#I wanna fight a mouse

[singswan-springswan]

epic (2013) fr underrated film. cosmic struggle? little guys? fake ecology? heartwrenching score? flawless character dynamics with emphasis on friendship and familial development? not to mention Beyoncé

[bleh1bleh2]

altean mice!!!

[littleplantfreak]

I can see you being a good puppy hybrid mari! Very enthusiastic, sweet, and loyal <3

(Also I think ume would love giving puppy you head scritches!)

this can be us if you're a cat! (tho your rat/mice is winning in ur poll)

I'm taking this to heart you know. Puppy Mari is a thing forever in my head now. Ugh I'd love head scritches from Ume T-T

[sodacowboy]

every day I wake up and wish I could play video games

[scrambledslut]

i was bored so here’s my stardew valley farmer Remy in all her different outfits using my favorite picrew :3

[charliesinfern0]

ough thinking about Undertale again

[flashhwing]

I was like “hey let’s just see maybe if I open origins this time it’ll work for no reason” so I did and see the thing is yesterday every time I hit resume it would spend less than 10 seconds on the loading screen before crashing and just now? just now it spent little over an entire minute. for a whole damn minute I really thought it was actually gonna work, finally, with no effort on my part

[thisispoggers]

Doodled a mouse lmao might make him into a design

[a-ikuoliver]

it's all in your head, i'm inside your head and you're never gonna get me out

pairing: hitoshi shinso x f!reader w/c: 2.1k warning/s: DUBCON/NONCON, brainwashing, female!reader, prohero!mindjack, just a lot of staring lmao, please lmk if i missed anything notes: based on this thirst inspo/acknowledgements: MY LOVER @definitelynotsaint FOR ALL UR HELP I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU MARRY ME PLEASE <3 + earworm by cottontail

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

"you seriously think you could beat him?!"

"you act like he's huge, kami, i have more chance with brainwashing than electrification. if i stay quiet, what's he going to do?"

"have you ever fought the guy?"

the argument had been going on for about… twenty minutes now, most of your other friends already filtering out of your place, but you'd trapped the blond, and subsequently shinso with your argument over the hypothetical: would you rather fight kaminari or shinso?

this was by far the most passionate you'd been so far, answering earlier versions of the question effortlessly: would you rather wear kirishima or mina's costume to a wedding (mina's), have an uncontrollable quirk with raw power or a perfected, slightly below average quirk (master of one). the moment sero proposed the final question, your eyes landed on his, your eyes glowing with smugness when they met his bored amethyst iris's, a spark of interest when you parted your lips to argue your point.

shinso remained reserved throughout your argument with the blond, studying a chip in the deep purple paint on his thumb idly, breathing slowly, evenly, apathetically despite his ears burning any time you'd say his name (his heart rate spiking every time, even with each word out of your mouth being a teasing jab of his lack of sheer power in comparison to you).

"why don't you test it sometime?" his voice is gravelly, nearly cracking after sitting in silence for so long, quietly nursing the last few mouthfuls of his drink while he peered at you; the animated way you spoke, the sparkle in your eyes every time you'd tease him, the curve of your neck when you'd toss your head back at something someone said. swallowing the final drops of the amber liquor, your attention is drawn back to him, proud smirk and all.

"what? you don't think i could fight you?"

shinso quirks an eyebrow at you, an uncontrollable, self-assured grin lazily gracing his lips, "i don't think you could keep quiet."

your mouth drops open to defend yourself, your glare growing more and more fiery as you spin to face him. he could prove it right now, brainwash you the moment the first syllable leaves your mouth, command you to remain completely still while he binds you, leave you wrapped neatly in the binding cloth to wake up in, leave you stuck while he revels in his victory. he could do it right now, annul your challenge before it could become anything, before your ego could swell even bigger.

"is that a challenge, mind jack?"

no, it's no fun to melt your wings before they're built, not until you're halfway in the air, dangling precariously over the raging sea, completely ignorant to the dangers below, complete trust in your makeshift wings.

offering you his hand, he ignores the apprehension in kaminari's golden eyes, "you wanna make it official?"

patience is a virtue, something hitoshi has to remind himself of frequently; patience, hitoshi echoing in his mind when you patrol by his side, promising to protect him from any villains, pulling him behind you if even a mouse came across your path. patience, hitoshi when you mock kaminari for fearing the muscular mans brainwashing, asking if he feared the boogeyman, too. PATIENCE, HITOSHI, it's like a mantra when you smirk up at him, your unspoken promise of beating him hanging in the air between you before you'd even part your lips to greet him.

a virtue, a true miracle he was blessed with such patience.

so, he waits, biding his time until the perfect moment, the absolute perfect time. it was spring now, weeks after your proposal, the scent of pear blossoms beginning to float through the sky. along with the sweet scent in the air, humidity made it grow thicker and thicker, as his patience grew thinner and thinner with every step closer to you.

"hitoshi!" you answer cheerfully, like you normally do, a bright smile on your curved lips, unfaltering even as your friend stares at you with burning eyes, costume awry and his dark hair mussed, pushed back from his forehead, "you look like shit."

the tension inside his body was ready to snap, a rubber band stretched far beyond what he could handle; hearing one too many jabs from you, (today, a text of your merch, a little plush of yourself that you offered, free of charge, to protect him on patrols when his brainwashing fails).

"you should see the other guy."

"oh, i'm sure you really showed him."

"you going to invite me in or just insult me?"

"aren't you going to make me? or not ready to accept the truth? i know it's hard."

he snorts, relaxing against the door frame, deciding today was the perfect day to claim his victory. to pop your ballooned ego.

"let me in," his voice is smooth, your eyes drawn to his lips at his low timbre, lips parting slightly. you feign stepping aside, dropping your head into an overly dramatic bow, only meeting his eyes again after a long moment, the smug sparkle still shining brightly in your pupils.

"huh, sorry, i don't think it worked," you stand straight once more, fixating on your limbs as if searching for a reason why his quirk hadn't worked, stretching each finger as if just to confirm your autonomy, to confirm his lack of reach, even into the weakest parts of yourself.

your wax wings spread wide, curling over shoulder blades, strapped around biceps, wrists and fingers, nothing but clear blue skies ahead of you, bright eyes zeroing in on the searing sun. you've forgotten all about the deep sea below, no concern for the waves crashing over the jagged rocks at the cliffs edge, of the current dragging helpless creatures further into the depths. what did you have to worry about the peril below when you could take to the sky? you wings will carry you far from the danger lurking in the murkiness.

"let me in."

like a baby bird, struggling to leave its nest for the first time, your wings fail you, cracking, burning, melting, sending you careening carelessly into the frigid depths below.

unlike your act, you can't feign when his voice, his quirk seeps beneath your skin, settling in your veins, in each wrinkle and valley of your brain, invading your nerves. your eyes go blank, inky pupils dilating minutely. no more burning hubris reflecting back at him, there's only the endless darkness he can watch himself in, the heat in his own eyes. the hunger. you obey (of course you do), your hand falling limply from the door frame as you finally step aside, welcoming him inside.

"aw, where'd all that talk go?" he grins, tilting his head condescendingly, arrogance oozing from him in waves as you stare at him, defenceless in his clutches, his hold the only thing keeping you from slipping into the depths, further from the sky you greedily sought. you're silent (of course you are, hitoshi hasn't commanded you to speak), a ditsy, dumb, blank look on your face as he steps over the threshold onto the genkan.

"close the door." you do, your arm falling back to your side as soon as the latch clicked.

"kneel." you do, heavy limbs bending and bowing until you were seated at his feet.

"take my boots off." you do, you make quick work of the hefty boots, shimmying them down his calves and over his ankles, his half-lidded stare trained on you, admiring your casual shorts riding higher and higher on your plush thigh when you leaned forward to place his boots at the edge of the step up into your home, the pair sat neatly, side by side.

"you're so good, so obedient," his voice is low, his tone would have you addicted, itching to hear his faux praise again and again if you could remember it. leering down at you, hitoshi is certain you'd snarl at him if you could, bear your fangs, bite and threaten him. rather, you're pacified staring up at him, doe-eyed like this he can imagine how you'd keen instead, how you'd lean into his touch when he pats your head, how your eyes would blur when he calls you pretty, dizzy and dumb nuzzling into his hand.

it was cute, laughable, he has to admit, studying your vacant stare with deep amethyst eyes, the way you really thought you could overpower his quirk, that you could win against him.

"such a good girl, aren't you? yeah?" shinso's thick gloves tangle your hair in tiny knots at the top of your head every time he pets you like a well-loved house dog, "how about you get me a drink, too?"

god, he wants to record you, to rub your nose in how well you behaved for him, blindly following every instruction and he didn't need to spend a single yen on training clickers or treats. shinso mulls over the decision for a second, just long enough for your chest to rise once more, your eyelids to drop in a blink; the expression on your lips when he would show you how pathetic you look is nothing in comparison to you rebuilding your wax wings every time you break out of his brainwashing, not remembering a thing; your attitude and teasing returning again and again, week after week when he knows exactly how pretty you look when your mind was a blank slate for him to carve any thought into.

by the time he's mulled over the decision, you've led him further into your home, back towards your the kitchen where the bet was born, where you began building the wings that would betray you.

opening the cupboard that housed the glasses, the tips of your fingers just bump the vessel with a light tink when his pink lips part to command you once more, "stop."

you pause, waiting oh so pretty for your next instruction.

"i could tell you to do anything right now, you know that?"

you stand like a marble statue, only blinking when your eyes burn.

"i could tell you to bark like a dog, and you would," you're silent, eyes staring forward even as he disrupts the air around you, tracing a gloved finger over the bare skin of the back of your thigh, just to watch the goosebumps unconsciously form in his wake, just to do it without your burning glare. "tell you to sit pretty, to shake, to roll over. would you like that, baby?"

shinso runs his bare pointer finger up your spine, tracing the nape of your neck until he buries his hand in your hair, tugging your head back and forth to nod along with him, "i knew it, you're just a pathetic, obedient little thing."

again, he manoeuvres your head to nod (he knows he can command it, but sometimes he likes getting his hands dirty).

"bend over," hitoshi tugs his gloves off, placing the pair carefully beside you on the counter, admiring the arch of your back as your tits squash against the stony counter. you were a fucking sight, something he'd never forget until the day he died; the image of you bent, dumb, drooling burnt into his retinas.

obsidian eyes follow every rise and fall of your chest, roaming over the expanse of your body, every sliver of bare skin catching his attention, taking his time to admire while you can't argue with his perversions. wide hands are drawn to your ass like a moth to the flame, the curve of your plush skin hardly covered by the fabric, even more so when he kneads the fat of your ass, squeezing and spreading anywhere he can reach.

"should i take these off? hm?" he toys with the waistband of your shorts, as if waiting for you to reach around and shove him away from you, to call him every name under the sun, to threaten his life if he even moves an inch closer, lays one more finger on your skin.

you don't.

"yeah, i bet you'd like that." shinso chuckles to himself, hooking his fingers under the elastic and tugging them easily down your hips, leaving them to pool around your ankles, left only in your shirt and the cutest cotton panties, marred by an ever-growing dark patch at the centre of your cunt.

"filthy little thing," his smile widens, a predatory stare locking onto the wet patch, tracing the shape of your pussy over your panties just to watch it widen, "you're so fucking perverted, huh? bet you've been waiting for me to try something like this."

his cock is aching in the tight constriction of his suit, he's acutely aware of how uncomfortable it would be to go home with cum staining his boxers, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when that would mean taking his eyes off of your clothed, drooling cunt.

"you wanna know something?" he hears the gentle buzz of a streetlamp igniting outside your window, hears your gentle breaths, you don't answer.

"i can't brainwash you into getting wet, baby, this is all you."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[faggotyuri]

why the fuck did my brain get randomly attached to the cuphead rap today. i literally cannot stop looping it

[wonderjanga]

Trauma

Billy has trauma. Only, it isn’t his trauma. See, at first, he couldn’t access the previous Champions’ memories, but after a bit, they slowly eased in, even without him realizing it. Now, at first, when he realized the memories were kinda there he didn’t think much of it. He only ever really thought about them when something reminded him of something from the memories. The first time this happened in a really negative way was when the Wonder Woman and him were in Tartarus.

Marvel and Wondy: *in Tartarus, walking around and talking about whatever they were there to do*

Wondy: “This is a pain.”

Marvel: “I know-” *stops talking when he sees her a little too close to some hellfire*

As for why he suddenly stopped? He was suddenly bombarded with a memory of feeling his own flesh melt and bubble, falling off clumps as he, or rather a past Champion screamed in pain, clawing at their skin as if that would do something to stop the burning.

Wondy: “Brother? Brother is something wrong?” *sounds concerned*

Marvel: *snaps out of the memory* “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just uh…” *walks over, much to his displeasure as just feeling the heat radiating off the hellfire is making him shake*

Wondy: *feels his shaky hands, move her away from the fire* “Brother, are you sure?” *sounds more concerned now* “You’re shaking.”

Marvel: *gives her reassuring smile* “I’m fine. I promise, Diana.”

Despite what he said, he was obviously not fine. The day after this, any fire he saw was met with a violent flinch comparable to that of Martin Manhunter whenever the Martian would see a flame. Billy couldn’t stand looking at normal fire for the rest of the week due to it reminding him of the memory. He’d had no idea a past Champion had died so painfully like that. Unfortunately for the boy, this was just the beginning of him experiencing these types of flashbacks.

The next time this happened to him was three months later. The Justice League were all in Metropolis because some magicians predicted that something big would happen there. So far there’s only been a very large earthquake which resulted in everyone having to help civilians out of rubble and such. Then, for some reason, something big crawled its way out of the Earth. It was a massive, and Billy means massive, stone dragon.

The JL: *fighting this creature*

Marvel: *smacked away by its tail*

Dragon: *lunges at Marvel, mouth wide open displaying its sharp teeth*

Marvel: *freezes, genuine fear on his face*

This scene with the dragon caused him to be pulled into another memory. A similar dragon with its tail coiled around him, trying to crush him like a snake coiled around and trying to crush a mouse. The Dragon peered down at him, opened its jaws, and before he, or rather she, as he was sure he was a female Champion this time, could do anything, it chomped down. Gosh, he felt the bones in his neck, snap under its teeth. It was sort of slow too because of his/her durability.

Supes: *notices Marvel looking like he’s going through PTSD, dashes over, and tackles him out of the way of the dragon*

Marvel: *gets his head back in the game after rubbing his neck a bit*

After the fight…

Supes: *pulls Marvel aside when they get to the Watchtower* “What was that back there?”

Marvel: “Uh… What do you mean?”

Supes: “I mean, you just froze! If I hadn’t tackled you, you would’ve been eaten by that thing!” *sounds extremely concerned* “I just wanna know if something’s wrong.”

Marvel: “Nothing is! I’m sorry- I just got caught up in the moment. I won’t let it happen again.” *sounds guilty*

Supes: *sighs* “You don’t need to apologize. Just please don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

After this incident, Billy decided he didn’t like dragons anymore. It was nothing personal- never mind, it was, but still. He won’t ever be able to look at them the same again.

Then there was arguably the worst flashback, and this wasn’t even induced when he was Marvel. It was induced as Billy, right in the of one of his radio broadcasts..

Billy: “And this just in! On Maple Street, an uncle… killed his nephew.”

You might already know whose memory he was forced to relive, but in case it wasn’t obvious, it was Aman’s.

He doesn’t exactly remember how he was killed this time, but he does remember what he felt at the time. The dirty, bitter, ugly feeling of betrayal that bubbled up inside of him. It was like it was choking him, filling up his throat and lungs, replacing his entire being with an icky tar-like feeling. Though that might not have been the betrayal at all. It might’ve just been him dying.

He couldn’t stop himself looking at Adam with anything other than genuine, cold hearted hatred after that.

[ofbatsandballads]

darling, won’t you take me home?

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: reader has a mild cold, but nothing much else (lmk if I missed anything)

a/n: this is just a lighthearted sick fic that got real prose-y at the end bc I was listening to my Jason playlist and got all in my feelings while drowsy off cold medicine. again, i give thee my wares.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You wake to soft light filtering in through the white curtains of your bedroom and the warm weight of your lover’s arm across your waist. The quiet snores echoing in the air and the soothing rise and fall of his chest against your back would usually be enough to lull you into a gentle morning sleep. But usually you can breathe out of both sides of your nose. And you usually don’t feel like there’s sandpaper in your throat. And your body doesn’t usually feel this heavy.

Goddamn it–you’re sick.

You feel a sneeze coming on and try to stifle it, to keep it locked tight in your lungs so you won’t wake the love of your life from the rare bit of peace and quiet he gets. You make no noise, but the shaking of your body stirs him anyway. Damn vigilantes and their preternatural awareness. He hums lazily as he pulls you further into his chest. You think he might be able to doze back off and you’re glad for it. Then your hopes are dashed. One, two, three sneezes wrack your body in succession and you are finally forced to admit defeat.

“Are you sneezing?” Jason asks, groggy but inquiring.

“…no.”

You don’t even know why you tried to lie to him. You’re a bad liar in most cases, and an absolutely abysmal liar when it comes to Jason. He simply sighs and you’d bet twenty dollars that he’s rolling those pretty seafoam eyes of his. He easily turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him. Great, now you really won’t be able to lie to him.

“I told ya that you were gettin’ sick,” he scolds gently.

“‘M not sick!”

He did. And you are.

“Then why do you sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

He tries to keep his face serious, but soon the facade cracks and he lets out a deep belly laugh as you glare at him. You push yourself out of his arms and make it as far as the edge of the bed before he’s pulling you back to him again.

“Aw, c’mon, ma. Don’t be mad. You are sick. Just admit it,” he says, voice kind as he runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble, your words trailing off unintelligibly.

Jason doesn’t miss it. He never does. Fucking vigilantes and their fine tuned hearing.

“What was that?” he smirks.

You whisper it again, quiet as a mouse. He shakes his head. You smack him in the chest.

“Ah ah, I wanna hear it,” he laughs.

“I said you were right! There! You happy now?” you pout, burying your head in his chest.

You can feel the giggles travel through his body and find it impossible to fight the smile it brings to your face, even if your head feels foggier than Gotham after a heavy rain. You squeeze him tight, a sudden aggressive love for him that you just need to let out. It does nothing to his strong frame. He just squeezes you back, then manhandles your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He rises from your bed like you weigh nothing to him, hefting you into the air so that you’re better positioned.

“C’mon, we’re makin’ soup.”

One thing about Jason Todd is that he’s an amazing cook. He didn’t cook much for himself before he met you. He’s told you he didn’t see any point when cheap takeout would fuel his body just fine for whatever fight was inevitably coming for him. But now he has both the reason and the time to care. And he cares. So much.

You can see it in the way he sets the chicken to bake while he tells you about the new book he got from the bookstore down the block. You can see it in the way his skilled hands, calloused and bruised, slice the carrots razor thin because he knows you hate the crunch of them. You can see it in the barely noticeable look of pride on his face as all the ingredients simmer in the big metal pot, giving your shared home a warm aroma of comfort. You can see it in the fact that everything he needed for this was already in your kitchen, in the fact that none of it was there when you fell asleep last night while he was on patrol. Jason cares. He cares from the tip of the stubborn curl that sticks up on the top of his head to the soles of his feet that guide you in a slow waltz around the kitchen.

“I know you probably aren’t too hungry, but I need you to try to eat at least one bowl for me,” he says in his gentlest negotiation voice as he puts a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the counter.

You nod your head that’s tucked against his chest, sniffling as you feel your nose start to run. Without missing a beat, Jason pulls a tissue from the pocket of his pajama pants and hands it to you.

“And you’re takin’ cold medicine the second you get some food in you.”

He’s not asking anymore, just stating facts.

“Gonna stay up all night watching me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I might,” he retorts.

“I love you too, Jay.”

He goes rigid momentarily before he relaxes against you. Then a soft smile breaks out on his face. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning his face away from you. But you can be observant too. You don’t miss the way pink dusts his cheeks and, oh, he looks so pretty like this. You tell him as much just to watch the soft pink turn to vibrant red.

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

One bowl of soup and a disgusting shot of cold medicine later, you find yourself wrapped in the arms of your lover as you both lounge on the couch. Jason reads the new book he was telling you about as you listen to music, dozing in and out of consciousness. It’s not your fault he makes such a great pillow; his large body is warm and soft as he lies relaxed on your sofa. Every now and then, especially when he thinks you’ve fallen into a light sleep, he’ll place a featherlight kiss on the top of your head.

You may not be a vigilante or The World’s Greatest Detective, but you can put all the pieces of the day together well enough. Carrying you out of bed, making you soup, letting you rest on him, the soft kisses and touches he flutters over your skin; it’s all his way of saying he loves you when the words themselves are simply too much or not enough. But the words are enough for you. You swear that you’ll go to your grave finding all the prettiest ways to tell him just how much you love him. Because you do.

And maybe it’s the homemade soup settled in your belly, or the afternoon sunlight shining through the window, or the warmth of the man you love beneath you, but you soon find yourself lulled into a peaceful sleep that feels just like home.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Clumsy Corporals

Pairing: Ghost x Reader

Summary: Someone takes a tumble in Ghost's bathroom, leaving him to clean up the mess.

Warnings: Angst, attempted assault, language, violence, injuries, fluff, murder(?), Nudity,

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: fun fact - this is the first instalment for Ghost and Mouse that I ever wrote, and everything else kinda fell into place around this which I think is beautiful

A/n2: Posting this cause I feel like I just wanna escape reality a lot now and maybe some of you do too.

~*~

"Johnny told me you didn't join 'em for dinner again," Ghost says after closing the door to his quarters.

He can hear the shower running and shakes his head, following the sound and pushing open the ajar door.

"How are they supposed to warm up to you if..." the words die on his tongue almost comically as he takes in the scene before him.

You're curled up in a ball on the bathroom counter, bloodied hands clutching a towel tightly around what appears to be your naked body.

On the ground is Corporal Jacobs, a knife through the underside of his chin and a pool of blood around his head.

His lifeless eyes are open, and your eyes are focused on his body as if waiting for him to get up, to move, to attack.

Ghost surveys the scene quickly, taking in the marks around your neck, the blood on your hairline, and the cut on your cheek.

"What happened?"

He doesn't need to ask, but he does anyway.

Your bottom lip quivers, and for a moment he's not sure if you even heard him. You don't flinch, your breathing doesn't change, and you don't lift your eyes from the corpse on the ground.

"Mouse. Eyes on me."

Your gaze finally snaps to his and you suck in a sharp breath as if realizing his presence for the first time.

He inspects your face once more, swallowing his rage when he sees the bruise blooming by your eye.

"What happened here?" He nods to the body on the ground.

You follow his gaze and he watches intently as your fists tighten and you swallow hard. Your lip quivers so fast it nearly vibrates, but you take a deep breath and eventually speak.

"He fell."

He thinks he's misheard you at first, glancing between the dead man and you.

He kneels down and grabs hold of the hilt of the knife stuck under the man's chin. A knife that Ghost distinctly remembers you taking from him a long while ago.

"He fell?" He asks, tilting the dead man's head to the side and grinding his teeth together at the claw marks on the side of his face.

You put up quite the fight. He'd be proud if he wasn't so filled with fury.

You slowly lift your eyes to his and his stone heart cracks a bit at the unshed tears he sees.

"Yes," you whisper.

He watches you for a breath longer then nods slowly, looking back down to the mess on the bathroom floor.

"Looks like he took quite the tumble, hmm? Silly prick, s'what you get for running with knives."

A weight lifts slightly off of your shoulders and you nod, wiping a tear off of your cheek with a bloody hand, leaving a mess in your wake.

"Now, did he fall before or after your shower?"

You swallow hard before answering, shaking your head as if trying to get rid of the memory of what happened.

"Before." Your voice is so quiet, quieter than usual, and he finds himself straining to hear you.

He pieces together all that he can with what's before him, and quickly comes up with a plan.

"It's late, little one. How's about you finish your shower, and-"

"No!"

He's taken aback by the force of your words, the ferocity of them. The terror in your eyes is twice as surprising.

"No shower?" He clarifies, glancing at the running water, no doubt cold by now.

You shake your head, confirming his words, and he nods his understanding.

Slowly, he stands up and turns the water off, then takes a step toward you.

"New plan. You sit right here, and I stay with you. I'll call Price and Johnny to come clean this up. How's that sound?" He asks, his eyes locked on yours.

You think about it for a long moment then slowly nod, leaning into his hand when he pushes some of your hair back.

A soft sigh leaves his lips and he leans forward, placing a soft kiss to your hairline before stepping back to send a quick generic text to the two men he trusts most.

Pipe burst in my quarters. Get here now.

It takes a minute and a half for Price to get there, two minutes for Soap.

"I'm gonna go meet them at the door, Mouse, but I won't be out of eyeshot, okay? Keep your eyes on me the whole time. That's an order."

You nod carefully, your eyes never leaving his as he takes calculated steps backward out of the bathroom to meet the other men at the door.

"What's going on, Lt?" Soap's gruff voice asks quietly.

The huge man takes a slow step back, allowing the two into his room.

Each man does a sweep of the room, their eyes finally landing on the bathroom and the bloody scene within.

"Fuckin' hell," Soap murmurs, rubbing his jaw.

"What happened?" Price asks quietly, looking at you skeptically.

Your eyes, however, are still locked onto Ghost's.

Ghost gives you a gentle nod then glances over at his teammates, his friends.

"He fell."

"What the bloody hell was he doin' in 'ere in the first place?" Soap asks, slowly walking toward the bathroom to inspect.

His eyes take you in, take in the blood on your hands, the bruising wrapping like a necklace around your neck.

"I think I have an idea," is Ghost's grunted reply.

Your eyes are on the Scot as he steps into the bathroom. Your breath hitches and you scoot back on the counter the tiniest bit.

"Easy, Mouse. Johnny's just gonna help clean up. You can trust him, remember?"

Soap looks up at you and gives you a gentle smile, his own anger rising when he sees more of the damage on your soft face.

"You've saved my arse. More than once, I imagine. S'only fair I help clean up after the poor man's fall," he says gently.

You watch him for a long while then slowly nod, sniffling then wiping your face against your arm, only to hiss at the unexpected pain.

"Why don't you let the Lieutenant get you patched up, sweetheart, hmm? Let Soap and I deal with this?" Price offers, stepping into the doorway.

You look between the three of them then nod again, watching in awe as they move like a well-oiled machine.

Soap takes a step further into the bathroom and Price steps out of it, making way for Ghost to walk in and carefully scoop you up in his arms.

He carries you from the bathroom and sits you down on his desk, turning his back for just long enough to grab a first aid kit.

Price and Soap immediately get to work in the bathroom as Ghost gets to work tending to your -visible- wounds.

He starts with your face, spraying a gentle antiseptic onto the cut on your cheek.

Your eyes stay focused on his as he works, and every now and then he meets your gaze.

The bathroom door opens but you don't look away from Ghost as Price and Soap shuffle by.

Ghost, however, takes a pause and shoots a glance over his shoulder.

"Dump 'im outside. I'll do the rest."

They don't question him.

The only thing allowing him to keep a level head right now is the promise of chopping that pathetic piece of shit's body up into a thousand unrecognizable pieces and feeding him to the stray dogs in the city.

But he needs to make sure you're taken care of, first.

"When we're done here, Johnny will get you a snack while I take care of... our friend. Okay?" Though it's posed like a question, you know he's telling you what's happening and leaving little room to argue.

The door shuts with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He asks, scooting back to inspect you as much as he can.

You swallow hard and glance down, shrugging.

"I know you don't want to, but I think you should shower. I'll be right outside the door, won't let anyone in. I swear."

You look at him with wide eyes and shake your head.

"Come with me?" You finally ask, looking toward the bathroom as if it's where nightmares spawn.

For you, it is.

His brows draw together.

"You want me to sit in there with you?"

You shake your head again.

"In the water... please?"

Realization dawns on him and he's not too sure how to feel.

"You want me to shower with you?"

You nod, dainty fingers sliding over his wrist almost absentmindedly.

He doesn't have the heart to refuse you. To tell you that the shower is hardly big enough to fit him comfortably, let alone the both of you.

Instead, he just nods and helps you to your feet.

He's gentle with you, alarmingly so, as he helps you into the -now clean- bathroom, locking the door and turning the shower on.

You lean against the counter, towel held tightly around your body as he undresses swiftly.

When he's naked, he reaches a hand out to you and waits patiently for you to drop your towel, then steadies you as you step into the shower.

You barely made it this far before Corporal Jacobs-

Your thoughts are cut off by Simon stepping into the shower behind you, big warm hand holding your hip gently.

His chest presses against your back, the tiny shower even tinier now that it accommodates two.

"You okay, pretty mouse?" He asks, arms winding around your waist.

You shrug, leaning into him for a moment before slowly turning around to look up at him.

His eyes find yours, reading you, hearing the words you don't have the strength to say out loud, and then he's pressing his forehead against yours.

"You did good, little one. M'proud of you. Next time let me kill him, though. Poor bastard got off too easy, thinkin' he can go around n' touch what's mine. 'sides, don't need any blood on your pretty hands."

Your lip quivers and you tug your head away to lean it against his chest.

"Was scared," you whisper after a moment.

"Yeah, I bet."

"Of you," you add after a moment, not lifting your head even when you feel him stiffen.

"Why?" He finally asks, the fingers of his right hand trailing up and down your spine.

"Thought you... would not listen. Would think it was me."

His hand snakes up your back to grab your hair, tugging your head back gently and forcing you to look up at him.

His face is bare for your viewing pleasure, the steam the only thing between the two of you.

"Do you understand how much you mean to me? 've killed for you, love. 'n I'd do it again in a heartbeat, without question."

A silent tear slips down your cheek and is quickly lost in the humidity of the bathroom.

No more words are spoken for the rest of the shower.

He helps you gently wash your hair and your body, taking note of every scratch and bruise that wasn't there when he left you this morning.

Every new mark on your soft supple skin is another piece he's going to be cutting Jacob's body into, and he cannot wait.

But he needs to take care of his Mouse first.

When your fingers start to prune and the water is running a little cold, Simon helps you out of the shower and wraps a towel around you tightly.

He ushers you out of the bathroom, sitting you on the bed while he dries himself and tugs on some clothes.

After that, his focus is entirely on you. He dries you off gently, his eyes focused on yours the entire time, and you can't help but melt into his touch.

He helps you into one of his shirts then slides a pair of socks onto your feet.

"Do you want some water?" He asks quietly, his warm hands on your bare knees.

You shake your head, reaching forward and sliding your fingers over his thick shoulders.

"Want you. Stay."

He obeys, climbing into bed with you.

You curl up against him, nuzzling your head under his chin and taking deep comforting breaths of his scent.

He holds you against him until you fall asleep, moving only when his phone vibrates from its spot on the ground beside the bed.

Reaching for it slowly, careful not to move you too much, he scoops it up off the ground and reads the message quickly.

He sets his phone down and gingerly rolls you out of his arms, tucking you in tightly and then silently getting dressed.

He shoots you one last look once he's all dressed and ready, then slips out the door, shutting it tightly behind himself.

Soap stands outside the door, silently nodding to his Lieutenant, then turning his back to the door - keeping guard.

No words are spoken as the skull-faced man heads out to the coordinates on his phone. No questions are asked when he returns hours later with his sweater and gloves discarded and the faint smell of fire in his hair.

And when you wake up and start asking questions, he's sure to kiss them away and reassure you that you're safe. That Corporal Jacobs will never lift a finger to harm you again.

How can he? All ten are chopped off and sprinkled in different parts of the city.

Let that be a lesson to the next idiot who tries to harm his sweet little Mouse.

[hitomisuzuya]

Demon! Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Scara playing cat and mouse, really. Degradation. Scenting. Corruption. Creampie. SELF INDULGENT

@missunstxble pitched the idea. I have one more Demon!Scara smut planned. Written listening to Animal by Magnolia Park.

"Hey, Scara?" You asked, looking up from the book of urban legends he'd been watching you read, "Do you think demons exist?"

"Hm?" Scaramouche said, focusing his attention on what you said as opposed to watching the way you played with your lower lip in thought while you read. "Elaborate your question, I'll amuse you," He has to fight to keep the smirk from tugging at the corners of his lips.

You were so cute, asking a demon about demons. Your innocent question made it twice as cute for him. You didn't know he is a demon.

"Do you believe in demons?" You repeated, showing him a illustration of what the author thought a demon would look like (to which he had to swallow back a snort). "And if you were a demon, what would be do to obtain that one human you really, really want?"

Well, he'd asked you elaborate, so you did.

Did you have any idea what you were really asking? Such naive innocence made him have to have you more. I mean look at you. All small and delicate. Fragile and defenseless.

So deliciously corruptible.

Scaramouche sighed, considering how to play his cards. He took the book from you, and closed it, holding it above his head when you tried to reach for it. "Let me frank, kitten," He began, flicking you in the forehead, "You are pure demon bait."

A shy blush reddened your cheeks. "Huh?" His answer blind sided you, "H-How?" For a hypothetical question, Scaramouche sure sounded like he'd taken the question seriously.

He almost licked his lips. You just continued to ooze innocence from every fiber of your being. That's what made you smell so fucking good. To tease you, he ignores your question. "To start with, I would start scenting you as soon as possible. The sooner you smelled like me, the better. It would deter other demon scum from taking what's mine."

He'd been doing that for weeks. Any opportunity he could find for you to wear his hoodie, or one of his shirts, he took it. "I would start marking that pretty skin if yours. Your collarbones, your throat," Raising a hand, his fingers followed the pattern of his words, ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, "your chest, your hips, your thighs. Any intimate part on your body would have my teeth marks."

Every word Scaramouche said was making your heart shake. You were stunned into silence, looking at him in awe. "Hypothetically speaking, of course," He chuckled, seeing the way your eyes lingered on his hand when he took it off your thigh.

"You know, honestly, that doesn't sound that bad," You said, making him raise an eyebrow at you. More more like a cat pricking his ears in attention. "That kind of possession just sounds so comforting to me," You blushed realizing Scaramouche's words started to make you wet.

Now Scaramouche allowed himself to smirk. Tug tug went the cat, pulling on the string attached to the mouse. You'd only put yourself that much closer to being his. You were practically begging for him to take you now.

A demon needed to have patience.

"Hey, Scara?" You asked, the shy tone in your voice made his cock twitch. He could hear your heart pounding in your chest, smell your sudden arousal filtering in the air. "You wanna unwind, and have sex?" Even the shy quiver that went through your body was irresistible to him.

"Offering yourself up on a silver plate," Scaramouche purred, moving closer to you on your bed, "how very characteristic of demon bait," His hands were already unzipping and taking his hoodie off of you. He'd purposely turned your air conditioner down more than a few degrees so you would get cold and ask to wear it.

He would allow himself to lose control a little while still keeping his secret. You didn't have time to think about much his teasing flustered you. His hands were pawing at your clothes, his mouth and lips on your skin steadily starting to draw shaky moans from you.

Scaramouche groaned, scooping a fold of skin into his mouth. The taste nearly made his eyes roll into the back of his head, his teeth feverishly sucking and grinding on your pliable flesh. Your arms wound around his neck, a shaky hand finding the back of his head.

You pressed his mouth against your neck, your hips jerking up to grind your clothed pussy against his cock. He'd left only your panties on, just so he could feel your juices through the flimsy fabric onto his cock. One hand found your hips, holding them down as he grinded his cock against your panties.

"Fuck, what a slut," Scaramouche laughed shakily, his degradation sending jolts of pleasure to your throbbing clit, "already so wet for me," A wet pop accompanied his mouth as he took it off your neck.

You were already reaching to take your panties off, earning you a gentle smack on your hand. He hastily tugged your panties off. "Do you know how long I've wanted to devour you?" There was a somewhat unfocused, drunk look in his striking indigo eyes.

Such a desperation for Scaramouche gripped your body. It reflected in your eyes, in the way your body pressed against his. You were clinging to him, which is what he craved more than anything. You moaned as he pushed the head of his leaking cock against your entrance.

"To stretch this pretty pussy out, and fuck my cock deep inside?" Sweet mewls keened from you as he started to push his cock inside of you, his fingers dancing on your clit. "To feel you clench like a whore on my cock?" He pinched your clit, hissing in pleasure as your gummy walls clutched around his length.

Leaning down, Scaramouche scooped one of your nipples into his mouth to suck on. You gasped in pleasure, eagerly rocking your hips up to help draw his cock inside of you. He was fast overwhelming your senses, your body twitching sensitive as his tongue swirled around your nipple.

With a growl, he bottomed out with a quick snap of his hips. His cock nudging firm into your sweet spot before he started thrusting made you see stars. "So soft, and warm. So fucking tight," He groaned, pressing his weight down on you, giving himself leeway to fuck himself deeper into you.

Your fingernails dug into his back, racking along his skin in a way that made him shudder in pleasure. If only you knew that a demon was fucking you this good.

He sat up, firmly gripping your thighs to hold them apart. He wanted to admire his cock pumping in and out of you, juices seeping around his cock as you lost the ability to form coherent words.

"So big.." You whimpered, writhing on the bed in his grasp, "Sc-Scara.." was about all you could manage. Each stroke of his cock, stretching and rubbing between your walls sent you that much closer to the edge. Your words fell apart into uncontrolled moans.

"Fuck, moan just like that while I empty my cock inside you," He kept a possessive grip on one of your thighs, rubbing your clit, "cum on my cock like an obedient slut," Putting his hand under your head, he picked it up so he could press a heated, possessive kiss on your lips.

"Look at you shake," Scaramouche purred in approval as you suddenly creamed on his cock, shaking and drooling from the intensity of your orgasm. "Such a good girl deserves a reward," The sensation of his cock ribboning cum inside of you further melted you underneath him.

[signedaiko]

begging- BEGGING PLEASSEE!!

for a Bumblee Bee x Decepticon reader who’s short like him but more timid than their comrades. Like they mess up on missions, but they can be snappy too and fast like Bumblebee! I imagine him chasing them in a fun cat and mouse and accidentally takes it like a fun game. all scaring the heck out of them as he catches up with a smile. He would start crushing on them and just says things like it’s a fun idea “you should totally switch sides! Join us!” And the reader is all bewildered but wary.

Bumblebee [Animated]

In which the small bot finds a con just about his size that he wants to spend more time with.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Decepticon. Romantic.

Bee has a fair few con encounters now that he is fighting for Earth

Usually they were against the likes of Blitzwing, Lugnut, and the odd Starscream

But you were new; you were something that paled in size but made up for in interest

You were mostly known for your ability to distract; that's right, the cons used you as a lure on purpose

You were small, nimble, decently fast, and as Random had once told you;

"You have the face of an Autobot!"

Autobots thought you were an easy target, easy to manipulate, perhaps less smart

But you were dedicated to the cause, and while you hated being bait and preferred your spot on intelligence collection, you were happy to do whatever Megatron wished of you

Usually, it was fine

But recently, the yellow one had gotten too close, and he was only getting better at catching up to you

Telling the cons you were scared was out of the question, but it was seriously concerning how obsessive it had become

Every time you made yourself visible to the Bots, he was racing towards you with a smile and a hand extended, like he expected you to reach out and accept him just like that

More recently, you were worried he'd actually catch you

Racing down a frozen-over river as thick snow slowly fell from the sky, leafless trees whizzing past your vision as your peds left compacted snow marks behind you

He had special wheels made for snow, but you didn't, and he was fast behind you, yelling some more of his pleas

"Aren't you tired of running? I just wanna talk!"

He sounded so young, certainly near your age, someone you could get along with had it not been for the war

But what if it was only a trick? What if he only played this game for his own amusement?

You'd long since called Blitzwing to help get you, since you couldn't fly, and he was on his way, but visibility was low with all the snow, fog, and your distant location

You had to keep running, but Bee was only a few meters behind by now; you could hear the snow crunching beneath his tires

"C'mon! Join the bots! We can race like this more often on real roads!"

He offered again, but you refused

"You make it sound easy; how about you just join the cons?"

You were just as snappy, though

Just as he got on your heels and transformed, digits inches away from grabbing your arm, you jumped up and grabbed onto the wing of the purple and tan jet that swooped down, dragged away from his reach in seconds

He stopped in his tracks and groaned, but his smile never left

"Next time, then!"

Authors Note - This prompt is so cute!!! It honestly reminds me of a Blitzwing fic I read by @vhaos-chaotic-writing that was him being yandere and kinda doing the same!

[kurooh]

10:17 pm.

☆ 18+ content, timeskip! kozume kenma.

( when kenma is feeling needy, he guides your hands to palm the lining of his semi hard dick. but you tease the shit out of him with a handjob until he shoves his cock and fucks your throat and cums on your face :) ) — anon

“kenmaaaa,” you gently push your hand against the plush armrest of his gaming chair, huffing. “please come to bed so we can cuddle together.”

you’ve spent the past few hours on your phone, showering, making the bed, or begging your boyfriend to stop gaming on his computer. you scoot along in your own spinning chair, rolling close to him.

patiently, he says, “soon, baby. i’m almost done.” he adjusts his chair and armrest so you can lean into him and hug him a little. you do, burying your face into his neck and into the fuzz of his hoodie. he’s fighting in the game, his fingers moving swiftly over the keys and mouse. absentmindedly you begin to kiss at his neck, lips trailing over the soft skin and eventually moving upwards towards his jaw. he exhales quietly when you kiss below his ear, shifting his body slightly in his chair.

as you kiss him, you start to gently nip and then suck at his skin, and he finally lets out something between a sigh and a whine. kenma silently takes hold of your hand and places it onto his crotch; you feel the thick outline of his hard cock through his sweats. still, he doesn’t say anything, knowing you’ll understand what he wants.

“can i, ken?” your whisper is sweet and oh so inviting; all he can muster is a quiet ‘yes’. with his permission you tug at the strings of his sweatpants, lift the hem of his hoodie up to graze your hand along his warm belly.

kenma lifts his hips the second you start to pull his pants and underwear down, his cock bobbing as you move together. you open the small bottle of lube on his desk, squeezing some onto your hand, and then you wrap around him.

“mmm, please.” he sounds desperate and your teasing hasn’t even begun.

“please what, ken?”

“please finish what you started,” his words sound like a demand, and also a request at the same time. your lips part, you lean your head down, and you take his tip into your mouth, and he finally reacts. his head tips back, headphones sliding, his lips parting as he moans aloud.

you barely go past his tip, but make sure to tighten your mouth around his tip when you come back up. his thighs part when you start jerking him off, your tongue gliding over his tip now.

“how does that feel, baby?” your free hand squeezes his thigh as you look up at him curiously.

“perfect,” kenma pants, face scrunching as your grip tightens ever so slightly as your hand reaches his tip, then slides back down.

“well, try and focus on your game. wasn’t it soooo important before?” you joke, your hand speeding up as you go back down to lick his tip. his fingers aren’t moving as fast as they were before, and he seems quite distracted now. however, you still feel sour at the fact that he didn’t go to bed with you when you’d been asking for him to do so. you lick at his tip harder, more insistently, while your hand jerks him off faster.

a low, desperate sound tears from his lips and he turns to look at you, his chest heaving. “oh, baby,” his hips push towards your lips, trying to cum in your mouth. his cock tightens, and before he can explode, your hand falls away and you start to kitten lick his tip.

flushed and stunned you denied his orgasm, his eyebrows furrow. “what do you think you’re doing?” your fingers brush over his wet cock, your tongue gentle.

“you didn’t wanna come to bed with me,” you shrug, returning to gently sucking his tip. he grabs the armrest of his chair and squeezes it. frustrated at the slow speed you’re going at, kenma cups the back of your head and slams you down hard on his cock. looking up, you catch a glimpse of his satisfied smirk.

“take it, baby,” he hisses, twisting your hair in his fingers and slamming you up and down his cock. he groans when he hears you choke, your moans muffled by his cock.

“this ‘s what happens when you fucking tease me,” kenma spits, his movements growing rougher. he staves off his orgasm, enjoying this moment almost a little too much. to make things more difficult for you, he pushes his hips up as he slams you down, leaving you little room to breathe.

but, you love it. you’re moaning on his cock like a slut, tears rolling down your cheeks as you take him down your throat. eventually he can’t hold it back anymore, and moans and pants loudly. “fuck, i’m gonna fucking c-cum…” he yanks your head back, snatching his cock and aiming at your face.

you close your eyes just as cum shoots over your face, globs dripping down your nose and forehead. his cock twitches, extra cum flowing down the length. you carefully open your eyes, and stare into his; you reach towards your face, gathering some of the warm cum on your fingers. as though you’re sucking the last bits of sweetness from a popsicle stick, you push your fingers into your mouth. they emerge wet, with no trace of cum whatsoever.

you wink at him, wiping the cum off your face and eating it, and his cock twitches every single time. “okay, baby,” kenma exhales heavily, “don’t make me push you down again.”

when you laugh, he does too, and brings you in for a kiss.