#I feel like such a shaking rat...

[lovesthecure]

vent.txt

[dailykugisaki]

Day 163 | id in alt

Nanami is so resolute in what he believes it's actually astounding how he didn't get to have a proper conversation with Kugisaki.

[uncanny-tranny]

The trans experience of getting lucky with a new primary care provider who doesn't care about your transness or transition so long as you're getting the proper care

Manifesting this for every trans person because I finally felt like a normal human being going to a doctor

[rewritingcanon]

ok im real fucking pissed bcuz i had to block a follower but just in case u dont know im anti-israel i hate israel omg get out of here if u like it fuck israel and the idf and i don’t stand with israel and get out of here if you do i think you’re fucking scum if you stand with israel get gone get out youre blocked youre blocked youre blocked

[nedsseveredhead]

I never feel more like my father than when im doing conflict resolution. 5'1 but somehow get everyone to listen to me. Insane.

[talesfromthenorsesmouth]

very Bowie Riddler (to the extent u could be forgiven for thinking it is him, based on a MWFTE scene), but here we have a Riddler fresh out of Arkham in his really cool disguise of a coat that's too big for him and sunglasses at night

this is how Query and Echo first encountered him and he looked exactly like a wet rat pup so they couldn't not take him home and give him a cereal packet with a crossword on the back to make him feel welcome

[soulsolid-a]

     There are two people who Brook is eternally indebted towards to a degree that he knows well he would never be able to repay, no matter how many times he may die with his life dedicated towards them. First being Luffy, of course.

     While he’s well aware of the entire crew’s contributions, it’s Luffy to whom he pledged his second life to. Luffy had given him back everything. He’d given him back the sun, and with that, hope. Luffy had gave him back his shadow, had offered him a new home, and above all, told him that Laboon waited still. Nothing about that day was any less than a miracle, and Brook knows he would never be able to give to Luffy the same life that his captain gave to him, but his soul be damned if he would do his best to pay back even an ounce of it.

     The second person is, beyond shadow of a doubt, Crocus. Crocus had been a true friend in those three months the Rumbar Pirates had spent at the Twins Cape. They’d gotten along well, and Brook had been thrilled when the man was willing to look after Laboon for a few years. Though he’d never once truly doubted the man’s integrity, Brook still knew that — as time had passed in the fog — caring for a full grown whale, at the entrance to the Grand Line no less, was an incredibly taxing request to honor, and one he’d never wanted to have asked from the doctor. To learn that Crocus, after all this time, was still caring for Laboon, and to learn that Crocus had set sail in hopes to find them, it would have broken his heart from joy and guilt, had he still had one. He owes Crocus a debt he could never hope to make up for for having cared for Laboon for all these years, though he can hope to — at the very least — apologize with all his soul for their deaths and delay once their paths can finally crossed again once more.

[pirateborn-a]

Roger is sooo,,,

[marinehero-a]

thinks ab them.... sengoku/garp....

[picaroroboto]

I look at Cylva and whatever part of the brain that makes me get obsessed with side characters starts whirring like an overheating laptop

[arolesbianism]

My current oni playthrough is generally going well except for the fact that for some ungodly reason I chose a bionic dupe heavy save that is almost completely built around bionic dupes to go for locavore for the first time. For the first 80 or so cycles I had 1 normal dupe. I have only within the past two sessions gotten two more dupes. All three just sit at home and cook occasionally because I can't be assed to set up atmosuit docs for them. I only just today finally got access to a pip. I have been fighting for my god damn life to get any tier 3 research done my poor bionic dupes need their yummy yummy power please let me get steam turbines already so I can do that without boiling my planetoid. I need my weezeworts or I'll die.

[plaguedghosts]

I just got a Charley Horse in my fucking neck. What the actual hell.

[sega-saturn-arcade]

every time someone draws klavier gavin with short hair an angel loses its wings

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

If you liked this would you Buy my a Coffee?

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

[boowritess]

part 2 lol

so apparently it's really fucking hard to get into the SAS. and ontop of that I've been getting tiktoks of people going around an army base asking why they joined. most responses were to pay off student loans, bills, school, (someone said there's was 6 years of prison or school and *mental note for idea*), the recruiter lied or spoilt them, barracks bunny.

141 (poly?) x notsobaddasssoldier!reader

and now i can't stop thinking of soldier!reader. who really half-assed their way through everything - only doing the job for the money and to pay off student loans + they had nothing better to do.

who somehow ends up being adopted by Price (kinda like Gaz i guess ???) all because reader happened to be in the right place at the right time and saved Price's ass while managing to complete a mission the Task Force were doing.

and it's not that you saved his ass or completed the mission that makes Price go *this is mine* - it's the fact that afterwards all you can say is-

"this shit is so not worth paying off my student loans."

"oh fuck i forgot to cancel my subscription. fuckk- waste of fucking money"

- all the while a building is burning in front of you but yeah just not at all concerned about what had just happened. so price just *grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you up, claiming you as part of his task force now.*

(lol you probably can't do that irl but this is fiction sooo suck my ass.)

and laswell's just like no... they are very much still green john. way too green. no.

but it's too late. he's already introducing you to the task force. singing your praises and you're just like

"man he promised to pay off my student loans and give me food." basically how ur recruiter got ya ass.

enough said. you get the whole off the books speech, saving the world by doing things others wouldn't like. but u couldn't give a rats ass - you should but nah...

and like... you know you're the rookie... you're still green... but some of the shit 141 do you just...

"so you just gonna kidnap the wife AND the child...? right... kid, you wanna watch bluey? here..."

"and you do this often...? crazy."

but you don't exactly protest. how could you with how much you get paid. you kinda just side-eye and look away when it's geta a lil crazy. *bombastic side-eye*

and the other 141 guys - oh my days. become just as enormed as price and want to start really trying to amplify your skills. but every time, they start explaining how to do things - the best way to go about a situation or how to fight a certain way.

you pull this face. like your top lip pulls back, your eyebrows scrunch together, and there's a slight frown on your lips as they speak. like you look confused/disgusted. but you don't even realise cause-

"why're you pulling that face?" 141

"that's... that's just my focusing face..."

"oh..." 141 feels bad

then when they do take you in feild you're shaking your head no. like you haven't been around that long. what the fuck? now you're bout to infiltrate an enemy base!?!?!

"can i just wait in the car?"

"no." price

"i'm gonna vomit."

"aim at the enemy." ghost

people think that because you're suddenly in this badass task force that surely they're just using you for your assets.

they all think you're the 141 barracks bunny. and maybe you should be pissed or annoyed or grossed out. but all you can do is sigh and pause from the burger price got you, and let out a long exhale.

"fuck... maybe i can just do onlyfans or be a pornstar... shit maybe it's not too late..."

"military is bascially sex work - selling my body..."

"not that different from what i'm doing now. body being used, check. body sore in the strangest places, check."

your tone so empty, blank and nonchalant, but there's a serious look in your eyes that when you grab your phone out to maybe do a little research on how you could do that, your phone is snatched from your hand by one of the guys and they walk out the room without a second look back.

with an annoyed huff, you go back to eating your burger. but suddenly, you turn to the person who genuinely thought you were a barracks bunny.

"hey you think if i be a barracks bunny i get out of missions and shit?"

"...that's not how it works..." rando.

"fuck."

and maybe you try...

like you go to price's office and the guys are already in there, chatting about something that you should really pay attention too but you can't be assed. instead you unashamedly start to speak...

"if i suck ya'll dicks can i get out the mission?"

"no. you still have to join." gaz says amused

"even if you-" *que long sigh from price* "even if you suck our dicks."

"that's fucked up. i should've done porn."

and with the most hurt and broken-hearted look on your face, you leave the office, closing the door with a dramatic sigh. the guys just stare at the door in... confusion, amusement, and maybe arousal if ya'll dig that

idk man just gimmie more soldier!reader who just really ain't the fucked, there for money, lowkey hungry and doesn't know what the fuck is happening. kinda a pet or little sibling energy that the 141 love.

bonus*

"wait so they aren't sucking our dicks?" *soap says getting slapped in the back of the head by ghost

a/n: brain is rottinnggg. i should be doing so much other shit but... cod just consumes my brain 24/7

[pseudowho]

18+, MDNI, angry!Nanami, unkempt!Nanami, loss of social propriety and sloppy about it

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento was always pristine; never unkempt. Except, for the one time that he was. That one mission. The mission. The mission of no return. Once you'd seen him like that, you weren't sure you could ever see the cufflinks and starched collars the same ever again.

And god knew he couldn't shake how you looked at the end, with your hair in his hands, and his name on your tongue, and your lips kissed plump.

He had arrived late, that evening; not his fault, you noted, as his car skid to a halt in the hammering rain-- you had both been called to this after-hours emergency.

Kento looked frazzled, irritable, and tugged his tie knot as he jogged through the downpour to meet you. The tatty awning over the lean-to against the old school building, did little to keep either of you dry.

"Sorry--" Kento huffed, jostling against you to squeeze under the awning, still suited but reluctantly so, "--sorry, I was just about to have dinner, and-- why the hell have they called you, too?"

"Two person job, apparently," you peeved, flat. Kento shot you a glance of weary annoyance, which you reflected straight back at him. Cursing at the rain water dripping down his neckline, and scowling back at the building, he sniped.

"In there, is it? Let's not waste any time, I'm already on Overtime and I don't have the patien--"

"Not there." You tapped your foot atop a manhole cover, a heavy metal grate, "Here."

Kento froze. He did a double-take. His annoyance loomed over you, tension fizzling across his shoulders and his fist white-knuckled around his blade.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

You nodded, bending to lift the manhole cover aside. "As a car crash, Kento."

Kento shoved the manhole cover the rest of the way with his foot, and a growl. His handsome face twisted, and his stomach rumbled, and you felt yourself pale under the anger thudding off him.

"I'll go first," he clipped, his beautiful brown shoes beginning to click down the ladder, with his blade between his teeth and his voice muffling around it, "and we'll get this over with."

Hours, hours later, Nanami Kento flung himself out of the manhole, soaked to the bone, spitting curses like venom. You followed him, a drowned rat, and watched the finely woven threads of him fall apart at the seams.

Kento stalked through the streetlamp-lit rain to his car, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. His hair was ruined, his glasses shattered, and his suit soaked and torn, sticking to the peaks and planes of his electrified body.

"Come along," Kento barked behind him, and you jolted to attention, drawn in by the jabbing authority in his voice. You watched him, feeling a blush creep up your neck, as he ripped his clothes off with utter abandon, and replaced them with sweatpants and a t-shirt stored in the boot of his car. His slim eyes glared, hands flinging, and he thrust an enormous hoodie at you in stony silence.

Even his rage was gentlemanly, and he turned his back on you while you stripped to your underwear, and changed. You felt indescribably naked in just a hoodie and so, like any good man, Kento bustled you into his passenger seat, and joined you, warming the car up.

Kento drove without speaking. You side-eyed him, and though you knew his irritation was not for you, you knew one wrong word would incite a clipped sarcasm. Kento skid the car to a halt, eventually, and turned to you, flat-eyed and cold.

"What do you want?"

So many ways that question could be answered, and they fought for precedence in your mouth. In the end, you just looked at him, dumbly. Kento huffed, a smirk playing on the edge of his mouth. He rolled down his window, to a drive-through speaker, and repeated himself.

"What," Kento enunciated, "do you want?"

Whatever you ordered, despite your appetite, couldn't have been a quarter of what Kento did. You found yourself stunned again, to see Kento sat in sweatpants and a t-shirt, still damp and mussed, cramming a burger into his mouth at breakneck speed. He'd have been a quiet eater, but the satisfied noises he made were sinful. He tip-tapped his third box of fries, and tipped the last handful into his mouth with a happy groan.

You felt heat pool in your belly to see him looking like, well...just a guy. Just a big, hungry guy, pissed off with work and slumming it. You didn't realise you were staring until Kento reached over without looking, and urged your hovering hand closer to your mouth.

"Eat," he grumbled, "I know I'm not exactly civilised right now, but don't let it put you off your food."

You swallowed hard, chewing through a chicken nugget, "It's, uh...its not that." Kento shot you a challenging side-eye, "It's...kind of sexy. Seeing you so...so comfortable."

Kento froze. He dropped a pinch of fries back into the box, closing his eyes and shielding them with one long-fingered hand. You felt the prickling, queasy heat of embarrassment spread from your stomach up. You opened your mouth to apologise, mortified, before Kento spoke, his voice gravelly.

"Don't say something like that," he warned, low and groaning, "don't say something like that-- when you're in my clothes in the passenger seat, and all of my decency has gone out of the window--"

You looked at him. He looked at you. He swallowed hard to feel his cock twitch to life, his grey sweatpants barely hiding how he swelled. You reached over to swipe mustard off the corner of his mouth with your thumb, and licked it off, not breaking eye contact. Kento's eyes darkened, and he almost laughed.

All pretence of good society was shattered. By the time the doors closed on the lift up to Kento's apartment, he had lifted your thighs around his waist to carry you, and taste your lips on the way. You and Kento staggered into his apartment like this, spinning, thudding into the walls, knocking a vase off the table, kissing, nipping, biting, groaning, unhinged and unsupervised.

You squealed with laughter when Kento threw you onto his sofa, and climbed on top of you, rolling along until you were on top and he was on top and you were on top and he was on top and--

"Fuck--" Kento rumbled into the plush of your belly, "--fuck-- sorry-- utterly disrespectful--" He groaned again, cursing and leaving his mark in blooming petals, to hear you whimper.

"--disrespect me harder--"

"Shit-- yes please--"

Kento practically ripped his hoodie over your head, his hands clutching at your bared body with trembling force. He panted, shuddering. His eyes pleaded with you; as if they had to. With gritted teeth, he dragged your hips to the edge of the sofa, and swiped your panties aside to delve his tongue into your sweet heat to continue his meal.

You thought (in a nebulous way, between whimpering bursts of pleasure), that Kento must have gone mad. He couldn't restrain himself, even, from hooking his weeping cock out above his sweatpants, and stroking himself in time with his wet, hungry suckles on your clit. Kento had thrown off the shackles of propriety with a roar, and he cried his relief into your cunt like you were aqua vita.

"Ken--" you cried, your voice cracking to hear him answer you with pre-cum slick plap-plap-plaps of his fist and rusty moans, "Ken-- can't-- ungh, fuck, I'm gonna--"

Kento didn't think twice, delving his free hand between your thighs to sink two long fingers inside you, yanking your orgasm from you with devastatingly accurate, come-fucking-hither-strokes.

You arched off the sofa with a breaking cry. Kento released his cock, now angry and needy, with a shudder, just to hold you to his mouth so he could taste you through your orgasm. You twitched, jerking and incoherent; Kento dragged it out until you convulsed, your ecstasy made sharp with involuntary little moans of his name.

"--not done disrespecting you--" Kento hissed, pressing you back as you moved to sit up, "--not until I'm dripping out of you, just for me to fuck it back in again-- good girl--"

You clapped your hand over your mouth, in disbelief at the utter filth coming from this beige man. Kento scoffed, a smirk on the corner of his lips. He pressed his sweatpants down just enough to free his heavy, aching balls. He stroked his cock head between your folds, making you twitch every time his slit caught on your clit, giving himself a sly pussyjob and bearing over you to rumble against your lips.

"I thought the tie would have been a dead giveaway," Kento whispered, and before you could answer, filled you to the brim with one smooth roll of his hips. You squealed again, and Kento clapped his hand over your mouth, as if you catch the sound and bottle it for later. You tangled your fingers in his hair, your cries muffled behind his hand. Kento dragged his cock back out of your slick, inch by torturous inch.

"Hold onto something-- pull my fucking hair-- good girl--"

Kento took you at a relentless pace, blond hair flopping in his eyes, still scratched and bruised from your mission, and his eyes alight with bliss. You fell apart beneath him, rammed against the back of the sofa, feeling him belly deep, tugging his hair and sinking your teeth into his forearm until he hissed with pleasure. You mewled, blinded by the insistent thrusts to your core.

"F-fuck m-meee-eeee-eeee, ohhhh-hhh, Ken-- where's Ken-- where's Kento gone--"

Kento laughed, breathless and stilted, and plaiting his fingers with yours to pin your arms above your head. His pace never faltered, and he nuzzled into your throat, scoffing, "--same man-- same-- same man-- just one bad day away-- shit, I won't last-- squeeze me harder-- unnnnghhh l-- I'm gonna come--"

Kento's fingers fumbled against your clit, sloppy and harsh and dragging another orgasm from you, and coming with a bark as you dragged his out of him. As promised, he filled you, with ropes of seed so long and thick, that his balls must have received the same let go memo.

You watched Kento through his ecstasy; buckled over you, a sweating, stone-carved beauty, released from the confines of his cage. He shook with exertion, eyeing you with shrewd reproach.

"You tell no-one," Kento growled, tickling your ribs when you began to laugh, his cum dripping where you remained joined, "you tell no-one--"

"Or what?" You squealed, tugging him down by the hair. Kento bit into your neck, burying himself deeper inside you in challenge. You felt him twitch back to life, and shivered, a bunny in the jaws of a bear.

"Or I'll put my suit back on."

"You animal--"