one war boy pulled up beside you. You darted away only to run into another war boy rig. The two drivers started to pull towards one another, pinning you in between them.

Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel harder. The war boys cackled and spit, toying with you before they ended you.

"Bring her to Immortan," they crowed. "Bring her to him! He'll take care of her!"

They all agreed and the two vehicles pulled away, leaving you free. With the pressure off the sides, your car slid fishtailing and you lost control instantly. The war boys only got louder as your car went airborne and crashed down on it's hood. Your face smashing against the steering wheel as your car began to roll over repeatedly. The last roll and you were ejected from the shattered windshield. The hot sand cushioned you, but it wasn't much as you skidded to a stop. Your chest wheezing as you tried to breathe. Your car destroyed and your life forfeit, any hope of living left you. The one thing that you wished to happen was the war boys finishing you here and now, you heard what Immortan Joe did to women he liked or wished to continue his line with. You blinked at the sand as several of the war boys raced towards you.

"Immortan Joe will be pleased with us," one sneered. "Steal from Immortan and pay the consequences."

You shook your head, trying to clear your sight. Apparently you had hit your head harder than you first realized as the illusion of a man walking towards you, refused to dissipate. No he only got closer and you surely knew the Grim Reaper was now on his way to bring about your end. You'd gladly take his hand if it meant that the suffering would end and you wouldn't have to face a fate worse than death.

"Eh what's that there?"

Okay maybe you weren't so crazy as the war boys were seeing the being too. His arm raised and gunfire had the war boys scattering while two of them fell beside you. A small flicker of hope kindled, unless you were trading an end brought by Immortan Joe's battle fodder for this stranger. Though if he wanted to end you, you were pretty positive that he would have ended you already. You were an easy target unlike the war boys that were scurrying around, trying their best to fight back. Screams and thuds surrounded you as the man only kept stepping forward. Not backing down or flinching at the bullets and explosions all coming towards him. When he was close enough for your hazy vision did you finally get a good look. With short hair and a stocky build, he was quite handsome for a desert dweller. Though he looked healthy it didn't mean that he had lived an easy life. A haunted look was in his eyes and his face would twitch every now again. Something was wrong with him, but beggars couldn't be choosers as he was saving your butt.

The last war boy fell to the sand, spraying blood from his wounds and you felt well enough to sit up. You whimpered at the pain shooting through your head but when the stranger knelt before you, you quickly bit back any more noises.

"Took a tumble," he mumbled.

"Just a little one," you agreed spitting a mouthful of blood out.

He rose back up looking through all the now abandoned vehicles and even searched through the wreckage of yours. You felt a little indignant as he took several items out of yours. Sure they were stolen goods, but you had pilfered them fair and square. You attempted getting up, your shaky legs barely keeping you up. Attempting a step, you stumbled and quickly caught yourself.

"That's my stuff in my car," you glared. Though you hoped that he would listen, there was no way you could fight him, if he wanted to.

He didn't reply just kept digging before he pulled out your worn pack. You protested loudly before he threw it at your feet. He still didn't say a word as he started searching through the war boy's vehicles and even going further and searching the war boy's pockets. When he decided that he had searched and grabbed everything of value, he handed you another bag and tank of guzzolene and jerked his head towards the direction that he had come from. You knew that if you wanted to survive the night you would need to follow him. He had proven himself trustworthy so far and your injuries were becoming worse, though your legs had finally steadied enough to walk.

On unsteady feet you remained close, the stranger not saying a word but waving at the air every little bit. Surely you didn't just survive the war boys only to be taken out by some mental man seeing ghosts? His car came into view, worn and beaten up, but sturdy and reliable looking. Tossing his gear in the back seat, he looked back and waved you forward.

"Why," you sighed, suddenly becoming dizzy. You wanted to ask why he rescued you? Why was he bringing you with him? But your adrenaline infused energy finally hit E and you collapsed to the ground.

"Don't go to sleep," he muttered suddenly at your side. Tapping at your cheek. "Wake up."

"Tired..."

He shook you harder, "Wake up."

You couldn't answer, losing the battle with the darkness overtaking your vision. And then you knew nothing else.

The rumbling of tires was all you could hear as you came in and out of consciousness. The sun was still so bright and the mystery man behind the wheel muttered to himself constantly. Promises dripping from his tongue and you licked your chapped lips before succumbing once more to the darkness.

You had no idea how much time had passed in your unconscious state, until at last your eyes opened and you were able to remain awake. A small fire crackling in the background provided a little bit of illumination in a small musty cave. Your body hurt and the ache in your head had your temples pounding a horrible drumbeat. Across the way your savior leaned up against the cave wall. His body lurched forward and his chest heaved as his eyes opened. You jerked, surprised by his sudden movement. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes before his attention was drawn to you. He took a cup that sat by his leg and moved towards you.

"Drink," he muttered holding the dented tin cup to your lips. The water was warm and gritty from dirt but you didn't care as you gulped the entire contents down, but still your throat burned for more. Wordlessly he filled it back up and brought more of the precious resource to you.

"Why," you croaked when you finally had your fill.

He shrugged.

"There has to be a reason why you helped me?"

He shrugged again.

"Stubborn fool," you retorted. After a long, quiet, and awkward pause you finally spoke again, "Thank you."

This time he grunted.

Sitting up, it took a moment for the cave to stop spinning before you were able to see only one of him again. You scrounged around in your bag, searching for the bit of dried lizard you had kept. Finding it, you ripped it in half and offered him the larger piece. Sort of an offering of peace and that you could be a friend he could trust. He took it, before devouring it quickly.

"I wasn't going to take it from you," you laughed while ripping a bite off of yours. "Now that we have broke the proverbial bread, aka dried lizard maybe we can have an actual conversation now?"

Once again he shrugged and you really were fighting the urge to throw something at him.

"Gotta name at least," you asked, unwilling to give up. If he could be stubborn so could you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping against the metal brace on his knee. Finally he sighed and turned dark eyes onto you.

"Max."

Finally a start. You gave him your name before sticking out your hand. Reluctantly he took it but he did shake your hand. Silence filled the cave again and you were beginning to feel exhausted again. You yawned gaining his attention.

"Get some rest," Max said his boots scuffing against the ground as he stood up. "We move in the morning."

Morning came so quickly, the fire had been doused and Max had packed up everything. The cave floor bare with no signs of someone staying there. You thought that you'd look around and he'd be gone, but his silhouette filled the cave entrance blocking out the majority of the harsh sun rays. Sitting up, you gained his attention and he nodded to his car.

"Can I ask why you're saving me now," you asked once in the passenger seat.

Max sighed, "Maybe I just want to redeem myself of all the times I failed."

His gaze towards you, looked sad, tired, and lost. Your heart broke and you could understand that ache buried within him. Why he seemed distant, but kind. This world had it's way of taking anything bright and lovely and tainting it in the worst way possible. Max started the engine and started to shift it into gear when your hand covered his.

"This world is ugly," your voice wavered causing Max to cock his head. "But that doesn't mean it has to make us ugly in the process. I've done things I regret, stealing, taking from others to survive. But I always want to reach out that helping hand when I can. Like you did for me. I owe you a lot now Max, maybe this was just a chance meeting or maybe it's meant for something more."

He nodded, shifting into gear and roaring off. The wheels churning dirt into a cloud. Honestly you both didn't know what was in store ahead, and it wasn't set in stone that you would remain with Max. But right now it felt right and you wanted to see where this path would take you. Maybe this was a chance of redemption for two hurt people to find their reason and place in a world gone mad.

[littlebeanwrites]

A haunting Hallows Night 18+

Bucky x Villain reader x sam GN

Warning: Sex pollen~ Dub con~ enemies to lovers?~ hate fucking, bit of bondage and teasing, Bucky being mean, like really mean and sam being sweet.

Note: reader is a mutant with ghost like abilities, phasing through things, invisibility, levitation ect.

Trying something new, I will have a small section that splits into two, Afab and Amad terms :) please let me know if you like this.

Masterlist💖

The crowed club was full of smoke, lights, ‘Halloween bops’, and a sea of mask, poorly made costumes and sexy variants of professions and animals. A lot of skin was on display tonight as the Halloween party roared on.

You blended seamlessly, darting around and phasing through the mass. Your goal, find the king of the party… kill him.

It seemed so simple, too easy. He was so careless, out in the open, his security spread thin. You had waited months for this moment.

But a cold and annoyingly familiar arm pulled you back into a small hallway. The only arm… made from the only material you couldn’t phase through…Vibranium.

“Fucking Barns!” You spat turning around to see him and god dam Captain America all dress fancy looking at you. “Rather you’re hear for this shit party or your obsessed with me” you smirk hand on your hip. You knew your plans where most likely foiled if their here. Unless you were somehow to get away… possible, but unlikely.

“You can’t kill him Ghost” Sam said sternly, “there are other ways” he added, always trying to flick a switch in you that’s not there, goodness, heroism whatever he believes that’s you… no you kill shit people, you hurt bad people, you make them suffer as they have made others suffer. You’re no hero… not in their eyes at least.

“Respectfully… piss off” you spit turning around but a firm grip lads on your waist.

“No” Barn adds. “Let’s go” he adds pulling you closer. His cologne engulfs you. His playing a character, he’s trying to blend in, not cause a scene, but it’s almost sexy… no it is sexy, you can admit that, you’ve know that for a long time now, this two men where a pain in your ass but at least they where nice look at.

He drags you out of the club through a side exit. Now with a bit more space you get out of his grip. Two little blades now in each hand.

“You could have pulled those out earlier… but you didn’t” Sam smiles “there’s good in you” he adds

“The only good thing in me is a good dick” you laugh ready to flee. But Barns knows your weakness, and you can tell whatever tools they’ve hidden in their fancy dress pants and suit jackets… are all vibranium. And you know there’s a pair of cuffs just for you. You sigh… it’s gonna be a long night.

You’re now about a block away from the club, it’s a game of cat and mouse, but the mouse is armed and pissed off. And the cat is holding back. You somehow end up throwing Sam towards some old warehouse door. He crashes through it. You see a window on the other side. A quick short cut towards the north side. You look down. A vibranium cuff on your right leg. That’s not coming off anytime soon, it’s also currently stopping you from phasing through walls without loosing a leg…. You can break a window pretty easily.

You run towards the warehouse, jumping over the out of breath and over it Sam. He grabs the uncuffed cuff as you jump over head.

Now the two of them see your plan… throwing each other around the room, landing kicks and punches, your all out of breath… it feels pointless, but your stubborn. Eventually Barns lands a good kick to your chest you crash through a create. Dust fills the air.

Pink dust….

The dust immediately invades your lungs. It stings, the smell of strawberries burn your nose as you start coughing up as much as you can. You look up seeing the pink dust fill the room, sam and Barns cover their mouths but slowly start to cough as the dust settles in their lungs.

“What the fuck” you wheeze. Trying to get up. But a sudden rush, a grow of heat, a pool…. It hits like a truck and stops you in your tracks.

The tight jeans you wore riding up into the most sensitive parts now became more of an issue than before. The seem pressing into your body, the nerves beneath a blaze. You can feel fluid drip out of you, staining the fabric, daring to seep through the next layer.

You look up as the two men stare down at you.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Barns ask walking towards the broken wooden planks. Searching for answers.

“Whatever it is… it’s not good” Sam adds he attempts to fix his pants, his hand grazing his already hard cock, his eyes roll back at the sensation. “Of shit” he grunts.

“Yeah no good, it’s an aphrodisiac of some sort” Barns sighs throwing the creates delivery paper work on the floor before leaning against a near by wall in defeat.

“Let’s call it a night boys, you go your way… I go mine” you grunt trying to stand.

“Your more effected then us” Sam states. You’re struggling to find your strength, you don’t notice how much your panting. The occasional moan leaving your lips. All you can focus on is this empty feeling inside you, and this craving, craving for dick. “It must be so painful” he adds in an almost mocking tone.

“Shut up!” You snap, but he’s so right. It’s so painful. Your nerves, are tingling, craving to be touched, licked, flicked, bitten, anything. Your so close to grinding down against the seem of your jeans to get some relief.

“Mhh poor thing… do you need help” Barns smirks yet his not offering his hand. “Poor little thing, can smell you from up here” he chuckles. “Gonna start dripping on the floor soon” he continues. His mockery is lasted with need, he grunts and moans don’t go unnoticed.

“Shut up, I can see you struggling in those pants. Looks like you might pop a button” you replied finally getting to your feet. “Now please let me go…. And take this shit off” you yell.

“Beg” Barns snaps back quickly, almost surprised by himself like his has no filter anymore. Sam’s taken back, watching from a distance, but you know he’s just as into as Barns is.

“Ughhh please, please let me go” you beg. A moan slipping past your lips. “Please Bucky” the well known Nick name falling from your lips made his mouth fall open.

“Do you really wanna leave, or do do you want help?” Sam ask. Taking a few steps towards you. There’s care in his tone, his eyes look you up and down both with concern and lust.

“Don’t need help…. M’fine” you grunted legs naturally rubbing together. Your mind was becoming foggy, because the idea of them fucking you seemed amazing. But no… right….

“But please take this off” you ask again kicking your legs out the sound of the metal clanging against the floor.

“Only because you’re so pathetic” Bucky laughs. Slowly lowering onto a knee he fiddles with it eventually removing the cuff from your leg. He looks up at you. His eyes landing between your legs a now visible wet patch stained your jeans. “Oh god, you’re not ok, you need help, it’s only gonna get worse” he adds turning to Sam. Bucks once cocky, confident, smug tone was now full of concern “I mean it, your overdosing on this shit…” he gets up and takes your hand, he looks down at you, you can see it all now, all that concern in his face, fear. The look is surly temporary, Bucky doesn’t actually care right?

“Please help me” you mutter, falling into his chest. The sensation alone the feeling of being held brings you relief.

You waited for another comment from either of them instead he places a hand under your chin and makes you look up, he bring his lips down and your body screams in joy. It’s rough, messy and he takes no time in dominating you, moans muffled by his tongue as it slides into your mouth. He’s grip on your waist bound to bruise the skin beneath.

You hear movement. As you part and catch your breath you notice Bucky nod before picking you up. Your body is too tired too overwhelmed to fight anymore. Taking your tired and wet body to what looks like a doctors room, it’s covered in dust… real dust. Sam attempts to clean it before Bucky sits you on the bed. Before you can talk he’s kissing your neck, undressing you. You try to speak again.

“Shhh, let us help you” Sam voice while calm and kind, the words feel more like a demand. Your top half now bare, Bucky runs his warm hand on your chest. His fingers rub every so slight around your very hard and erect nipple, you let out a loud moan at the sensation “oh god, pls-.”

Bucky quickly covers your mouth “no shh, that’s your problem, you talk too much. So hush now” he smirks the care that once filled his eyes where replaced by lust, the dust effecting him more and more with each second. You can feel it the loss of control, where you’ve become submissive… he’s become more animalistic, more dominant. Suddenly the warmth is replaced by cold. His metal finger rubbing your nipple a little harder, before rolling it between his thumb and pointer. Then pinching and pulling. Your moans fill the room. He moves behind you to let Sam in but his hands linger on your body.

Sam’s kiss is gentle, slow, passionate, he grinds against you relieving both of you temporarily. He pulls down your jeans and your underwear, the fabric sticks to your skin, drenched in your juices. “Fucking beautiful” he moans.

“Filthy” Bucky whispers in your ear.

“Shut-shut up” you snap as Sam kisses your neck and chest, causing moans to fall from your lips.

“Good idea” he smirks taking the drenched material from Sam rolling it and quickly shoving in in your mouth.

The liquid coats your lips. You can taste yourself, the smell filling your nose. You go to spit it out before his hand covers your mouth. He shakes his head. “Unless you’re gonna beg” he adds before grabbing the cuffs previously around your ankle and bounds your hands behind your back. “Fuck I’ve wanted to do this for so long” he grunts. You can feel him leave but don’t bother to look as Sam continues to kiss up your chest, Sam was by far furthers from the creat, and inhaled a lot less dust, but being human meant the side effects where still present, the effects seems to be taking longer, you can see the need but you can also still see control, Sam’s still in control of his actions… for now.

You try to spit out the drenched fabric out again but Bucky returns in time, you hear the sound of tape rip off the roll and suddenly your mouth is taped shut.

“Fuck baby this is a good look on you” he moans.

“A bit much?” Sam asked looking behind you glaring into buckys eyes.

“Looks at them, they love it, they want to be fucked so badly, I mean, look at the puddle on the bed. We could ask them to lick it clean and they would” he responds, his voice desire. Sam looks down at the fluid leaking out of you, your hole twitching with anticipation.

“He’s right, you want this soo bad… and god so do I” Sam mutters.

Afab Reader

Sam runs a finger through your slit, you can feel you pussy gush, he slowly explores your cunt. Finding your swollen, sensitive clit. A light rub sends you legs shaking, you came… from the slightest touch.

“This is going to be soo fun” Bucky moans as he starts grouping, pulling, pinching your breast and nipples. Your moans are muffled, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. Sam lowers himself and starts kissing your thigh.

“Gonna cum again and again huh, then you can have what you want soo badly” Sam smiles before diving his face into your cunt.

The mix of pleasure, pain and humiliation sends you over again within seconds. It’s so overwhelming your wiggling, trying to get away, but your head is so foggy your powers useless. Sam fiddles in his pockets before you feel your legs being spread more apart, the cold metal of the bed legs startle your hot body, then the cold metal of a handcuff around your ankle followed by a click… Sam cuffed your leg to the bed. And his quickly working on your other leg. You can’t close your legs, you cunt exposed.

Another orgasm, Sam’s face drenched. He rises.

“Oh god I wanted to make you cum under more, but god I need your pussy!” Sam grunts before pulling out his cock it’s long, big and he shoves it deep inside with one thrust.

Bucky whispers filth in your ear, call you names as sam encourages you, praise and worship.

“Filthy whore” “beautiful” “such a mess” “so tight” “little slut was this your plan all along” “god you look so good” “your taking him so easily” “your taking me so well”

Another orgasm and another, and another. Your a convulsing mess, the shakes never stop your head falls back onto Bucky shoulders as Sam spills deep inside you.

Before you could recover he lets you go and you and fall onto your back. He doesn’t care if he’s getting seconds he knows his stamina is better than Sam’s and more so on this drug and he’s more able to withstand the pain and agony it’s causing. His cock is big, not as big as Sam’s but it’s thick! The stretch will burn but you know it will be soo good. And as that thought goes through your mind his shoving into your wet, messy pussy. The feeling of the tip sends you over. As he bottoms out another orgasm, this time you feel the need to pee.. no��� you squirt all over his nice dress shirt and not even the gag can muffle those moans. The sounds are indescribable. and Bucky not holding back. He fucks you roughly, pulling out and slapping your cunt, your body loved it. He’s lost all control, he’s not talking he’s just fucking like an animal.

Sam on the other hand is right by you, playing gentle with your puffy nipples.

“Good job baby, doing so well, gonna look after you, gonna make you feel better.” He mumbles, clearly tired.

your no longer not cumming, its constant, it’s beyond overwhelming, your eyes roll back. Your pussy is wreaked, you’re covered in drool, cum and your own fluid. The floor beneath a wet mess.

Buckys thrust become sloppy as your sensitive pussy starts to become numb. The drug starting to wear off. The pain gone and the pleasure becomes far to overwhelming. Bucky seed coats your insides and pulls out, waves of fluid, Sam’s, his and your own flood out and splash on the floor. Your body continues to convulse, one last long orgasm washes over you as you loss consciousness. 

…..

Amab Reader

Sam runs a finger over your slit, you can feel more pre leak out, Sam collects it on his finger and runs it over his tongue, he cups your heavy balls, and begins to pump you sensitive cock. A few light, weak pumps sends you legs shaking, you came… from the slightest touch.

“This is going to be soo fun” Bucky moans as he starts pulling, pinching your nipples. Your moans are muffled, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. Sam lowers himself and starts kissing your thigh.

“Gonna cum again and again huh, prep that sweet tight hole, then you can have what you want soo badly” Sam smiles before lowering himself his tongue running up your shaft. He swallows your dick whole, all the way down to the base.

The mix of pleasure, pain and humiliation sends you over again within seconds. It’s so overwhelming your wiggling, trying to get away, but your head is so foggy your powers useless. Sam fiddles in his pockets before you feel your legs being spread more apart, the cold metal of the bed legs startle your hot body, then the cold metal of a handcuff around your ankle followed by a click… Sam cuffed your leg to the bed. And his quickly working on your other leg. You can’t close your legs, you cock and asshole exposed.

His finger begins penetrating your tight hole. Using his spit and your cum as lube, another orgasm washed over you, you cum hard, then you have ever before. Just his finger in your ass sends you to heaven. Sam pops off you, pulling his finger away and looks up, mouth full of your seed, so much cum swishes in his mouth, it drips down his chin, he looks you in the eye before look at Bucky behind you.

“Swallow all their cum” he demands and sam does, slowly coming up to kiss your tap covered mouth.

“Oh god I wanted to make you cum under more, but god I need your ass!” Sam grunts before pulling out his cock it’s long, big and he shoves it deep inside with one thrust. It’s painful and you’re surprised your ass could stretch so quickly and he’s so up in your guts.

Bucky whispers filth in your ear, call you names as sam encourages you, praise and worship.

“Filthy whore” “beautiful” “such a mess” “so tight” “little slut was this your plan all along” “god you look so good” “your taking him so easily” “your taking me so well”

Bucky reaches down and starts to pump your cock, as he continues to degrade you.

Another orgasm and another, and another. Your a convulsing mess, the shakes never stop your head falls back onto Bucky shoulders as Sam spills deep inside you.

Before you could recover he lets you go and you and fall onto your back. He doesn’t care if he’s getting seconds he knows his stamina is better than Sam’s and more so on this drug and he’s more able to withstand the pain and agony it’s causing. And his cock is big, not as big as Sam’s but it’s thick! The stretch will burn but you know it will be soo good. And as that thought goes through your mind his shoving into your wet, messy ass. The feeling of the tip sends you over. As he bottoms out another orgasm, your cock hurts, and yet more cum spills onto you stomach and chest and not even the gag can muffle the moans any more. The sounds are indescribable. and Bucky not holding back. He fucks you roughly, and slapping your cock every so often, your body loved it. He’s lost all control, he’s not talking he’s just fucking like an animal.

Sam on the other hand is right by you, playing gentle with your puffy nipples.

“Good job baby, doing so well, gonna look after you, gonna make you feel better.” He mumbles, clearly tired.

your no longer not cumming, strings and strings of cum keep coming. its constant, it’s beyond overwhelming, your eyes rolled back. Your ass is wreaked, you’re covered in drool and cum. The floor beneath a wet, sticky mess.

Buckys thrust become sloppy as your sensitive ass and dick starts to become numb. The drug starting to wear off. The pain gone and the pleasure becomes far to overwhelming. Bucky seed coats your insides and pulls out, waves of cum flood out and splash on the floor. Your body continues to convulse, one last long orgasm washes over you as you loss consciousness.

…….

You wake up in a small white sterile room. You’re in soft Cotten white clothes. And there’s a hum in the background… your conclusion your in the med wing of a jet.

Slowly you get to your feet, you walk around the ship. You hear them chatting around down the hall towards what you assume is the main/control room.

You clear your throat and they turn to see you.

What they see you didn’t is the red mark across your face from the tape, bruises and marks on your wrist and ankles. And a lot of hickeys on your exposed neck and chest even a few visible on your thigh as you walk and the fabric rides up.

They wreaked you and they know it.

After a short and awkward silence.

“Umm thanks for the clothes, pretty sure mine were a little dirty” you laugh gesturing to the pjs.

“No problem” Sam smiles standing up “where would you like to be dropped off?” He asked.

You weren’t sure where to go, or if you even wanted to….

The feel is conflicting...

I really hope you liked it! It took ages and there’s probably a lot of spelling errors ect. Please be nice but I would love feedback on this split idea. And I kind of wanna do a part 2 let me know if you want that 💖💖💖💖💖

[iliketangerines]

Lord Raiden or lord liu kang with a reader that like Tai Lung from Kung fu panda?? ((Hate sex??))

fall from grace

a/n: i don't know how to write hate sex, and i also had no idea where i was even going with this, so it's a bit of a mess also because the writing block is hitting hard lmao. also, i do NOT condone this behavior in real life

pairing: mean!dom!liu kang x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), spanking, choking kink, dubcon, orgasm denial, hate sex (?)

you were his most promising student, powerful, strong, cunning, and you were said to become Earthrealm’s champion from the other monks even at a young age

everyday you trained with the monks at Wu Shi Academy, and they praised your name and your skill to Liu Kang

he spoke to you on multiple occasions when you were an adult, finally finding the time to come back to the academy and personally check on your progress

you seemed sweet, happy, excited to claim the title of champion as you had been told you would inherit your whole life

you seemed capable, and even Liu Kang had believed you would be champion and had reassured you that you could become champion

but then Liu Kang saw you train the others, and he knew he could not let you become champion

he saw a sick twisted sort of pleasure you had when you pushed a trainee under you too far, the small little grin you would have when you broke a monk’s bone while sparring, and Liu Kang recognized the thirst for power as he did in Shang Tsung

and so, when the day came to fight for the title of champion, he prohibited you from entering the tournament and Raiden became champion that day

that night, you had attacked Liu Kang, howling with anger that you were stripped of your destiny and how he could deny you the title of champion

he defeated you and had you locked away in the deepest cellar of the academy, wrapped in chains and guarded by powerful magic

and sometimes, he would visit your cell to bring you food and water, as retribution for misleading you into thinking you would become champion one day

you never took food from him when he came, and you would rather starve for the night so you could spit in his face and scream insults his way

and then one day, Shujinko had visited you in the cellar and made a deal with you, to set you free and that you would help him become the most powerful kombatant

you agreed on the condition you would get to kill Liu Kang

and so he released you from your chains, and you fight and kill your way to the surface of the Earth once more

you found Liu Kang easily, sitting underneath the cherry blossoms as the wind howled and the thunder rumbled in the distance

he turned to you, as if expecting your appearance, and you leapt towards him, teeth bared and hands outstretched

you had scratched, screamed, clawed at him with your fury, but his eons of experience has you now pinned to the ground on your back, his hips on top of yours and your hands pinned above you

you hiss insults at him as you try to catch him off guard, but he just tells you he is done playing your games, gripping onto your chin tightly

he tells you to submit, to have one more chance at redemption, but you buck your hips off, trying to throw his weight off your body

Liu Kang growls at your attempt to get free, the grip on your hands growing tighter and warmer, and he tells you he has no problem in punishing a brat

you snarl at him, baring your teeth in anger, and tell him to go fuck himself and that you will kill him slowly and painfully

Liu Kang laughs at your measly threats and grabs onto your face tightly, forcing your mouth open underneath the pressure, and he spits into your mouth

you gasp in surprise, causing you to breathe in the spit and cough as you try to fight for air

Liu Kang release your face from his hands and grips onto your throat, telling you this is your punishment for not listening to him

your mind spins with the lack of air, and you struggle to wheeze out an insult as he applies more pressure to your neck

you think you're about to die, your lungs burn with need, and you thrash underneath Liu Kang to try and grab a gasp of air

the edges of your vision start to go blurry, and you can see Liu Kang’s deep scowl as you finally see stars pass through your vision

finally, the pressure on your neck releases, and you desperately breathe in lungfuls of air, wheezing and gasping as sweet relief fills you

Liu Kang looks down at you as you breathe in air, and he tears off your prison uniform, exposing your chest to the chilled air

you snap at him with your teeth, angry and humiliated that he tore off the top of your uniform, but he just roughly squeezes your chest, sending a spark of pain through you

you stutter out for him that he is a worthless god, and he tells you to shut your mouth before grabbing onto your face and slamming your head down on the ground

your brain spins, and pain pounds through you

but it’s enough of a distraction to have Liu Kang flip you over and pin your hands behind your back and pin your legs down to the ground with his weight without a fight

you can’t even spit out an insult with how your head spins, but you shiver as Liu Kang pulls down your pants and let out a choked grunt when he slaps your ass

he continues to leave hard hits on you, and you can’t help but moan at the pain

he laughs at your pleasure and mutters out that of course you would like to be spanked like some dirty whore

you choke out an insult, telling him that his hits are pathetic, but the effect is weakened with the whines and moans that spill from you with every slap

finally, he stops his attack on you and pinches the red flesh of your ass, and you hiss at him to hurry up and fuck you properly

he mutters at you to shut up, but Liu Kang is also growing impatient

he dips his hand between your legs and collects your wetness on his fingers, teasing you and making you squirm in his tight grip

you try to goad him into fucking you, telling him that maybe he’s too much of a coward to fuck you, and he pinches the sore muscle on your ass to make you whine before going back to sliding his fingers across your pussy folds

he doesn’t fuck you on his fingers, he doesn’t rub or pinch your clit, he just collects your wetness on his fingers and spreads your pussy folds

it’s driving you crazy, and you can feel yourself growing wetter with the teasing

you need him to fuck you right now, and you moan out for him to just get on with it and fuck you

he tells you to ask nicely, to stop being such a fucking brat, and to submit properly

you try to glare at him as best you can with your face pressed into the dirt and growl out that you will never be trapped underneath his thumb

he just tells you that you’ll break soon enough, that he can do this for as long he needs to

true to his word, he just continues to rub your pussy folds, and you grow more and more desperate to cum as he just continues

you can feel your wetness dripping out of you and onto the floor, and your pride falters as the need for him to just do anything else besides tease you grows and howls to be eased

your mind no longer spins from the impact of pain but rather from the overwhelming need to be fucked

Liu Kang listens as your stifled whimpers and moans slowly grow louder and louder and flow more freely from your mouth as he continues to slide his fingers against you

finally, tears slip from your face, and you whine for him to fuck you, to do anything else but tease you

Liu Kang tells you to do better, and you want to give him a snappy retort

but you hold your tongue and ask him to please fuck you, you need it so bad, please, and he smiles wickedly at you as he retracts his fingers from your drooling pussy

Liu Kang can’t ignore his own need either anymore, and he pulls his pants down and lines up with you before thrusting into you

you whine at the stretch, and your hips buck forward to get away from the pain

but Liu Kang keeps a tight grip on your hip and starts fucking into you ruthlessly, making you moan and squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure

he doesn’t speak as he fucks you, just letting out animalistic grunts as your pussy clenches down on his cock while you whine for him

you can’t muster out anything snarky to say to him as the hand restraining your arms grips on tight enough to leave bruises while his other hand pinches at your sore ass

but it’s not enough, and he leaves your clit alone as he chases his own pleasure

you try to whine out something about him not being able to properly please his lover, but as if it’s a sixth sense, he gives a particularly rough thrust and your mind goes blank as his tip hits that sweet spot

soon enough, his thrusts grow irregular, and he grips onto your hips as he pulls out and pumps his cock and cums on your ass

you thrash in anger he leaves you unsatisfied, and you immediately hiss out insults at him as he finishes spilling his seed onto your backside

he ignores your angry squawking and just spreads his cum on your red ass, admiring how it paints your skin and drips down your legs

you wiggle angrily in his grip, trying to break free, but he continues to just admire his view

finally, he grows tired of your angry hisses and leans down to wrap his arm around your neck and drags you up so your back presses against his chest

you struggle in his arms, but the ache between your legs and the unsatisfactory feeling settling in your stomach already has you distracted

the edge of your vision blurs, and you choke out that he’s terrible at pleasing his partners before passing out

you wake up in the cell again, tied up in the familiar bondage of chains

but you’re completely naked, and there’s a burning feeling on your neck you don’t recognize

when Liu Kang comes down and visits you, food in hand and a teasing smile on his face, you realize your imprisonment has changed

for better or for worse who knows

[eccentricallygothic]

Experienced Sadist!Lloyd Hansen who is addicted to fucking You semi-dry and raw…

Warning(s): Unprotected p-in-v, d/s dynamics, m!Dom, f!sub, Sir kink, semi-dry/raw fucking, spit play, choking, age gap, light consent play I think idk. MDNI.

MASTERLIST

“Ouchieee~” you whine against Lloyd's finely shaved cheek, your flush lips press into his hot skin and his mustache tickles your jaw due to the proximity of your faces. “Sir,” you pout and graze the short hair on the sides of his head with your fingernails, a moan escaping your mouth because of how his fingers firmly knead the skin of your ass. “It h- hurts!” You feel his cock twitch against your barely lubricated pussy in response to your words. 

His naked chest vibrates against yours as he chuckles, hips rising to sink against yours once more to continue the burning friction of your aching skins. “Aw, sugar” your nearly dry petals desperately cling to his cock because of how tight your cavern is, the deep pink channel moving and pulling down with his cock when it goes to pull out of your needy pussy once more. “I know.” The baritone of his voice makes your hole clench in response. 

Lloyd brings one of his hands to your throat and lets his fingers feel your soft skin. “It's supposed to” his fist closes around your voice box once his thumb finishes its dance over your vocal chords and the moment your eyes roll over when your lungs run out of oxygen, the older man gathers a thick, warm blob of spit in his mouth before pouring it down in yours that you part to try and breathe. 

A humiliating gurgle sounds from your throat because of how the drop lands right on the back of your throat, the sensation causing for your shoulders to flinch in reaction. The wince that sizzles out of you is shaky and pained but the cruel pleasure that comes from focusing on the aching pleasure that buds past the uncomfortable rubbing of your intimate skins is way too exciting for you to actually end the scene. 

You let out a wheeze and your cunt unclamps itself from Lloyd's cock when he finally allows you to breathe. “Please… owchie… please, Sir!” Lloyd tsks when your worked up body releases a pearly droplet of arousal yet again. He reaches for your throbbing pussy with his other hand as he pulls you closer with his chokehold and plants his bushy lips upon yours, the feeling of his coarse facial hairs brushing your soft lip making you moan loud and nearly swallow up the finger that he uses to wipe away your natural lubricant. 

He had discovered this a while back, and though it was a rather slow and painful process, the orgasm was always worth it because of how sensitive and desperate it made the two of you. The struggle due to the difficulty in movement that resulted from the minimal slick made you wanting, impatient and wild. So sometimes, like today, Lloyd would deliberately wipe your pussy of its juices -since you always drip puddles for your old man- and then fuck you with the least amount of moisture possible. 

“Oh, God, fuck it hurts so bad!” You hiss out when he releases your throat once more and spits on your mouth before snaking his chokehold along your jaw to smear his oral discharge over your lips. “Oh, fuck, ouch— mmmm” Lloyd forces his thumb between your lips and your lips obediently wrap around it to suck at the digit. 

“But you like it,” your back arches when he twists one of your nipples between his fingers. “Don't you, my dirty little cock mutt?” Your face scrunches into an expression of pain and wanton and you vigorously nod. “I mean,” he pushes one of your legs over his broad shoulder and you feel his tip ghost over your cervix. “I can stop if it's too much, y'know?” The mock care makes your eyes roll once more. 

Ever the tease.

“No! No, please! No!” Your toes curl in your peripheral vision as you pout up at him, feeling yourself getting impaled into the bed because of how tightly he holds your hips to slide into you deep and hard. “Please don't!”

A satisfied smirk makes its way on his face and he grins, shaking in silent mirth. “And why not? I thought it hurt” he's a sadist through and through. 

He gets off on this. 

“B- Because… Because…” You choke on your own spit when he reaches for your throat once more. 

“Because, what?” You cannot shame or blame him, though. Not when you aren't much different from him.

“Because I am your dirty little painslut cock mutt, Sir” you say the words he likes and Lloyd moans before suddenly clanging his fingers against the side of your ass that is exposed to him due to your raised leg. “Ouch!” 

“That's fuckin' right, sunshine” his fist closes around your windpipe once more and his face and shoulder trap your elevated knee between them, other arm holding your stray leg down so his fingers can tickle your spread out cunt. Your body spasms at the sensation and your eyes lose their balance, the balls going into a disorder and your vision falters from them crossing in on themselves. “Tsk, look at you, gettin' off to a man twice your age giving a dry beating to your slutty little pussy” your mind disconnects from a gush of depraved euphoria overwhelming it and you breathlessly giggle at his words, nodding along to them mindlessly. “You are my stupid little cross eyed whore, aren't you?” His ears turn red and his own breaths get heavy because of how silly you look. 

You distantly nod, out of commission and ready to cum any moment now. 

“Hey” Lloyd cannot help but let you breathe when he taps your head back into focus. 

“H– Huh?” The heavy thumping of his heavy hand against your brain brings you back to the present moment and you confusedly blink up at him.

“Say it.” His jaw clenches from the sheer willpower it takes him to hold himself back from enacting the beastly urges that moments like these give him where he gets so overwhelmed that all he wants to do is to merge with you completely. “Say it how I like it, right now” Lloyd drops himself on a hand he places next to your head and the motion causes for his cock to hit your guts and you cry out a pained moan. “Let's fucking go.” His flared nose touches yours with a menace that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I- I… ah!” Your orgasm burns out of you and you know what's coming after this. “I am— hnng!” Your back arches and your chin presses into his mustache as a result, your muscles clenching to put everything into the feeling of your high as you cry out and try to get away but Lloyd holds you down. “I am your stupid cross eyed pain mutt, Sir, please!” The cry you let out is blood curdling. 

“Good doggy” he pats your head in his typical condescending praise and it only makes you moan louder. “Even though your cum control still needs work, good doggy.” You whine in frustration. It is his acknowledgement to it. 

You're going to have to pay for it.

Lloyd is going to put you over his knee and give you a powerful spanking with your painted thighs spread open on display before you can hope to be excused for the day.

And there is not a thing you can do to get away from the wrath of your strict lover.

You are going to take it.

And you are going to love it.

Because what Lloyd wants, goes.

. . .

Someone get my masochistic ass off this site.

[monst]

Day 7: Obedience Impact play | Dabi     Warnings: 18+ Content (MDI), Impacts play, face slapping, Dom/Sub dynamics, Degrading- he calls you a bitch. Oral M. Receiving. The first short one lmao  Wc: 500

    You're running out of breath. Your nose is flush with his pelvis, scratchy white pubes poking your nostrils, his cock nestled deep within your throat. Tears pour down your cheeks in rivets, and your lungs burn. However, you do your best, only gagging around him when he slams back into you. Your fingers grip the top of your thighs to ground yourself as you force your hands to stay still. ‘No touching’ he'd said. You know, but your taste buds aren't even picking up his salty taste anymore. Your head is full of static, your fingers twitching, and you can't hold off any longer. 

     Your nails dig into his thighs as you try to press away from him. You can barely hear the click of his tongue when he rips your head back. You wheeze your next breath globs of spit running down your swollen lips. Dabi lets you catch your breath waiting for your teary eyes to blink up at him and as soon as your eyes meet your face whips to the side. Your eyes widen at the sting. Before you can regain your bearings his palm comes down on your face to strike the other cheek and you sob.

     “Fucking filthy bitch.” He spits “You know what you did. So don't give me those crocodile tears”

   “M’sorry” you slur, bringing your hands back down to your thighs. He leaves your cheeks tender with two more consecutive slaps, his scarred fingers petting the sensitive skin as he coos. 

    “I don't like hurting you doll but I need you to stop being so greedy yeah?” You nod, sniffing away your tears. 

    “Sorry,” you whimper. Thighs pressed together as you try to remain still. He quiets you before bringing his cock back to your face. The cool metal of his piercings against your cheek is a reprieve from the heat. And you drop your mouth open in a moan when he continues to slap his dick against your bruising cheeks. You bite back a plea. Hoping he'll forgive you and just give you what you need. 

    Dabi snorts looking down at you derisively. He taps your cheek with his dick, grinning at the way your tongue comes out to lick your lips. He lays the tip on the flat of your tongue, watching the way your eyes roll after, he's barely past your teeth.   

     “Hungry little cock slut aren't you?” He sneers, filling your greedy mouth with his throbbing length. Your nose meets his snowy pubes once more as you once again gag on his cock. Your cheeks hollow as you attempt to suck him dry, you love the way he steals your breath. The way you feel lightheaded, the weight of his cock on your tongue, his heady scent. The way his fingers flex over your throat to feel it bulge around him. The solid squeeze makes you dizzy but you push into every harsh roll of his hips. You could even cum untouched when he grips the back of your head to push your head down just a bit further. 

Kinktober2024|Masterlist

[themissingnumbers]

WARNING: FLASHING/GLITCHING IMAGE UNDER THE CUT. This also contains descriptions of gore and body horror.

[ @pkmn-monochrome - Previously... ]

Red narrows his eyes as he stares down at Cody, shutting up and listening as they explain. The corners of his lips twitch as they finish, the shadow cast over his eyes falling ever so slightly heavier.

"... So, that's how it is, hm?"

"Barely... any different..."

"... Exactly what I..."

"..."

"I've gotta say, you've really got a way with words! You're so articulate when you're scared, Cody."

He snickers to himself, hopping off the grave and pacing around, looking between the other and the Ghosts.

"Observant, too~! You're right, I really couldn't be bothered to care what you think of me. I'm not exactly here to make friends. I'm sure that'd the last thing you'd want, anyways! See, I'm just here to satiate some curiosity."

He leans in front of Blastoise, tilting his head.

"I would like to formally apologize to the oversized Sobble-in-a-shell for my language. I'm not exactly used to being around others... Twenty-six years of imprisonment wouldn't really teach a guy to have a filter, heh."

He waves a hand nonchalantly, completing the circle.

"And as for your marketable figurine of a rat, well... I'm not interested in being a snotty kid forever. Unfortunately, I don't need any hacking done to screw up my game badly enough to change some things around.

But, hey... I'm not here to make chit-chat with a couple of one-note monsters. It's all about you, the most REAL one in this room. Cody, Cody, Cody, star of the show~! Let's get back to the point. I know you don't exactly think highly of... things like me. What was it you told that one poor girl- 'You've had more than a decade to get over yourself,' right?"

He throws his head back, cackling as if the old remark is the funniest thing he's heard in his life.

"I meant it when I said that I don't CARE. But I AM nosy, and your vitriol towards REDs in particular is just so interesting... Even seein' the face clearly strikes a nerve. So honestly, I'd LOVE to hear EXACTLY what you're thinking..."

"If only you were willing to spit out any fighting words, that is! But you've been so much more polite than I expected, after all the reading I've done..."

He passes by in front of the other, looking off into the distance.

In that moment- a moment of passing footsteps, of the blink of an eye, of a lack of care... something heavy fills the air.

A damning presence looks down on Cody with a dozen eyes, countless mouths, gnashing teeth and twitching claws, two hundred and fifty-five whispering voices. It's a disgusting and shambling creature, a sick and unholy patchwork of amalgamated hearts and yellowed blood, wrapped up in tattered flesh and backwards fur, mismatched feathers and scales and blubber and skin. Writhing, wheezing, bleeding, rotting, every misplaced piece existing out of sync.

Something impossible. Unknowable. Invalid.

The feeling it imposes upon them is suffocating. Like not breathing for years, like something vile filling their lungs, a sickness that is rising, thrashing, tearing, desperate for a taste of "fresh meat" if one could even call a dead trainer that anymore.

"It almost seems like there's something you're worried about," the voices from within it hiss, layered countless times under the casual and teasing tone of Red's own that is lost under the madness...

... Yet the instant the words spill from his lips, that awful sensation is gone as quickly as it arrived. Everything is as it should be. Despite how intense it was... It was little more than two seconds of some sick kind of illusion.

Was it even real? Was that pain all false? Red hasn't lifted a finger, no less even looked Cody's way.

It's as if nothing even happened.

"I wonder, I wonder, what it could be~?" the man babbles on as he walks away, feigning ignorance- because he must be, he must be screwing around with them at this point, right? How could he NOT be?

And now he's laughing- giggling to himself under his breath, like this whole ordeal is some joke that only he's in on.

"After all, I'm just some harmless little video game character. I'm not even real, right?" he chides, "Certainly nothing like one of your big bad players who could crush your shoddy little cartridge cause you decided to be a little bi..."

He trails off, managing to catch himself.

"... Decided to misbehave. What, you don't think I hold any real power over this place, do you~? I can't cause..."

"... Permanent damage."

He slows to a stop several paces away from the monochromatic trainer, spinning on his heel to look at them with a smile that could be described as warm, but...

From heart, to flesh, to grin- there's not a single warm thing about this man in this moment. Only proven further by a final remark, laced with a threatening kind of curiosity.

"So would you like to stop trying to play nice and tell me what you really think of me... Or are you gonna let me get bored?"