#It does such a good job of making me feel like a piece of shit for pretty much every action

[eleniel-starlight]

i use this blog for a multitude of things but one of those things is ranting about whatever fandom I'm currently devouring without regard to my well being and as my anniversary and RoTS rerelease coincided on the same day and i have caught up on Andor with my amazing husband who listens to me rant about this franchise daily

i am going FERAL over Andor right now. like absolutely clawing at the WALLS where is the hype y'all???

total spoilers going forward btw sorry :/

this show does SUCH A GOOD JOB at NOT holding the audiences hand, but at the same time if you go back to rewatch you can totally catch all the little hints and straight up telling the show does without it making it seem like a kids show. it trusts its audience to find their own footing, and even if you don't catch every single little thing? doesn't matter! you can put the pieces together later because the amount of discussion you can have about it just OOZES!!!

mon mothma. holy. fucking. shit. it's been said to death but HOW COOL IS SHE??? THIS is the Padme we should've seen in RoTS. relentless, secretive, putting EVERYTHING on the line, even her own daughter, to take down the Emperor. this is a woman who knew what she needed to do, and then went another mile all while making me ashamed to say i wear clothes because omgs this woman's WARDROBE???

gonna go with Kleya here bc yes i love seeing Luthen on screen, Stellan kills as always, but Kleya is a huge mystery. like yeah we know p much jack shit about Luthen but what do we really know about Kleya? i don't think she's an Empire operative at all, but she clearly has her own motivations and i kinda wanna know what they are ? and it certainly feels like she's kind of a counterweight to Luthen's unbridled passion for the Rebellion, she's put him in his place several times and i want to know why/how that dynamic came about

bix and cassian. i love cassian endlessly. im in love. head over heels. a lover forced to fight and now he's making smart moves instead of acting on pure desperation. loved seeing how he handled himself with the Ghormans, THAT is the Cassian that will show up in Rogue One. a leader, well aware of the strengths and flaws of those around him, and who will leap into action without thinking about himself first.

and Bix. oh Bix. ive kinda hated the trauma wheel that she's been on, but it was SO cathartic to see her put Gorst through exactly what she went through. fantastic. no notes. but i have a heavy heart in saying i think she's going to die before the end. possibly in the next act, as i just dont see Cassian moving on from her if she's alive, and we all know how Rogue One went.

dedra and syril together too, but i couldn't find a gif of them lmao. but honestly? i fucking hate them as people, but hubby and i could not stop laughing at their relationship it's genuinely so comical. the shot of Syril flopped on the bed? flawless. Dedra ORDERING HIM TO TURN THE LIGHTS OFF? we had to pause and just laugh for like ten minutes bc honestly yeah girl i wouldn't wanna look at him while i pegged him either.

but on a serious note, i find it increasingly interesting to see the Empire and Rebellion playing each other simultaneously and also failing. just shows how realistic this portrayal of a fractured Rebellion is and how arrogant the Empire is to assume that everything is being coordinated. LOVE the complexity but also i need Tony Gilroy to stop giving me an aneurysm every week bc i am STRESSED about these characters!!

[connormoving]

it is quite interesting to me how the feeling of the sounds of a word can change how the word feels imthats such a nothing sentence i mean like oo sounds bigger than like ee sounds to me you know. and of course theres kiki and bouba snd all of this.

[the-mighty-mittens]

"What was I thinking? Kris wasn't trying to hurt me... They were just making me stronger."

"If Kris tells me to do it... I can do things I could never do before.

As long as I... Just do what they say..."

[tobeholyistobeempty]

joel miller • be quiet, or i’ll make you

“Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.

The world ended in disaster.

You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.

You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

And it’s with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You don’t particularly want to be out here — and neither does he — but you’ve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasn’t about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchin’ he did beforehand.

You can’t tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you don’t have too much time to do it — the sun won’t be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookin’ for their next meal.

Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.

Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you don’t dare look inside.

You’d rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.

But it’s while you’re doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - you’re surprised for two reasons.

The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.

“You alright?” You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building that’s in front of him. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but there’s definitely something in the way he stares at it. “Joel, you still with me?”

He isn’t saying anything, his expression is rather blank — but you know him well enough to know that he’s not just seeing what’s right in front of him. He’s seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - there’s something inside them that makes your heart sink.

“Somethin’s wrong.” Is all he says before he’s grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.

Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isn’t the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and you’re doing your best not to let that scare you.

“Joel—shit—what the hell—“ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. “What’re you—“

He’s pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.

“You listen to me—“ he’s panting, words spat through grit teeth. “You’re gonna’ shut up, and you’re gonna’ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him this serious. You’d almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind that’s so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that it’s enough.

“Alright.” He doesn’t seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.

When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and it’s only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.

Footsteps.

And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.

The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching you’d dread to hear on good days - nevermind while you’re out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. It’s only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.

Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.

And god, is it fucking cramped.

The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And it’s within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.

“Joel—“ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. He’s a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. “What’s—“

“No talking.” And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

You take solace in the fact that he can’t see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomen—

“Stop squirming.” He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.

You long to bark at him. I can’t control it.

But you can’t. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way he’s touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.

You’re certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.

Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and it’s then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that he’s fully aware of what’s happening to you - you think you may just collapse.

Oh, god, this is torture.

If it were anyone else, you’d think this was a joke. You’d think that perhaps the way he’s touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isn’t just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.

You’ve been through this a million times with him.

Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.

It’s slow, teasing, but it’s enough. And you don’t currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans that’s growing impatiently despite himself.

And it’s the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear — before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly — that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.

A second passes. Then two, and then ten — there’s silence. You’re pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where you’re hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.

“Joel—“ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. “I-we—“

And yet again, you aren’t able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You aren’t able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.

This isn’t what you meant.

You don’t have the chance to tell him that. You don’t have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isn’t the time. You don’t even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. You’re too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.

And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God you’re sure you’ve never actually believed in that you’ll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.

His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what you’re doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because it’s only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.

“If y’can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you.” And it’s said with enough sternness to let you know that it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. “Be good f’me.”

You don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when he’s whispering promises of heaven in your ear.

But it’s then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.

Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.

“Mm.” He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.

And this time, the noise that slips isn’t audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that it’s almost painful. He doesn’t seem to notice, and you’re glad because you know he’d only find it funny.

He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuck—

“Oh—“ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.

You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.

It isn’t, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that it’ll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.

“F-fuck—“ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. “J-joel.”

You’re expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet — but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.

And there’s almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure he’s pouring into your veins. You’d curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which he’s using against you like he always does.

“Good girl.” He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game he’s playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you don’t even remember your own goddamn name.

Then again, you know better than to think there’s a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and you’re either the benefit of it, or you’re the object of his ire.

But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because it’s just too fucking much.

“J-joel—“ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps haven’t returned. You have to believe they’re gone. You know Joel knows it too. “P-please—“

And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that you’ve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. He’s unbuckling his belt.

“What’s the matter, huh?” He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. “Three too much for you? How d’ya think you’re gonna’ take my cock if you can’t even take my fuckin’ fingers.”

God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how you’re going to be able to take him like this - especially when he’s so far gone it’s like he’s forgotten himself.

“I-I don’t know—“ and it’s the truth. You have no concept of how you’ll take a single drop of him in this state. But he’s already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. “F-fuck. You’re crazy.”

“Worse.” And you already know what he’s going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. “M’insane.”

Truer words.

You never imagined that you’d ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.

“What does that make me?” You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.

“A goddamned fool.” He answers as he sinks into you, and there’s never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until you’re sure you might draw blood. “But you already knew that.”

And somehow, even still - you do.

Yeah. You do. He isn’t the type of man someone can ever know fully. He’s got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isn’t lost on you that you’re the only one who has.

“J-joel—go fuckin’ easy, please—“ you’re grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. “It’s—been a while—“

And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesn’t go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power you’d associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadn’t gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldn’t want him to anyway.

“I know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice n’ deep, f’me. Just take it.”

And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.

Fucking hell.

The sound that’s almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, there’s no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.

“You—fuck.” It’s a whisper so pained someone might think you’re actually being impaled. In some ways you are. “Oh, god, Joel. Ohmygod you’re deep—“

“There she is.” He all but growls into your ear. “There’s the tough woman I know.” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly you might’d fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. “Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and it’s then that you know with all the certainty in the world that you’d been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know he’s just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and you’d go to your grave knowing that you’d go there loving him for it.

Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like he’s trying to kill you rather than protect you.

“Ohhh, fuck—“ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. “M’close to cryin’ now.”

“Mmm.” He all but purrs. “That’ll mean I’m doin’ my job right.” There’s heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, that’s always been something you’d only ever been able to say about Joel. “M’not gonna’ be gentle. You know you ain’t deserving of it right now.”

Another time, you’d tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.

Still, you try your best. “W-why? Because I—mmf—dragged you outta’ bed?”

“Wrong.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure there’s a smirk on his face. “You really wanna get into it? Wanna’ make a list?”

You don’t, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with what little breath you can find.

“No.” The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. “You don’t.”

He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.

“First, you dragged me outta’ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.” Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. “An’ for what? Cause’ you don’t wanna’ listen when I say it’s too dangerous to be out here.”

There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.

He’ll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.

“Not t’mention you’ve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.” He’s fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and you’re crying out under his palm but the sound doesn’t escape. He makes sure of it. “Mmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.”

You want to tell him to shut up - that he’s being an ass - but you’re two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure he’s now swirling on your clit. The only thing that’s left for you to do is the only thing you can do.

Take it.

You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesn’t say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think he’s just as close as you are.

“That’s it.” His voice is tight. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.

“Ffffffuck—Joel—“ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. “Oh!”

“Take it, baby. Make me fuckin’ proud.” He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. “So good. Pussy feels so good.”

“Gonna’ make me cum.” You try to speak - maybe another time you’d be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isn’t that time and it’s not the time to be anything other than truthful. “Mmm—gonna cum J-joel—“

“Yeah you are.” He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. “Squeezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckin’ cum on it, babygirl. Wanna’ feel you.”

The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesn’t sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band that’s too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.

You think he’s saying something - you know he is - but you can’t hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because you’ve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.

He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.

It’s the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. It’s the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as you’ve got him and he’s got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you can’t remember the last time you’d heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.

“Mmhmm.” He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Look what you made me to do ya.” Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. “Gonna’ have my cum leakin’ out of ya all the way back to camp.”

The sound you make doesn’t even seem human, but it’s muffled before it even comes - because he’s kissing you. And it isn’t a hard kiss like you’d expect - it’s slow and steady, and you know he’s doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he might’ve gone a little too far.

You smile into it, and he does too.

“You really are insane.” You whisper as he pulls back slightly. “My cervix gonna’ need a week vacation after that.”

“M’not a good man, darlin'. If I was, I’d say sorry for that.” He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. “But I ain’t. So, I’ll just tell you I’ll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?”

There’s only one answer for you. Only one that’s ever been the answer with him.

“Always.” There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. “I love you.”

He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.

“And I love you.” He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. “Let’s get outta’ here. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

And that, you can’t agree more with.

[beetrans]

this post is not reflective of the opinions of the author's employer

[godblooded]

cried my way through talk to me. how many a24 movies can i see about dead moms.

[supernatural-bias]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

[satrs]

Kiss Me, Curse Me!

SYNOPSIS; You thought you were the summoner. Turns out, you’re the sacrifice.

FEAT; trueform!sukuna and dragonform!sylus x fem!reader

TAGS; MDNI! 2.9k. unprotected. porn without plot. monster fucking. Threesome, Size k!nk. dirty talk. petnames. both of them have two cocks. overstim. praise mainly from sylus. lotsss of degredation from sukuna. oral fixation. Power play(?). Softdom!Sylus and meandom!sukuna. breeding. knotting. creampie. double(triple) penetration. anal. nasty stuff. cum cum cum. everywhere. implied marathon sex. dacryphilia(?).

✎A/N; I feel so DIRTY oh ma gahhhwd!!! This must be the flithiest shit I've ever wrote man. And it feels so good!!!!! Sososo excited to post this hihi. Thanks again to @bluukive for this idea ahhhh hope y'all like it and have a wonderful day/night ^^

Demons are real. It’s true.

And dragons too.

You know this because you’re here now– trapped between two towering figures whose mere presence makes the air bend, their shadows swallowing the light.

This was supposed to be a joke.

A silly little manifestation ritual you found buried in the dark corners of the internet. Some scribbled runes, a whispered name, a drop of blood under the full moon.

You didn’t expect anything to happen as you sat on your bed, waiting.

You didn’t expect them to happen.

One of them smells like fire and you can feel the rumble of his breath down your spine, slow and controlled like he’s keeping something ancient locked inside.

The notorious dragon, Sylus, is the name given to him, and his voice is low and reverent. His fierce gaze bores through you, dark rubies soaking in your anxious form, a quick twitch tugging at his lips– and between his legs.

And the other?

He reeks of blood. His claws are already firm on your hips, grin splitting wider than it should. His four arms twitch with something between amusement and hunger, whilst the weak robe does a poor job of covering his sinful figure, a conspicuous bulge evident through the white cloth, digging into your back.

The infamous king of curses– Sukuna.

“W-what, are you?–” you break off with a sharp breath, chest heaving, “Are you going to kill me?”

Sukuna's resounding laugh is anything but comforting, only further forcing reality onto you. You can barely breathe sandwiched between the two, your hand forcing the sheets beneath you in a fist, and you realize–

You're fucked. Capital F.

“Foolish woman,” the pink-haired murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “If we wanted you dead, we would've cut you to pieces already, no?”

"T-then, what do you want from me?", you ask with wobbling lips, heart rapidly beating in your chest as your quivering voice reaches their ears.

Sylus growls in front of you, a warning, or a possessive sound– you can’t tell. His hands slide up your front, cupping your tits through the thin shirt like they’re something fragile, something sacred. His thumbs brush your nipples and you can't help but slip out a tiny little whimper.

“Don't play dumb, sweetie.” Sylus ushers, voice deep and steady, one massive hand sneaking around your neck until his breath comes hot onto your quivering lips. One of his crimson eyes begins to glow in a dangerous flame, invading your personal space. “You know exactly why you summoned us.” His voice is a deep whisper against your lips. "Your deepest and darkest desires", the white-haired continues before dipping his head to take a big whiff of your scent, placing a lingering kiss on your plumb lips right after, "I see it all."

You should end this madness. Gods, you should.

But when the demon's claws tighten around your waist just enough to sting, and when Sylus presses his chest to yours, his scales prickling lightly where they emerge from his skin– you can't help but let go of any doubt or fear and just let go.

And when neither of them moves away, you realize what exactly the cunning dragon means.

This wasn't a decision on a whim. You planned this– researched for hours upon hours through the darkest corners of the internet for the mysterious dragon and the feared King Of Curses. You did this on a night you've felt lonely, empty, and heated. Purposely.

You summoned them so they claim you.

But you just didn't expect it to work. And you surely didn't expect them to share your interest.

All rushing thoughts flee from your mind once Sukuna’s claws sink deeper into your hips, dragging your ass flush against his hefty, pulsating cock. The sound he makes is more beast than man, a low, guttural snarl vibrating down your spine.

“Fuck,” he hisses, leaning down, his breath hot on your neck. “Can even smell how fucking wet ya are." A shiver runs down your spine, your hips twitching back into his, a dark, prominent imprint of your juices covering your panties.

You try to speak, to deny it, to plead for something– anything, but right then the demon's mouth closes around the side of your throat, warm tongue dragging up the curve of your neck before sharp fangs tease at your pulse, a strangled sound ripping from your throat.

“Don’t you lie, woman”, he murmurs against your skin, his voice low, like smoke caught in velvet. “You reek of desire. It's painfully obvious that ya want your poor, empty pussy filled.”

His claws flex. “And you're shy now?” He laughs, dark and amused. “Just listen to her clenchin' around nothin'."

Sylus straightens up at that, predatory gaze fixated onto your clothed pussy, perked ears catching onto the desperate clenches of your cunny, a smirk creeping up his face, fangs bare. "Adorable. Let's give her what she wants, yeah?”

You gasp when Sukuna's claws rip the panties from your body, thick and heavy cock now poking out from the crumbling robe. His cock sits right between your thighs and–

wait, are there two?

Burning body tensing up as you feel two massive crowns sliding through your glistening folds and you shriek once one catches onto your clit as the other teases your entrance.

And Sylus doesn’t help.

His hands are already back on your chest, greedily kneading your flesh, rolling your nipples between his fingers with such aching gentleness it makes you whimper and squirm.

“Easy,” Sylus whispers, kissing just below your jaw, addressing his words to the demon behind you. “No need to rush.” His crimson eyes shoot a sharp glare at the pink-haired from the crook of your neck as a warning.

But Sukuna only scoffs, dragging his claws lightly down your thigh, just enough to make your skin ripple, pushing them further apart. “Easy? She doesn't want 'easy'. Am I right, brat?”

Your weak nod amuses them, their deep chuckles flooding your senses.

It’s quick, your mortal eyes are unable to track the motion, but your body feels it. The sudden stretch, the pressure of something massive forcing its way past your trembling resistance. Your mouth falls open in a soundless cry as two thick, throbbing cocks push deep inside, splitting you open in one sharp, devastating stroke.

Sukuna snarls behind you, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your bones. Fangs flash near your ear, and his grip on your waist tightens as two of his four arms brace your hips open. The other two wrench your wrists back, forcing your spine into a nasty arch that had your breasts pressed up toward Sylus’s chest, offering you up like a sacrifice.

Sylus' dark, lovestruck crimson eyes coo at you, one gentle hand smoothing over your cheek as if to soothe the sting Sukuna leaves behind.

“Feels good, sweetie?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. His other hand slips between your thighs, fingers circling your puffed clit, and your entire body arches like a bow. “Yes? No? Maybe so?”

"Y-yessss!– 's good! S-so good!"

“Of-fucking-course,”

The king spits, his voice dark and wicked, “Taking every. fucking. Inch. like the cockhungry slut you are.”

Each word is followed by a snap of his hips, knocking the breath from your lungs. He doesn't give you time to adjust– doesn’t want to. His pace is relentless like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

And frankly, he is.

Your body trembles under Sukuna’s merciless rhythm, every thrust deep and punishing, but it’s Sylus who draws your attention back to the front, fingers still teasing at your clit with maddening skill, his hand firm on your jaw to pull you into a dizzy kiss, swallowing each tiny sound of yours right up.

You blink up at him through heavy lashes, lips parted around gasping moans. Grip still fierce on your jaw, he forces your head down, bending your body to face his freed cocks– yes, plural.

“C'mon, pretty” he murmurs. “Show me what you've got. Make me feel good too, yeah?”

And you comply, teary eyes staring up at his hungry ones as you stretch your lips around his red and angry head, one weak hand grasping his other cock with desperate jerks.

Sylus let out a low, hungry purr, his scales glinting faintly with a deep crimson sheen. He's cradling your jaw in one clawed hand, his thumb brushing away the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try to take the thick head into your throat, veins scraping along your esophagus.

“Good job, sweetheart”, he murmured, gently guiding your head as you gagged around him. “Careeeeful now. Not too fast.”

Sukuna laughed, the sound jagged. “Fuckin' pathetic. Too fucked out to even do the job right. Need some help, airhead? I'll help ya, aight."

His two strong hands grasp at your torso, lifting you just barely in a tight hold for both of your hands to wrap around the dragon's cocks while your tongue swirled around the fat cockheads alternately.

"Now that's more like it, wouldn't you agree?" Sylus ignores the snickering demon with a scoff, breath halting in his lungs as you slide your tongue and nail experimentally along his slits, happily lapping up spurts of pre gushing out of them.

Sukuna's cocks were thick, ridged, and mean, curved just right to grind against every sensitive place inside your greedy cunt. He knew it too– used it like a weapon. Vicious thrusts, with each one punching a strangled scream from your lungs and driving Sylus’s cock deeper down your throat, the stretch maddening.

Behind you, a wet tongue suddenly draaaags along your puckering hole, and you don't even realize that another mouth appeared on the demon's stomach, because with one teasing prod at your asshole, you spray his two cocks with your cum, thighs shacking with a resounding cry.

And the bastard dares to laugh at you, placing one forceful smack to your ass. “Awww, cumming already?” he purred, claws digging to the back of your neck once you tear your mouth from the dragon's dick to spare a glance at the demon behind you, forcing your lips to kiss the crown of Sylus's thick head again. "Eyes to the front, ma'."

Sylus’s hand curves protectively around the back of your head as you choke around his girth, your hands occupied on the other, your spit dripping down onto the other length serving as lube.

“Good fuckin' girl,” he whispered. “Juuuuuust like that.”

His other hand slid down your belly, groaning at the massive bulge forming in the pit of your stomach, calloused fingers brushing where Sukuna was splitting you open. You jolted as he circled your clit again, with more force this time.

Sukuna groaned in satisfaction as you clenched around him– hard, sucking him in further.

“Thight fuckin',– f-fuckkkk” he cuts himself off with a broken moan, his tips now bullying your cervix. “B-brat.”

You couldn’t respond, not with your mouth stuffed full and your body trembling, but your choked whimper made both of them rumble with dark delight.

"C'mon, give our princess some credit. No need to be all grumpy." Sukuna sneers at the dragon's remark, and he would love to just slice him to pieces right now, but fuck– you're really doing a number on him with that feisty pussy of yours.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, those suffocating clenches around his double girth and your sweet hiccups around Sylus's cocks send blood rushing straight to his groin.

He leaned harder into you, his chest brushing your back, breath hot against your shoulder with his fangs breaking your skin with a possessive bite as he snarled. “Yer' right, she deserves an award for that rich pussy. Gonna make her cum over and over again."

Truly, a man of his word.

Between his unrelenting thrusts and Sylus’s teasing fingers, your body tipped over the edge again with a scream muffled around the dragon’s cock. You spasmed, helpless, muscles clenching so hard Sukuna cursed and threw his head back with a guttural roar.

But he doesn’t stop– doesn't even slow.

“Sweet thing,” Sylus murmurs, brushing your hair back with claws gentler than they had any right to be. “You’re glowing, darlin'. So beautiful like this.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, mouth raw and sore, but Sylus just wipes them away and praises you more, coaxing you to relax your throat, letting you feel every inch, every vein of his as you bobbed and gagged and took to no end, delicate fingers beginning to shake around the monstrous girth.

Suddenly, the fullness leaves you entirely as you hear Sukuna panting, then slap your ass hard enough to make you jolt against Sylus, earning a satisfied hum from the dragon.

“H-hahhh– on your back,” he commanded.

You're certain you're not walking out of this in one piece.

You collapse onto Sylus's lap as Sukuna flips you effortlessly. The gentle dragon caught you, pulling you up to straddle his thighs as he leaned back. His cocks slide back between your wobbling legs, thick and flushed in a dark red, and he nuzzles your temple.

“My turn now. Promise I won't be as harsh, sweetie.” He kisses your ear and you faintly notice the small chuckle following right after.

A blunt lie.

You whimper as Sukuna positions in front of you, laughing as he grabs your thighs and forces you down onto Sylus’s cocks, one entering through your quivering cunt while the other pushes past your tight puckering behind, slowly this time.

The menacing grin spread across the demon's face accompanied by the stretch made you sob, silent cries dying on your tongue as Sylus catches you in a heated kiss, whispering soft praises against your lips while Sukuna watches in envy, hungry eyes soaking in the stretch of both your holes.

“Look at that,” Sukuna growled, holding your hips in place. “What an insatiable pussy ya' got on ya'. Two cocks weren’t enough for that desperate little cunny, hmmm?"

You barely had time to gasp before Sukuna was pushing in– again–his cock sliding into your already stretched, soaked hole alongside Sylus’s, while the other rests heavily on your stomach, twitching with each weak squelch of your abused hole.

You can't do anything but scream– throat dry and hoarse.

Your body doesn't know what to do, torn between the two of them, the brutal drive of Sukuna’s cock and the slow but bewildering grind of Sylus’s cocks in both of your holes.

Pain and pleasure blur, and all you can do is sob and take, the astonishing fullness of it all flooding your senses.

“Ya feel that?” Sukuna hisses, teeth scraping your ear. “Mine. Gonna fuck a baby into ya."

Your eyes roll to the very back of your skull.

Sukuna’s claws dig into your hips, his upper hands grabbing your tits, pulling you back onto his cock harder, deeper. Sylus pushes deeper, slow and heavy, grinding against your walls as his knot starts to swell.

You're gone.

Body shaking, mouth open in a soundless cry. You feel them both stretching you, rubbing against each other inside you, cocks sliding and pushing deeper and deeper until–

“Nuh uhhhh” Sylus teases, cupping your jaw as his hips roll upward, slow and deep, knot threatening to push past your holes. “You're mine, right?”

They break you in sync. Make you sob their names, until you physically can't anymore, make you cum until you're nothing but a mess of hiccups and mewls, just broken sounds and clawed grasps at their bodies.

The demon growls, finally leaning in to tear your head from Sylus's grasp, much to his dismay to secure you in a nasty kiss, clash of tongue and teeth.

“Like hell. She's mine, Gonna treasure this perfect pussy forever."

Sylus doesn't back down, teeth already on your neck, followed by his soothing tongue. “We're gonna let her decide for herself”, one of his hands reach down your tummy, selfishly pushing down on your filled tummy making him growl before he reaches for Sukuna's cock resting on top of your stomach, aligning the tip to your clit in teasing slides, "She's our big girl, no?"

But you can't respond nor think straight as the three cocks hit your spot just right as you gush around them, glistening pussy spurting shiny essence onto them.

Your climax ripped through you like violent lightning, body clenching around them so hard Sylus groaned and snapped his hips forward, knot catching.

Sukuna loses it.

He slams in one final time, heavy balls clenching, spilling thick white semen inside your already overflowing pussy until it spills out while painting your tummy pussy with ropes after ropes, cum soaking your thighs and dripping onto the dragon's thighs below.

You're stuffed. Plugged. Held open by Sylus’s knot, Sukuna still throbbing inside.

Sylus follows seconds later, cock twitching as he groans your name against your throat, warmth spilling into the depths of your cavity, his swelling knots now locking you firmly into place as he buries his cum deep into you.

You collapse against the dragon with trembling legs, poor cunt, and ass stuffed to the brim, mind so fucked-out you barely register Sukuna pulling back with a chuckle, admiring the mess leaking down your thighs.

“Beautiful,” he says, for once, almost softly, sharp nails collecting the pearly white juices to rub tight circles onto your buttony clit, riding out your high. “Fuckin' perfect.”

Sylus wraps his arms around you, wings curling in as he pulls you flush against his chest.

“Rest now, darling,” he murmurs, voice like thunder rumbling in your bones. “We still got plenty of time to make you ours.”

Demons are real. Dragons too. And now they’ve claimed you.

Body, soul, and every trembling breath in between.

The ritual worked, but no one said it would ever end.

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight, arranged marriage au.

a.n; remember when i said that this serie will not have a specific chronology? okay, this is it. i actually imagined this part being a bit further into their relationship. they are not fully in love -or at least haven't admitted their feelings for each other yet lol-, but they are getting close. remember that😉 SOMEONE SAID ANGST????? YAAAAS, HERE IT IS. MWUAH😘

Fuckin' Marry Me Series | First Part | Second Part | Third Part |

It’s chaos.

All your co-workers are loudly directing each of their assigned heroes as best as they can, but the amount of destruction around complicates each possible view all of you as Quirk & Training Specialists could have.

You run towards your desk, where your computer and monitors are already turned on. You put on the earbuds, connecting yourself to the system. Because of your expertise, you are allowed to hear everyone’s communications, so you use that to understand what is going on around there.

“...Red Riot, watch out from your left. The villain has a second weapon…”

“...Ingenium, if you change your direction to your right, you’ll find-…”

“...Uravity, try lifting them towards the building in front, the ground looks better…”

“...DEKU, YOUR RIGHT IS CLEAR!…”

“...SHOTO, WATCH FOR THE CEILING!!...”

“...DYNAMIGHT, TO YOUR RIGHT!...”

Bingo.

It does not surprise you at all that those three are at the center of it all, fighting the main, strongest villains, but it still makes you take a deep, relieved breath when you hear Bakugou swear very loudly, “you piece of shit villain!”.

He’s okay.

You then focus on finding the connection to your assigned hero.

“Earphone Jack, I’m with you today,” you say immediately as Jirou connects back to you.

“Oh, Y/N, thank God!” She exclaims, “This is a fucking nightmare! I need a way towards–…”

Jirou explains quickly what is happening to you. Apparently, a group of villains had created some sort of machine that was creating havoc, and the sole intention was to damage the infrastructure within a 10 km radius. No apparent deeper reason behind it, which is very suspicious in your opinion. Every villain has a reason behind their actions. But that’s a matter for another moment. You focus now on helping her all the way into the building, hiding and evading every possible encounter with villains, where the main thing is happening.

You feel your shoulders tensing each moment you tell Jirou to hide due to some possible threat coming her way. This kind of job is definitely not for the weak hearts. For some reason you are extremely good at it, quick thinking and fast to react at anything, that’s why in situations like this one you are assigned to any hero who was considered key to finally win. Jirou apparently is the one today. The Big Three are currently distracting all the heavy and strong villains, opening a way for her to disable the machine, and Jirou with her hacking knowledge is perfect for the job.

You can feel some of your co-workers paying attention to you and Earphone Jack at times, adding a bit of pressure on your shoulders. You and her work wonderfully together, and she is always open to your suggestions –sometimes even putting to test some moves you advise and create personally for her and her quirk, even though that is not really part of your job. But you love it completely when one of those actually works and end up being the best move.

“Alright, I’m in,” Jirou whispers and everyone around is listening and watching you cheer loudly. You release a deep and long breath that you didn’t realize you were holding back this entire time.

It takes three minutes for Jirou to turn off the machine and send it into autodestruction.

But in three stupid minutes, a lot happens.

Another building collapses, creating more chaos around. The sound of the explosion is so strong you can even feel the building of the company tremble a bit. Two new big villains appear, making Hero Shoto shout, “SEND RED RIOT AND TENTACOLE, NOW!”

You watch through the system the cameras close to where the Big Three are fighting, and you see it happen.

Deku and Dynamight are fighting strongly, but it’s quite evident how tired and drowned they already are. They are pushing through, hanging in there as much as they can, but it takes one wrong move, one wrong direction.

“...DYNAMIGHT, USE YOUR LEFT CANON…”

One of your co-workers says, and even though you’re not connected in their communication, you can’t avoid yelling, “NO!”, and standing up, looking in a first-row seat how the villain predicts Bakugou’s move, grabbing him by the arm and stabbing him with a big dagger on his stomach that brings Pro Hero Dynamight down.

You saw it happening before everyone else. It had been a wrong directive, a bad decision from your co-worker who was not paying attention to the other side of the monitor, where you could clearly see the villain getting ready, expecting Dynamight’s move.

You watch in what feels like slow motion the contorting body of Bakugou Katsuki, your husband, fall to the floor. Blood spilling down faster than you have ever seen.

“DYNAMIGHT IS DOWN!”

“DYNAMIGHT IS DOWN, SEND BACKUP, NOW!”

“DYNAMIGHT IS DOWN!”

“KACCHAN!”

“DYNAMIGHT IS DOWN!”

“DYNAMIGHT IS…!”

“DYNAMIGHT…”

Everyone has to repeat the message. It’s a directive that everyone follows to help your area adjust and react as fast as you can. Yet hearing the message repeated several times only increases the tight pressure in your chest.

No… NO!

Your whole body is trembling, and for some reason, you can’t feel your hands. You can’t focus on anything else than the image your eyes are seeing through the monitor: Bakugou Katsuki, Pro Hero Dynamight, your husband, lying on the ground over a pool of his own blood.

For being one of the best at your job, for being considered one of the few who always reacts fast and come up with solutions even quicker, for the first time, you don’t know what to do. Your whole body is petrified watching now how Deku picks Dynamight up over a shoulder and jumps away so fast they are barely visible.

Slowly, the ability to hear around you comes back, and you hear two voices. One is Jirou’s, calling your name and trying to make you react, but she’s not in danger. The other one is Izuku.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Answer me. He’s alright! He’s alive. I just left him in the ambulance, they are taking him to the hospital.”

“Y/N, GO.” Jirou’s voice says again, and you do not hesitate anymore.

You know this decision you’re about to make will get you in lots of trouble with your boss. It is imperative for everyone on your floor that you never leave mid-mission. It’s your area's responsibility to foresee that each hero you’re assigned for the day comes back to the company as safe and sound as possible.

Yet the only thing on your mind at the moment is Bakugou. 

The rest can go to hell.

You drop the earbuds over your desk and run.

Everything feels numb and looks like in a blur. You don’t exactly know how you got to the hospital, but you did.

When you arrive there, it’s chaos too. Every doctor and nurse is running everywhere, helping to heal civilians and heroes. You approach a very stressed receptionist and ask for Pro Hero Dynamight and if he’s okay. Your hands are trembling. She says he arrived a couple of minutes before you, but she apologizes saying that she still doesn’t have any more information. You’ll have to wait. And she asks you to go to the waiting room if you’re not injured.

You take a deep breath, hands clasped together tightly, trying to control the trembling in them and follow the woman’s orders. There’s really not much else you can do, causing a scene won’t help you or her.

Your walk towards the waiting room feels like floating, and it’s not a good kind of floating. It feels like your mind is not entirely in you; like you’re moving out of habit. Out of thinking. Not really feeling the soft material of the chair you just sat in. Or the coldness of the table you just rested your forearms over. Your eyes aren’t even focusing on anything, but you do perceive the amount of people there. Some are crying, others are walking from one side of the room to the other anxiously, and others are like you. Quiet, unresponsive to anything. Waiting. Hoping. All they probably care about is receiving some, any kind of news about their loved ones…

Loved ones.

Loved.

Love.

Do you love Bakugou?

Another pang in your chest makes you close your eyes for a moment, holding back the painful feeling. Fuck. It’s too much.

You don’t know how much time you wait there, sitting in that chair, in that exact same position. You just know you’re not moving from there until someone comes.

You just wish it hadn’t been her.

Bakugou Mitsuki enters the waiting room with a storming sound alongside her as she does everywhere she goes. It doesn’t surprise you the theatrical trail of tears painted black thanks to her mascara running down her cheeks, yet her eyes are dry. When she sees you, she walks directly at you.

“Where is he?! Nobody could tell me shit!”

You truly wish she wasn’t there.

“H-He is…” You clear your throat, your voice sounding so broken it even surprised you. “Doctors are tending to him. We have to wait.”

“Fucking stupid brat. He’s alive yet, then?”

You see red. So much red, you’re afraid that the image of you cutting Mitsuki’s throat with your own bare nails isn’t just a mere product of your imagination. But when you hear her heel tapping continuously on the floor annoyingly, waiting for your response, and you see her standing in front of you, you blink relieved it hadn’t been real.

“...Be smarter than her…”

Izuku, you are so good you even became part of my conscience.

You take a long deep breath, before deciding what to answer back. If she is going to act like a bitch at this very moment, then you can too, right?

“Oh, I bet you wish he wasn’t…”

“What the fuck does that mean, you moron?”

“Tell me, Mitsuki,” you know she hates it when you call her by her given name, so you do it with a smirk, “Are you here because of the wellness of your son, or because of his heritage?”

This is the very first time you call out her bullshit, that you even indulge yourself in actually saying what you actually think of her. The expression of pure rage and offense on her face is all worth it.

“You fucking little–...”

“Ms. Bakugou?”

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

Mitsuki answers at the same time you do, and it makes you roll your eyes. This woman really is a pain in the ass.

The doctor looks confused between you two, so he looks again at the chart and clarifies, “Ms. Bakugou Y/N.”

Mitsuki tchs, annoyed and crossing her arms over her chest. You immediately stand up and walk towards the doctor. “That’s me.”

“You are Mr. Bakugou Katsuki’s wife, correct?”

“Yes, I am,” you confirm as the doctor nods and asks you to follow him. You do it, hands still clasped together like dear life.

“He’s okay. He’s still under anesthesia, but he should wake in a couple of minutes. I’ve been informed his body processes and washes it quickly.”

You nod in agreement, following close behind in silence. Watching the many rooms pass by, but only caring about the one you know Bakugou would surely be in.

“He lost a lot of blood, we had to transfuse him. The dagger reached his right lung, but nothing too serious,” you are holding your breath with each statement the doctor is informing you of. “After maybe a month, Mr. Bakugou should be more than recovered. But for now, he’ll need to take it easy.”

Right when he finishes the sentence, his hand grabs the knob of the door that you know will lead you to where your husband is. You simply nod in response before the doctor opens the door. “Ms. Bakugou, you’re allowed to come and go as you please. I’ll tell a nurse to bring you your all-pass card.”

You don’t actually pay much attention to what he says, your eyes are locked over where the man that your heart beats so strongly and loudly for right now is lying over a bed, surrounded by machines and cables that constantly monitor his vital signs.

You don’t even hear when the doctor closes the door and leaves you alone with him.

Your vision blurs, and you’re afraid of moving closer, or touching something that will cause Bakugou any pain. But you’re more afraid that if you don’t get closer, don’t at least hold his warm hand, your heart will beat its way out of your chest towards him.

So you move closer, as carefully as you can. His eyes are closed, his expression so relaxed and serene, you think he looks like he hasn’t just gone through a life-and-death situation. If he hadn’t been all full of cables and as pale as he looks, it would have been the same expression he has when he sleeps at night, next to you. His chest raises slowly with each intake of breath. He is breathing. Your hands unclasp, the trembling is still there, yet you direct one towards where one of his is lying motionlessly on his side. His hand is warm. He is alive.

You feel the tears sliding down your face when Bakugou’s hand suddenly moves. It turns around and holds yours, a bit weak but firmly. Your eyes snap up towards his face. His eyes are slightly open, enough to let you know he is awake. His other hand, the one he can move better, raises and moves towards your face. The thumb cleans the trail your tears created and catches one that just escaped your eye.

“I… told you… n-not to cry… for m-me…” 

A sob finally leaves your mouth as you immediately grab his hand, holding it against your cheek. It’s big enough to almost enclose more than half of your face, your nose caressing his palm as if you were a damn cat, your other hand flies to his forearm and also caresses it. The warmth feels so comforting, so relieving, it makes you cry more.

You hear him snort affectionately, “Crybaby.”

He is okay.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Professional: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @fadeinsol @cowardlycandy

Prequel piece to:

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Your relationship with Pope begins because of a safe.

A Garibaldi 1965 to be exact.

It’s a beautiful antique of a thing. It’s also a complete pain in the ass to get into, which is why they call in an expert.

The Professional is what you’re known as in their world. Every job you’ve ever pulled is seamless, a complete work of art Pope can’t help but admire. You’re consulting fee shows it too, you know your value and you won’t settle for less. As much as Smurf begrudges it, they need you otherwise the work and the money they’ve already put into this job, it’ll be completely wasted.

When you step through the door every single one of them is taken back because what they didn’t expect was a woman, a damn fine one.

Craig hones on that almost immediately but you shut him down by holding up your hand as if he were a dog, stopping him in his tracks. “Oh honey, you are so far from my type it isn’t even funny.”

His mother’s jaw tenses as she watches you because already you’re commanding the room and she doesn’t like the competition.

“She’s gotta be a dyke.” Craig says later when you and Smurf step outside to discuss bringing you onto the crew for the job because they’ve just realised how momentously fucked they are. “It’s the only explanation.”

“Or she just doesn’t like cokeheads.” Deran supplies, sipping from his beer. “If Smurf can convince her to get on board that’s probably gonna mean you’re gonna have to quit powdering your nose for a couple of hours while we get shit done.”

“Fuck that.” Craig says as the sliding door opens and you and Smurf step back into the kitchen.

“Alright.” You address the group as you stand there with your hands on your hips. “You wanna get into that safe it’s gonna take two of us. My partner in crime needs to be someone meticulous with attention to detail and steady hands. Who isn’t going to flake out going over the same thing over and over and over again so they can get the muscle memory boxed off.”

The last comment is directed at Craig, they can tell from the forceful look you give him.

“I guess that’s me.” Pope says raising to his feet. “Since I’m the only one with an attention span longer that the time it takes to do a line.”

He feels your gaze on him, calm and analytical, taking in his shirt buttoned all the way up to the throat, his stillness as he stands before you.

“You’ll do.” You say before jerking your head towards the front gate. “Come on, we’re going for a ride to my workshop.”

And that’s how it starts. Hours and days spent in close proximity as you teach him the delicate art of safecracking. He’s used to a more brute force approach. Tearing the shit out of concrete, blowtorching the mother fucker but the way you work, it’s like magic. Thorough, mediative. He comes out of your workshop at the end of each session feeling calmer, like some sort of balance has been restored inside him.

“I don’t like how much time you’re spending with that girl.” Smurf tells him, one morning on the way out the door.

“It’s for the job, you know it is.” He tells her before leaving.

But it’s not, not really because the two of you have started getting close. A couple of beers on your back porch overlooking the beach, dinner from a food truck before you kick off your shoes and take a walk along the shoreline, the water cascading over your ankles.

“I want to learn more.” He tells you once the job is over. It’s true, he does but he also doesn’t want this to end. You’re the first woman he’s felt an interest in in a long time, the first one that might actually see him.

You step outside onto the porch instead of letting him in the way you usually do. He knows it’s because of Smurf, that she warned you off him, told you his secrets. You know the truth now about how fucked up he is.

This is what she does when he starts trying to build something outside of the family, she cuts off his life lines, leaves him twisting in the wind until he realises the only place he can go is back to the house he grew up in, the family that steal away little pieces of his sanity until the darkness eats him up.

“Look…” He begins but you’re already wrapping your arms around his neck, gathering him up into a hug. He stiffens at first because he can’t remember the last time someone held him. His muscles relax and he draws you closer, his cheek coming to rest against yours as he breathes in the scent of the ocean clinging to your skin.

“You’re not the only one that’s fucked up.” You whisper, your breath ghosting in his ear. “I killed my father when I was fifteen because he was creeping into my bed at night.”

His grip on you tightens as he buries his face into the curve of your throat. 

“Don’t let her use that shit to control you. You’re not the person she’s trying to turn you into, you’re more than that.”

“How do you know?” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest upon yours so he can look into your eyes. “How do you know I’m not the monster she wants me to be?”

“Because I see your sadness.” You tell him, your fingertips trailing over the copper stubble that mars his cheek. “You do it for the love and all you get back is this feeling in your chest, this emptiness that feels like it eats up your entire soul.”

“I don’t wanna be like this anymore.” He tells you, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to keep losing myself.”

“You don’t have to.” You tell him, your palm coming to rest upon his heart. He can feel it thudding underneath the pads of your fingers as he clasps it there, his connection, his way back to humanity. “The two of us, we’ll figure it out, I promise.”

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[bunnygirllover45]

Hii!! I’m kinda obsessing over the Idea of Johann before he kidnapped his darling, going out to buy clothes and him just enjoying it WAY more than Darling. Like bro’s INTO it, picking out dresses and making darling do a fashion show for him?? Just wanted to put this thought out there lol. Idk if he’d actually do that but I can dream,,,, Anyways that’s all— thank you!!!!

Anon you're into some shit rn and I totally agree with you. Johann would do that 100%. TW: Darling had a past relationship that wasn't too nice, mentions of body insecurity, hints of dollification but it's Johann who are we talking about this is obvious by now.

Your past relationship before Johann wasn't the best, you weren't used to him buying you stuff so carelessly or taking you every other day. At first, it was a little hard to get accustomed to the sudden change, but eventually, you started to like it. Except for the part where you and he had to go to the clothing store. Each time Johann stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a date to point at a cute outfit sitting in the window of a random store, a part of you internally screamed for him not to drag you inside.

Speaking about that— "You like these? These frills might be itchy on your skin though..." —yes, you were trapped inside another store again. Taking in a deep breath you stared at Johann, then at the dress he was holding. No matter how often you told him you either didn't like this style of clothing or that it wouldn't look good in it, he still made you buy and wear the stuff. Of course, he only made you wear it when both of you were alone, there's no way he'd let you look this adorable in front of someone else.

You wondered how many more clothes he could buy you, after all, even if Johann made sure to visit you almost every day, his job kept him from being with you all the time. Most of the time he kept some of the clothes in his house too, he had a 'special place for them', out of context that phrase could be worrying, but Johann was such a sweetheart behind that stoic exterior that you didn't really question it. As he grabbed another piece of clothing you shot your hands to grab his forearm, squeezing softly as you smiled up to him. "J-Johann, I don't think I'd look good on that. I have many dresses back at home too, you shouldn't buy mo—" But before you could even finish you felt Johann leaning down to whisper against your ear, his voice soft and secretive. "I think you'd look good in anything." the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I've always wanted to take care of someone as precious as you, would you let me do that?" There was serious longing in his voice. From all the past experiences you had with him, you clearly noticed that ache to fulfill a role that Johann always had. Taking care of you during dates, making sure you didn't get sick, and even aftercare with him was a blissful experience. All the things he told you about feeling empty and without a purpose in life, it's like a part of him has been waiting all this time to have this, to have you. You stood stunned, questioning if you should feel even more embarrassed or prideful, he looked at you with an adoration written in his eyes that made you shiver, and you felt a little guilty at how much you enjoyed it. "Here, we can buy these and try them out at home, how does that sound?" You nodded, giving him a compliant smile as you reached to hug his arm. "Okay... thank you." One hand snaked its way around your waist, squeezing slightly as he kissed you on the top of the head, nuzzling against it. "You're welcome, baby."

[butteronabun]

i just want you to take me where your heart is

a diluc ragnvindr x female reader highschool au.

overview: and who could possibly be the golden boy’s type?

wc: 2k

notes: imagine diluc with his hair down in this one. and also. diluc’s father hasn’t d-worded in this au so he’s the happy diluc we all know and love before shit hit the fan ( we still love him even after shit hit the fan tho )

Diluc Ragnvindr is prim and proper. Chivalrous and well–mannered. The star athlete of the Favonious Birds. Intelligent, a leader, and a great speaker. 

And of course, he’s every girl’s dream guy. 

“. . . And yet, he’s still single,” Kaeya remarks with a smirk, and his friends around him laugh in unison. 

Currently, he’s eating lunch with them in the campus’ outdoor park — a place of tranquility where some students prefer to hang. Instead of being involved in the hustle and bustle of what goes on in their cafeteria, be it your average food fights or impromptu musicals incited by a certain twin–braided man, said outdoor park was a better option for these lads to unwind.

“You know, I used to think that he and Jean would look good together,” a friend of Kaeya says, and they all turn to him. “She’s just like him: elegant and grades conscious. Takes part in student governments and volunteers to school events. Plus, she’s drop dead gorgeous! With her brilliant blue eyes and smooth blond hair, oh, if I was Diluc - I would not hesitate to date her!”

“Nah, I think Lumine is better,” They all glance next to their right. “She’s sporty, and she can definitely keep up with Diluc. She aces her tests without any difficulty, despite doing a part–time job every night with her brother in a nearby coffee shop, and it’s rumored that she makes the best drinks! Moreover, she’s a beauty. That’s why she keeps on receiving loads of love letters during the Windblume Festival every year, so it will not be surprising if she’ll be getting them again!”

Ah, yes. The Windblume Festival is fast approaching—now that January is about to end, in the next two weeks, Brightcrown High School’s air will surely be filled with nothing but endless romance.

Kaeya gazes up above, where a giant tree shadows their figures with its bright green leaves. The sunlight filters through the gaps and he basks into this moment of peace. He then adds playfully, “And Diluc will be busy tidying up his locker once more, because it will be filled with chocolates and letters.”

“What?! Does he even eat them? Tell him that he can donate, you know!”

Kaeya huffs, “My brother won’t even give me a piece, what makes you think he’ll hand you one?” 

He remembers the time that Diluc had been so overwhelmed by the plethora of sweets, and yet seemed so appreciative about it. Father was just proud of the older son’s popularity. Kaeya offered to help him consume them all as a joke, but Diluc shook his head vigorously, saying that he shouldn’t, and that “they all worked hard for this”, and it was right that he only eat them.

How adorable of him, really.

Plus, Diluc even read the letters one by one. No matter how cringe or sickeningly sweet they were, Diluc read them all. And Kaeya wasn’t even shocked that there was no judgment in his face. 

Diluc was just grateful for the gifts. Bashful, indeed, and sometimes he was not sure what to feel, but he was grateful.

“So, Diluc. Who will it be? Jean or Lumine?” Kaeya questions with a grin that afternoon, when the Windblume Festival is finally in full swing. 

Diluc raises his head from the paper he’s answering — it’s a survey given to him by one of the juniors for their research subject — and frowns. “What brought this on? Why am I suddenly choosing between two friends?”

“Oh come on, you weren’t even listening!” Kaeya pouts, before sitting on a nearby desk. 

After exploring the premises for some snacks and attractions, the brothers decided to stay inside an empty classroom for a while. They can hear some cheers from the outside, loud declarations of love and squeals from the majority, that surely Diluc thinks would be a delight for Kaeya, but has opted to accompany him instead.

“I was.” Diluc purses his lips, and hears laughter echoing through the halls as students run and get chased by disciplinary officers. “You and your friends were talking about the girls and I. I just don’t understand why you want me to choose. And be careful, you might fall. Don’t move so much.”

“Cooome on, Diluc,” Kaeya groans as he leans, “We’re sixteen, aren’t we? Father says we’re at that age, after all. By that, I meant, where we’re all supposed to be dating and courting?”

Diluc feels his cheeks slightly heat up from the words that escaped from Kaeya’s mouth. He returns to his duty of answering the survey. ( As if he needed to, when he was already done. ) “And I told you countless times that I’m not interested. Need I remind you that I don’t have the time for it. You know I still have to prepare for college, and that I have to keep an eye on my varsity scholarship, and—“

“Yadda, yadda, yadda——“

“Don’t yadda me, Kaeya. That’s just how it is.”

“You seriously aren’t interested?” Kaeya prods.

Diluc shoots him a firm stare. “Absolutely positive.”

And Kaeya sticks his tongue before hopping from the desk and making his way to the door. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.” Diluc watches his retreating back. “I’ll make sure to find you a lady, and it’ll be your type, and you’ll fall in love.”

Kaeya pulls the door open. He confidently says, “It’ll be inevitable, Diluc. Inevitable!”

A small smile creeps its way to Diluc’s lips, finding this all amusing. “Then I wish you the best of luck.”

Kaeya huffs, not liking that Diluc seems so smug and unbothered by it, then leaves.

Diluc waits for a while. And waits. 

And waits, until he blinks, checks his survey, before sighing heavily. 

A brilliant shade of red coats his pale cheeks, and he buries his face in his hands.

Dating. Courting. The type of lady Diluc likes? Yeah. Diluc already has found his type. 

( Kaeya doesn’t have to know yet. He hates lying, but it’s too soon. Maybe someday. If Diluc can face his feelings first. )

So, hear, hear! He’s not missing out, in spite of what his friends say.

This person is not what everyone expects; it’s not the formal and polite Jean who can deliver a speech eloquently, nor the radiant and loyal Lumine that they want to push toward his direction.

Instead. . .it’s someone else.

And that someone else dropped a bowl of soup to Principal Varka’s white slacks. That someone else triggered the anger of a certain math teacher because she climbed the roof so carelessly during class to fly a kite. That someone else got into detention and instead of writing I’ll be good from now on one hundred times, spent the day with the others in that session to tell ghost stories.

That someone else was you, who wasn’t like Jean or Lumine. That someone else was you—the you, who was his exact opposite, and yet managed to capture his heart. 

You are one of Mond High’s known troublemakers, and apparently, he has fallen victim to your charms.

Maybe it began when you were just snickering with your buddies in the library despite the librarian‘s persistent shushing. He was solving his quadratic formula worksheets back then, and he was impressed that even if you were fooling around, you were in the library to actually learn more about the cardiovascular system, with the help of a fellow friend. 

(“I will be proud to say that the one that carries the blood away from the heart is. . . arteries!”

“You’re right!”

“Yay!!”

“Shh!”) 

Or maybe it began when you witnessed that one student who humiliated himself by accidentally slipping on the wet floor in the cafeteria, and everyone sans Diluc laughed.  Then you came to his rescue, marching in the middle with all the attention on you. 

You didn’t offer your hand. 

But you purposefully slipped instead, and even had the most embarrassing fall. The cafeteria became noisier because of you, and Diluc, baffled at first, found himself chuckling soon after.

Actually, no. 

He didn’t fall in love with you during those times. These were the times in his life that led to this one very moment—

When the Favonious Birds lost the tournament, Diluc was sulking in the playground, all by himself. He took the blame despite Kaeya and his friends denying it, but he knew better. If Diluc had just made it quickly to the ring, their team could’ve been victorious and brought the trophy home.

But alas, it was just an if. It didn’t happen.

Then, something wet drops in his hair. Then his arm. And nose. It was about to rain, and Diluc just grunted, not caring one bit. He was sure Adelinde would make a fuss about it, or his father would pester him for his carelessness, but he wasn’t in the mood to leave his spot just yet.

Let the rain wash away his sorrows.

Pitter–patter. Pitter–patter. Pitter–patter. Pitter–patter. 

“Don’t match with the gloomy weather now.”

Diluc slowly lifted his head, wondering who spoke and what covered his pathetic and hunched form that was wallowing in despair. And his eyes grew wide when he saw you, almost bending with an umbrella in hand, sheltering you and him from the incoming downpour.

You smiled down at him, “There it is. Keep your head up, King! Your crown is falling.” 

And Diluc’s heart skipped a beat the same time a thunder rumbled from the distance. “W–what. . . ?”

You continued, “I don’t know what got you all so sad, but everything will be fine soon! I’m sure of it! After all, once the rain passes, there will be a rainbow!” Then, you grabbed his cold and even bigger hand, and Diluc, at that split second, felt the static. You didn’t even react. But your hand was warm, and Diluc’s chest was, too. 

Dumbfounded, he let you guide his fingers. It only came to him long after that he was gripping a metal handle. “Have my umbrella! I hope this will make your day a little better, and if it doesn’t. . . well, at least I tried. But I have to go now!”

You quickly put the hood over your head when the rain grew stronger. Diluc, concerned over your well–being, finally regained his composure to protest. “But what about you— hey. . . !”

He watched you run and wave, bidding farewell. “You don’t have to return it to me! It’s all yours! I really have to go, so see you, maybe? Bye!”

“But. . . !”

And Diluc. . . Diluc could catch you if he wanted. He could sprint and return the umbrella to its rightful owner, but he didn’t. 

Instead, he remained in his position. 

And his heart— oh, his heart. His heart couldn’t stop pounding that day.

You are Diluc’s first love. 

That is established. 

The thing is, this is a secret. No one knows yet. Just him.

He’s never felt this towards anyone before. You are his first.

( And hopefully the last. )

You’re different from everyone else. You’re different from him. You have your own unique methods of doing things. You have your own way of paving your path. You are the artist to your own canvas; the director of your own film.

You are like the sun. You brighten everyone’s day with your presence, and you also shine, because Diluc can’t keep his eyes off of you whenever you’re in the vicinity.

He knows that this is really an unexpected outcome – him, who was definitely out of your league and vice versa, catching feelings for someone like you.

( Someone like you who is free in life, and Diluc wants to feel that, even just for a bit, with you. )

But like before, all he can do is merely daydream and wonder about the what–ifs. What will it be like to be your friend? Will he experience all the shenanigans that you ensue? Will he also fly a kite with you? Will he get into detention?

Yet this is unbecoming. Improper. Inappropriate for someone like him—for the eldest son of the Ragnvindrs and for the next heir of the winery. He can’t indulge into lighthearted affairs or mischief. He’s supposed to be responsible and disciplined. A man of propriety.

So all he can ever do is have these thoughts. Just thoughts. He has more important matters to attend to, like college applications, training, lessons in handling the in winery business. . . 

And . . . there’s no way that you’ll approach him again, right? 

Diluc knows to himself that can do it instead, you know. He can approach you if he must, but . . . he’s just so shy. 

And a lot of people are always around you. So who is he to burst your bubble, when you seem so finally content with your life?

Diluc peeks from the open windows and sees couples holding hands and sharing kisses. Briefly, he imagines what it would be like to experience romantic love during Windblume.

He feels his cheeks steam again. 

Kaeya will surely have a field day once he sees his older brother being lovesick like this.

You really are one of Mond High’s troublemakers. And it’s not only because you prank your friends or piss off the teachers, but you make it hard for him to focus. 

Just thinking of you never fails to make his heart perform somersaults.

He is Diluc Ragnvindr. Prim and proper. Chivalrous and well–mannered. The star athlete of the Favonious Birds. Intelligent, a leader, and a great speaker. 

He is not every girl’s dream guy. 

Because unfortunately, the girl he likes doesn’t even see him in a romantic light.

[lovelettersforthedamned]

i need to ride peters face.

like seeing him covered in my slick all dazed and shit has me on my knees for him

(im ovulating)

I Want To

✰ tasm!peter parker x afab!reader

✰ word count: 0.9k

✰ summary: peter loves to do all the work when it comes to making you feel good. but when he's been so good for you, you have to return the favor, right?

✰ warnings: fluff, language, smut, minors dni 18+ only, oral (f receiving), some kissing, face riding, cum eating, handjob.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

main m.list ⋆ peter parker m.list

⋆ gif by @dear-indies

Your hips were growing tight from the repeated rocking motion you’ve been maintaining, but were you going to stop? Absolutely not. 

Leaning on the headboard in front of you, your knuckles are white from your iron grip. The way Peter is lapping up your slick feels too good, causing you to moan into the wall in front of you. “F-fuck, Peter,” you gasp, reaching a hand down to entangle your fingers through his hair, “you’re doing such a good job, making me feel so good.” 

Peter can’t help but groan and buck his hips at your praise. You told him to keep his hands to himself before you started, and with his hands gripping the sheets under you, he’s kept his word. With each buck of your hips, he wanted to bring his hands to your thighs and massage the skin there. But with your threat of stopping if he does, he keeps his hands at his sides. 

Your futile effort of keeping your hips rocking falls short as exhaustion hits you like a train. You end up just planting yourself on Peter’s face as you take a deep breath, only for it to be stolen again as his lips find your clit and begin to suck. The space around you is silent besides the sounds of your occasional gasps and moans paired with the explicit noise of Peter devouring you like a man starved. 

Looking down, you take a look at the state of your boyfriend under you. His hair is a mess from your grip. His cheeks are pink, flushed from arousal; but that isn’t what catches your eye and brings you closer to the edge. Upon closer look, Peter’s nose, lips, and cheeks are covered in your arousal. He’s soaked in you. And he does not care one bit. 

This pulls you towards your orgasm. You throw your head pack in pleasure, screwing your eyes shut. When you open them, you turn your head and look behind you to see his cock standing straight up. He’s even slightly bucking his hips, desperate for any sort of touch where he needs it the most. His unapologetic way of making you feel good, makes him feel good.

Amid your pleasured daze, you reach back and begin to stroke him. His eyes snap open at the sudden touch before they roll to the back of his head. He starts to moan into your clit, the new buzzing sensation throwing you over the edge. 

All your muscles tighten as your orgasm sends sparks to every nerve in your body. You can’t hold yourself up as you cum. Peter senses this and brings his hands up to hold your waist, effectively keeping you from falling forward. 

As you come to your senses again, you look down at Peter, a big stupid grin on his wet face. You take a breath, “Holy…shit.” A laugh is shared between the two of you as he gently guides you to lie on the bed beside him. 

After a few moments of silence, you roll over on your side to drape your leg over his waist. As you get yourself settled, you hear him take a sharp deep breath, your eyebrows come together in worry and confusion. Looking over his body for any sign of injury, you look down at his cock. He’s still hard, his tip an angry bright red, his veins prominent. 

“I’m fine, baby,” he’d always tended to push aside his needs for the sake of yours, something you wish he did less, “I know you’re tired, so I’ll just figure…myself out.” You move your leg from his torso, leaning up further to give him a small kiss on his neck. You keep placing small kisses on his skin until you reach his lips. His lips are still wet from you. Brushing a piece of hair away from his eyes, he looks at you like you put the moon in the sky. 

A light giggle escapes your lips before you press them to Peters. Moaning into the kiss, he snakes his arm around your torso, pulling you in closer. His lips have craved you, even if they’ve been working on you for the past thirty minutes. 

While he’s lost in your kiss, you reach a hand down to his, now leaking, cock. He pulls away suddenly, “Bug, I told you that you don’t need to do this. I know you’re tired.” 

Pressing a soft kiss onto his lips, you respond, “What if I want to?” 

“Then I guess I can’t say no then, can I?” 

You shake your head before kissing him again as you begin to start your slow strokes on his cock. Peter’s so close already; teasing him for a while makes him so sensitive. Leaning back to let him breathe, you press more kisses to his jaw, watching the way his chest rises and falls as he gets closer and closer. 

You tilt your head to whisper in his ear, “Cum for me, my love.” 

With one last stroke, his seed spills onto your closed fist. Peter’s eyes are shut tight as he pulls you in closer to his chest, pornographic moans echoing through the room. You can’t help but smile at your boyfriend reveling in pleasure. 

Every time he cums, he always gets so sleepy after. And this time wasn’t an exception. His eyes remained closed as he nuzzled his face in your neck, soft snores leaving his lips. Pressing a chaste kiss into his hair, you sigh, before falling asleep yourself. 

✰ author's note: back on the smut grind (i think). lmk if you guys want me to do a small kinktober....EEEKK. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!! my ask box is open btw! come chat if you'd like!!! ok, ily bye !!!

[honeyhoneypp]

Think Only About Me

Things One Piece men would say during sex

You felt so good, they loved your face filled with pleasure and loved your naked curves, everything was so perfect. They couldn't stop themselves from letting you know how good they felt.

NSFW!!!

Female pronouns! degradation + praise kink

================================

L U F F Y

He’s always loud, he doesn’t care if someone hears him or not, he is not even thinking about that right now, all he’s thinking about is how good you're making him feel.

He would be honest with his words, he always asks you how you're doing because he wants you to feel good, but sometimes he could be rude with his words, you just have to tell him so he could do better next time.

================================

“Shit… It feels so good, keep going, don't stop.”

“Want me to make it bigger, pretty girl?”

“A-Agh, ____… Are you sure you want me to make it bigger?”

“You’re… Ah- So damn wet”

“Please… Do that again… It’s called squirt, right? Please squirt again for me”

“Your ass looks so delicious from here”

“Yeah… Just like that, this feels okay with ya’?”

“Don’t cry, you said you could take it. Don't be a crybaby now”

“What is this bump on your tummy?”

“Oh, this is my cock? Shishi that’s so funny”

“Keep saying my name like that… I don't know why it feels so good when you say my name”

“____… I-I’m so close to cumming, wanna cum inside of you”

“It feels so tight”

“Oh, fuck. Huh? They're going to hear us? So what?”

“Y-You’re making me feel so good... I feel like I'll cum already”

“You look so beautiful... Makes me wanna cum…”

“I-I don’t know why you’re making me feel this way”

“Aw. Cmon pretty girl, don't put your hands on your mouth, wanna hear you, it makes me feel good and it's funny when you sound like that”

Nicknames he would call you

Pretty girl (I don’t see Luffy calling you something else other than your name or pretty girl)

Z O R O

He isn't that loud, he only whispers since he doesn't want any of his crewmates to know that he’s making love to you, that would be embarrassing for him, I mean he should be focused on other things, not on this!

Of course, he loves the noises you make, but sometimes you're too loud. He is kind of more on the sadistic side meaning he can be rude a lot of times with his words…

================================

“Fuck… this tight ass pussy is killing me”

“Shhh, they'll hear you”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I told you to be quiet… you don’t want me to be mean with you, right?”

“How can you be so wet already?”

“You look so nasty, I like it”

“I’ll make you feel so good”

“You don't tell me what to fucking do”

“Are you that starved for my cock?”

“You need to shut your damn mouth or they’ll hear us!”

“You like it when I talk to you this way? You’re such a damn freak”

“Fuck… fuck… fuck… my beautiful woman…”

“Look at you, doll. You look so beautiful and cock hungry”

“Cmon, you can take my whole cock, right?”

“Yes… you can, take everything like a good girl”

“Mhmm… you’re such a slut… such a slut for my cock”

“You want me to pull your hair? You damn pervert”

Nicknames he would call you

Slut

Good girl

Woman

Babydoll

Pervert

Doll

S A N J I

He is another one that doesn’t care if his crewmates hear him. In fact, he wants his crewmates to hear how good you’re making him feel or how good he’s making you feel because he’s a freak and a whore.

He loves it when you treat him like a dog, he loves to beg you so you can make him feel good, but he can also be on the dominant side if you ask him to. He's so sweet with his words, he’s always telling you how beautiful you look

================================

“____, p-please don't stop… I'm so close”

“My love, your boobs look so beautiful”

“Y-Yes, ____, I’ll do anything”

“Just please let me cum”

“You want me to go faster?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so tight it's killing me”

“How does that feel? D-Does this feel okay with you? You like that, sweetheart?”

“A-Ah, shit… You are taking me so well, my love, good job, sweetheart”

“Please keep saying my name… I-I feel like I'm about to cum”

“Don’t hold yourself back, sweetie… Please cum on my cock… please give it to me”

“You look so beautiful when you’re bouncing on my cock”

“Y-You want to take my whole cock? Are you sure?”

“Fuck- good job, my love. You’re making me feel so good”

“____, please do whatever you want to me… yes! Just like that!”

“Want me to go faster, pretty girl?”

“L-Let me eat your pussy, please, I beg you”

“My love, don’t hold yourself back… I want to hear your beautiful moans”

“Doesn’t matter if they can hear us.”

Nicknames he would call you

Pretty girl

Sweetie

Sweetheart

My love

Princess

Angel

================================

Please let me know if I made spelling mistakes, some things don’t make sense or got their personality wrong!

[inkdrinkerworld]

Logan and reader fighting about one of them being reckless in the field? 👀

Went with Logan x Scott’s sister!reader for this🤭 angst to fluff, canon level violence, Scott and Logan mentioning death but no actual death

“You were stupid and reckless! How the fuck did you think that was smart?” Logan’s voice rings out in the jet, his heart racing as he looks at the many cuts and bruises all over you.

“You do stupid shit all the time Logan. I had to make a call, and if I had to do it again I would.” Your voice is steady even as Scott cuts you a look.

Sure, jumping between two of the Sentinels was stupid, but you banked on Scott being near you and your own molecular alteration powers to fry them- and you were right.

Your brother wouldn’t even look you in the eyes, he kept his eyes on the gashes on your body. The wounds that soaked through your suit and had you pressing onto them.

“You could’ve fucking died. Do you get that?” Logan wants to punch something, there’s too much anger in his body right now and he needs to dispel it.

He’s hoping that something else pops out so he can jump out of the jet and attack it. He needs to do something with his worry other than yell and scream.

You roll your eyes, turning to look at him and hissing as you do, the gash on your side bleeding a bit more.

Logan reaches for you, claws out and slashing away part of your suit to get a good look at it. For a split second, even when you’re arguing, you can’t help but think about how much he cares for you.

What he finds is mottled skin, purple and black bruises forming around your cuts. “Fucking kidding me.”

Scott gulps a breath, his eyes sting. “I think there’s a first aid kit somewhere. I’ll go look for it.” Your brother’s voice is rough from unshed tears and you want to comfort him, but he’s gone before you can say anything.

As Logan presses his hand into the wound to keep it from bleeding, you sigh and touch his arm.

“I can die at any time Logan. It doesn’t matter if we’re fighting Sentinels or if I’m in the school. I can die at any time.” You’re not good at dispelling concern, but you also won’t apologize for doing what you did.

“Bub, that already scares the fuck outta me. Scares the fuck outta Scott even if he’s acting like he’s not affected. I’d burn the fucking world down if you died, do you get that? If I thought I could just even the score a little bit, I wouldn’t fucking hesitate princess.”

You mull over his words, thinking about how you’d react if something happened to him or Scott. How broken and lost you’d feel if you lost them and you sigh.

“I won’t apologize for doing reckless shit. Our entire job is reckless shit,” Logan huffs, a little smile playing on his lips. “But I understand. I’d do the same if something happened to you or him. I’m sorry you were worried.”

It’s the best he’ll get and he’s taking it. Logan’s lips press against your forehead and temple.

Scott comes back with all the necessary supplies, “I’ll stitch you up.” He says softly, Logan giving you one last kiss before going to clean all the shrapnel out of him.

Scott doesn’t say anything for a while, only when he’s pulling the last stitch through does he mutter; “I’m glad you didn’t die but please don’t make me look at you do that shit again.”

Scott almost never gets teary, so to hear the rawness in his voice has you stunned. “I won’t Scotty,” you hug him as best you can with such fresh stitches. “But I knew you had me. Knew you wouldn’t let me die.”

He laughs, flicking your forehead. “You’re a piece of shit.”

You shrug, smiling even wider when Logan comes out the bathroom with a change of clothes for you. “C’mon bub, let me clean you up and get you outta that damn suit.”

[webslingingslasher]

J, did frat!peter felt bad after the first time he screamed at Trouble or that happened when he started caring for her?

*cleaning out my drafts!

'why do you have to be so fucking difficult?'

peter heard it as soon as he said it. he's not the type to yell at girls, especially nice ones that are trying to help him. it's not your fault he's frustrated.

you're about to leave and if that happens, it'll stick in your mind and that's a forever infraction against him. 'i didn't mean it.' peter wraps his arm around you from behind, you keep pushing forward.

'i didn't mean it, trouble, i didn't mean it. you're being really nice and you're an expert flashlight holder. i'm just mad that i'm doing really bad at something i'm normally good at but that's not your fault.'

you're not fighting his hold anymore, but you're not forgiving him yet either. 'i'm so sorry, i didn't mean it.' you swipe his hands off you, you turn around to cross your arms over your chest and give him a hard look. 'then what did you mean?'

you're hearing him out! sweet relief fills peter. 'i'm doing a shit job at something simple and it's embarrassing because you're watching. i took it out on you because it's easier to blame the person holding a flashlight and not the person fucking up. but that's not an excuse and i'm really sorry.'

you slowly uncross your arms and look at the mess across his room, you're not experienced in what he's doing at all. a piece of something he found in the trash- you can't remember what it is since it's been taken all apart- is splayed over his desk. you might not know how to put it back together but you could see the frustration coating peter's face the more he messed around with wires.

'i didn't think you were doing a shit job.' peter's eyes lit up, he needed a boost in confidence. 'really?' you gesture to his desk, his question was a little dumb. 'yeah, peter. i have no idea what you're doing right now. you're ten miles ahead of me on this.'

'some wires fell apart. i'm trying to sodder them back together but i think a fucking rat got to it before i could so now all the wires-' he stops, you're blinking blankly at him. he's over explaining. 'i don't like struggling in front of you. it makes me feel itchy.'

you don't know if peter does it on purpose but he never says anxious or nervous. it's always itchy. 'i struggle in front of you all the time and i never feel itchy.'

peter holds his fingers up in a pinch, he smiles to show you there's no snarkiness with the statement. 'there's a little more pressure on my side. all you do is tell me how hot i am for being a nerd.' you stare at the box of wires again. 'yeah, still hot. what the fuck is that?'

'well, hopefully it'll be my new-'

'don't care. it's hot seeing you concentrate.'

'even when i'm doing bad?' you look around the room like there's a hidden camera, you swear you just had this conversation. 'you say you were struggling but all i could do was clench my thighs together because all i saw was your focus face.'

peter's cheeks have a hint of a blush. it's cute. 'focus face?'

'yeah, your i'm focused face. your tongue pokes out a little and your eyebrows kind of furrow and oh god, sometimes you do this thing where you tense up but then relax after a couple minutes and it's so sexy.' you adjust your stance, just thinking about him hunched over his desk with a tiny screwdriver makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

'are you thinking about my focus face right now?'

you've been caught and you don't care. 'yes.'

peter grins, his attention falls back on his desk. 'wanna help me finish putting this together? you can hold your flashlight and watch me the whole time.'

you've already agreed in your mind. 'and what do i get out of it?'

'my focus face between your thighs?' 

you turn on your phone flashlight. 'deal.'