#THEY'RE ONLY RIPPING ALL THE MASKS OFF FINALLY

[keikakudori]

                               Aizen had seen Gin in many states over the years; he had seen him seething with anger and he had seen him playful. He had seen him whining dramatically and he had seen him pouting when he had rebuked him for some behavior or another. There, too, were those nights which had been quieter and he would hold a book in one hand, reading aloud while his other hand played with silver strands of hair or stroked over the sleek back, voice a steady rumbling and divulging into conversations about the contents within. Then the evenings of heat and passion, sometimes ignited through one of their arguments or inspired by teasing, a flirt exuded by sharp blue eyes and a baring of skin that had drawn his full attention. Sometimes a crane of the neck. Sometimes a flicker of thigh and calf beneath one of the yukata that seemed to ever vanish from his wardrobe, stolen by slim hands.

                               Sometimes he wanted to ask Gin about that thievery, inquire as to why he would want to ever steal his yukata. Yet he had never commented on it beyond a lifting of an eyebrow, a hint of a bemused smile. In time, he had grown to love the sight of this young man wrapped in the drapes of fabric which seemed to swallow him up, perpetually sliding from those slim shoulders and inspiring Aizen to develop the absent-minded habit of ever reaching out to pull the fabric into place once more. How many nights of him reaching for Gin had been inspired by the fact that the sight of the viper wearing that garment had stirred something in him?

                               For over a hundred years, they had been entwined together.

                               For over a hundred years, this had been in the making.

                               It had been in the making from the night that a boy out gathering firewood had crouched behind bushes, his sharp blue eyes focused upon a young god accepting an offering presented him by men who had stolen something important. Something precious. That night, he had indeed felt something nearby but had made no move to investigate; residents of the Rukongai often did sleep beneath bushes, out in the open, trying to survive. Trying to live. In those dark hours, he had eluded his captain and departed to take in those offerings. How pleased he had been by that one, he remembered. A fragment pulsating with acute power. A shard that had been added to the Hogyoku's hunger.

                               He remembered Gin asking him a question, once: How do you know when it's done? When will it be enough?

                               A boy, with persimmons in hand, watching him. Always watching, always following in his shadow. How many comments he'd received, of how adorable it was that he was accompanied so closely by the new third seat of the division. He would smile that warm smile of his, eyes gleaming behind the lenses of the glasses which helped diffuse the oddity of his stare. Like a baby chick, someone had said once. All that had been seen was the kind and gentle lieutenant taking in a boy fresh out of Shino'o Academy, teaching him how to be a proper seated officer.

                               The result had been rather entertaining for about five minutes in seeing those that adored him cooing over the image presented. He'd even heard a rumor or two on speculating on whether or not Gin was his son. Gin was indeed HIS -- yet not how those people thought. Not a child spawned from his own loins but the viper that had chosen to coil about his wrist, then slithered up to drape over his shoulders.

                               Yet never, never, had he sought to force Gin to follow him. Not truly. But how the boy had seemed eager, back then.

                               Of course, that had been over a hundred years ago. And now, here, he had reached towards the younger man without thinking.

                               It was habit built into Aizen, a habit formed by their years together. How many times would he reach out to the snake in his bed after one of their bouts of intimacy, soothing sore limbs with his touch or stroking lotion into welts raised thanks to their idea of discipline? How many hours had been spent with those large hands tenderly applying attention to the impressions of ropes or cuffs, tongue easing across some marks, his fingertips over others?

                               For all of how heated their sex could be, even in those darker edges when the line of consent had seemed to blur and fold in on itself, even during those nights when their fucking was inspired more by anger, still Aizen would extend his hands forth to touch Gin, ease his partner into relaxing with the aftercare that had seemed built into everything. Even when he had been angry, he would still take time to tend to him afterwards.

                               So was it so strange that Aizen reached to him now?

                               For one moment, Gin's cheek came easily into his hand. For one moment, he felt the way the other man seemed to almost lean into it.

                               But anger -- ah, that red-tinged emotion, that vicious thing that rolled up through him - that was what had been lacking until this point and he found it something hot in his chest. Of course, that could've been the physical ache his body was carrying. He knew he was running on fumes. He knew that he did not have the energy to sustain this fury yet how he gripped at it, clinging like a cockleburr to the tail of a horse. How dreadfully seductive, that feeling. How it churned in chest and stomach.

                               How anger could conceal the aching HURT within his own heart and soul at the words which had been spit at him in the divine wrath so bestowed upon him repeatedly by this serpentine compatriot. How he drew it close to mask the way that something in his chest felt broken. It was as if he had inhaled glass ground into dust, gritty and obstructive; how it made every breath he drew in feel ragged even as Gin launched into another tirade.

                               He tried to speak, to get a word in edge-wise, to break through what he said only for him to find himself frozen for a second as Gin hurled those words at him: I'd like to think I know ya well enough to know y'would've sooner killed me.

                               The world around him seemed to shimmer like waves of heat rising from flat surfaces, rippling and nearly distorting while he seemed to hear the other words through a roaring that rose in sharp crescendo in his hearing. A liability --- not being seen as worth future investment --... knowing about Kyoka Suigetsu's weakness--- Control, overstepping, his anger, still not forgiven you----

                               Black tarmac below his prone body, arms outspread.

                               Blue sky above, with the sun bearing down.

                               Yer gonna---

Blink.

                               Yer gonna---

Blink.

                               Yet what truly made Aizen's face go ashen was not the observation that Gin made about what he would have done, nor of what he said about the purpose of using that as a message for Ichigo. It was not the comment which encapsulated of how he had become WORSE THAN THE SOUL KING -- though that did sting.

                               --- all you've ever done to anyone who's ever gotten even close to you was ruin'em.

                               That pool of brown with its fraternal twin of silver and purple was the only color in a face left gray, his features bloodless as darkness swam at the edges of his vision. Air scraped from his lungs, surprising him only briefly in that it was not expelled in a cloud of red-toned mist, and Aizen was not entirely sure that he drew a breath in again. There was a sense of feeling apart from his body, as if it were distant and far away. How feebly the stump of his right arm twitched even as his left hand fell to his side and he just stared at Gin still, lips slack and white from what had been stirred through him.

                               It was not often that he was a man to struggle with words, yet how he did now and his struggle was all too obvious. Those words cut Aizen to the quick, and that stump moved again as if he were trying to reach to his own face. A moment was taken as he looked down at it, as if confused as to why his arm was not responding, before his gaze moved back to Gin almost as fast. Had the traitor ever looked so before? Not even in those months and years following the sharply-dealt display of anger towards his own captain had he shown anything near this.

                               Not even when Gin had reached out and set his fingertips against Aizen's chest had he ever looked like this.

                               For a man of such tremendous presence, there was something small about the brunet in this moment; if he were capable of sitting up, then he would've curled in on himself. Yet here he was staked out and unable to move, bared to the sharp cruel talons and fangs that so easily tore at him. For a few seconds, that anger he wore was extinguished, snuffed out like a flame in high strong winds. No one had ever been able to cut into him the way that Gin could and no one else would ever have the hold over him that was displayed here.

                               Then the anger was rising again, Aizen starting to openly struggle on getting to his feet while air hissed out between clenched teeth. It was a strange emotion, a ravaging effect of grief and anger and a strange, strange pain that was like molten ice in his throat and chest; it was true that Aizen Sousuke had seen Ichimaru Gin in many states over the years. But never had he seen him show such pain. Not even on that awful, terrible day when he had ripped this man apart with his own hands and bade had he seen him in this sort of pain. And that pain HURT him; it plucked and tugged at the emotion which he had only but some short hours ago been finally forced to admit to.

                               And he could not deny, either, that Gin was correct in what he said.

                               ❝ Oh, that's rich, ❞ he managed, jaw clenched tight as he worked to climb to his feet, ignoring the dribble of blood still running from the stump of his arm as he managed to lift himself up to one knee, the other, feet beneath him. The ruined layers of the shihakusho that Gin had dressed him in sagged in blood-sodden flaps away from his body, revealing the glistening sphere of dulled purple once more, its sheen apparent even despite the blood that covered it. ❝ That's -- rich--- given what you just said, Gin--- ❞

                               The edges of his vision seemed gray now, like a foggy mist creeping into his perception of the world. How it seemed to shimmer in and out of focus, draping around him. He worked to lock his knees even as his posture wavered, feet shifting to work on keeping him upright. This was an anemic energy, likely to be fast exhausted but how he needed to reply, to respond. At his side, his remaining hand shook and there was a feeling of shaking through his body. Yet Aizen ignored it, pushed, seeking to bring up a reply. HIs chest hurt. How his heart labored.

                               ❝ I t-- trusted you--- trusted you with something that I never --- NEVER GAVE TO ANYONE ELSE! I ENTRUSTED A PIECE OF MYSELF TO YOU THAT NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER HAD! I GAVE IT ONLY TO YOU, GIN! ❞

                               It was, perhaps, the deepest intimacy that two Shinigami could share; to reveal the extent of what their powers encompassed. It was the deepest display of trust that could ever be had. In those years following his elevation to the exalted title of captain, they had both learned there was a way to bypass his Kanzen Saimin. How Aizen remembered that boy folding over his blade, grabbing it, the feeling of something shattering----- 

                               ( kudakero, kyoka suigetsu )

                               ❝ And you-- you--- you're standing here and telling me that I--- I-- never opened up to you---? NEVER?! I GAVE YOU A PIECE OF MY VERY SOUL! ❞

                               For Gin, Aizen had slowly opened up, baring himself further and further; for a man who did not trust easily, it had been a significant thing. How many things had he shared with him over the years? How many times had he spoken with him, unsure, halfway to disbelieving that anyone would ever want to know him? Yet Gin had asked him questions and earned that trust, gaining Aizen's favor rapidly until he had become the brunet's right hand. The right hand of the god of Las Noches. The one who would have been his divine spear had he ascended the throne which was his by heritage and bloodlines. In his veins ran blood tainted with the shades of royal purple. A heritage he had never asked for. A power he had loathed.

                               How many times had he spoken with him, covered him with blankets, reached to pull the yukata up into place? How many times had he chased Gin down to get medication into him when he'd been ill? How many meals shared together, Aizen silently permitting the younger man to steal food from his dishes in a gesture known and understood only by those who came from the rattle-bone hells of the Rukongai's worst districts? How many times had he shown it over and over and over that he had found his world view encompassed by this young man?

                               How many times had he shown that gentle tender pain called love?

                               ❝ You had plenty of chances to speak to me about this, Gin! Plenty! OR DO YOU PREFER TO THINK THAT I WOULD NOT HAVE LISTENED TO YOU?! DID IT MAKE IT EASIER IF YOU THOUGHT THAT?! AFTER I GAVE YOU THAT PIECE OF MYSELF?! WHEN I KNEW --- WHEN I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING BY TELLING YOU THAT?! Or did you convince yourself that I wouldn't have ever fucking listened to you?! How many times did I do that! How many times HAVE I done that?! HOW MANY TIMES DID I SHOW YOU THAT I TRUSTED YOU?! ❞

                               Barring one thing.

                               Barring that sphere in his chest.

                               But a hundred years; a hundred years and more together. Decades of how they had been bound to one another. And now he knew. Now he knew why and he saw that pain in Gin, a pain that had been kept hidden from him, concealed. Grief and a sick understanding built atop horror dwelt in him - yet they were superseded by the anger he felt. At last, Aizen had begun to swing back.

                               His voice was a crackling vituperation, seeking to conceal the way that his eyes burned. Again, that broad form swayed, and those legs trembled, forcing him to work on straightening once more. He was not going to collapse in front of Gin once more. Ah, how stubborn he could be. How stubborn they both were. And how they had the power to harm one another tremendously, it seemed. The darkness of Muken seemed to swell around him for a second, blotting out the fire-lit interior of the small cabin and he was all but sure if he looked to his right, he'd see a drifting of white snow cascading there.

                               Another shuddering before he was forcing his shoulders to straighten, his spine to align as he sought to stand at his full height. A ragged, broken man ---- who had broken a boy he had not met for a full year. A boy who had pursued him with all the hunter's intensity.

                               ❝ You could have TRIED to speak with me about it so many times over the years --- you never did. ❞

GIN KNEW HE SHOULDN’T HAVE STRUCK AIZEN AGAIN, not so soon after accidentally killing him… again. But in fairness, he wasn’t thinking straight – hadn’t been since Aizen spoke of that name so casually, so certain of himself, so sure that the conversation thereafter could be done in a civil manner when that was anything but the truth. Gin was vulnerable now and he hated it, raw and bleeding, despite Aizen being the one currently recovering from a beating that left him pulse-less and bloody. He hated that he didn’t pull away, too, when Aizen reached to soothe him. How strange, that, to be the point of all his ire and yet seek to comfort him, seek to alleviate that pain Gin knew was becoming blatantly apparent in himself – how ugly, this state of his, and yet Aizen did not flinch away, even after – everything. It felt stupidly backwards.

But shortlived, the way his final words cracked and seethed all in one, how Ichimaru Gin’s remorse and pains made themselves known in full here and now, over a hundred years in the making. Over a hundred years since he went to collect firewood for a distressed girl struggling to keep warm through the night because something was wrong with her, something was taken, and he saw this man bowed before, being offered up pieces of souls like he was a deity of old. THE FIRST TRUE SEETHE OF KILLING INTENT BY ICHIMARU GIN UNDER THE DARK MASK OF NIGHT. Looking back on it, Gin reckoned Aizen had sensed a blip nearby, a shift of twigs underweight of a child’s foot, and surmised it was of no real consequence if his meeting of those men was overseen by a spying eye. Gin hadn’t been worth a second glance. Only when he gutted a full-grown man a year later did he earn Aizen’s gaze.

I COULD’VE BEEN GOOD –

No, no… no, he wasn’t capable, he hadn’t ever been capable of being good. He was detestable. Deplorable. He shouldn’t have said that, it was a lie, it was a lie – he never turned into that snake, he had always been it, he had always been capable of devouring others with that mouth. Gin couldn’t place the blame on Aizen, no, he withdrew and despaired inwardly – he had always been a monster, a bad omen, chased out with rocks pelting at his small back, a child in appearance alone.

Try as he might, Gin couldn’t reel his anger back in, it was far too intertwined with his hurt, his century-old wound that Aizen had brazenly plucked the scab off of. Yet Aizen dared to look at him, hurt also, shocked, offended, all measures of various things and that question had him all the more ready for a round two of flaring anger. You asked for this! You pushed, you insisted, you cornered me!

Over a hundred years and why, oh why, hadn’t Gin mentioned anything? Oh, he was ready to punch the guy all over again – forget feeling any remorse over that previous strike.

❝ Why didn’t I tell ya? Oh, lemme guess, you would’ve stopped your entire plan and disassembled your precious Hogyoku all ‘cause a kid you just met asked you to? Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d like to think I know ya well enough to know y'would’ve sooner killed me and started from scratch with a new Third Seat. If I told ya too soon, I would’ve been a liability for askin’ for too much and knowing too little and not bein’ seen as worth any further investment. If I asked too late, within another decade or two? I would’ve been a liability to ya too, knowin’ Kyoka Suigetsu’s weakness and now askin’ ya to hand over a soul y'wouldn’t even remember takin’ from a girl you wouldn’t even recognize was in the Gotei 13 at the time. Cause you wouldn’t have cared, all you’d care about was managin’ to get me under control, you’d probably kill her, then kill me for oversteppin’. If I mentioned it later than that, y'would’ve asked me this same fucking question now as to why I waited so long when the whole fucking point of my anger ain’t even centered 'round the fact that I wanted it back, no, it was also the fact that it fuckin’ happened in the first place. You can’t undo it, a week later and I would’ve still not forgiven you, you can’t undo the damage you’ve done – I can’t either, I knew that goin’ in. I knew gettin’ that piece back wouldn’t’ve fixed shit. But I wanted it anyways, and most of all I wanted ya to pay. ❞

Gin stood, stepping back and away from Aizen, away from any reaching hand. He didn’t want to be touched. Still, his voice shook, strained, hoarse from emotion and anger alike that ravaged his throat thickly, as though he had swallowed sand in the span of his angry rare moment of shouting. Aizen was unraveling him, even now, words spilling freely akin to a weeping wound’s blood.

❝ You started spiralin’ the moment ya put that thing in your chest and I watched as you became th’ thing you hated so much, more outright than ever before. You’ve always had that spark of heartlessness in you, doin’ what you did to hundreds and hundreds of souls across the Rukongai, but you started huntin’ human kids down for sport because y'thought hangin’ their corpses outside'a the town you were about to obliterate would send an intriguing message to a fuckin’ teenager you manipulated since birth. You wanna dare imply I had some sorta responsibility to open up to ya when all you’ve ever done to anyone who’s ever gotten even close to you was ruin'em? Do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid? ❞

Trembling, overwhelmed by too much happening in such a short and potent burst, Gin wanted to flee. He wanted to turn tail and run – Shunpo off in whatever direction. Let a Quincy snipe him out of the sky, he didn’t care anymore. He needed to breathe, he needed to get away. But equal parts stubbornness and logic spoke of staying, of holding his ground and not rushing into enemy fire potentially the moment he breached their safehouse’s barrier. He doubted Aizen would feel as generous in reviving him a second time from death, especially considering all the things Gin was spitting at him now. And he was too drained, far too drained, to use such a powerful ability once more. Not now, not yet at least.

Thus, Gin was cornered yet again, a creeping despair filling his throat the way that blood had, that terrifying moment of feeling skin split apart at the weight of a sharpened blade’s edge dragging across his neck – the sensation of death still filled Gin’s nostrils, the way that blood from a fatal wound had a different scent than the rest, the way it smelled thicker and deeper —- it’d haunt him, just as those words of Aizen’s certainly would. THE IMPLICATION OF BLAME WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE GIN SNARL AND STRAIN, a deep sadness and guilt and anger and defensiveness rearing its ugly mangled head. I WAS A KID, I WAS JUST A KID, HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO SAY ANYTHING? I DIDN’T KNOW HOW, I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY, I DIDN’T WANT TO, I WAS AFRAID, NOTHING WAS SAFE, YOU WOULDN’T HAVE LISTENED, YOU WOULD’VE SOONER SAPPED ME OF MY ENERGY AND STOLEN A PIECE OF MY SOUL, TOO, TO FEED YOUR HOGYOKU. IT WASN’T MY FAULT!

It was my fault, I saw them crowded around her and I didn’t do anything, I could’ve done something, I could have charged at them, I could have yelled, I could have had them beat me down instead, I could’ve run at you from the bushes that night too, I could have had you gut me on Kyoka Suigetsu before we even met under the moon. I could’ve tried sooner, I could have tried harder –IT WAS MY FAULT, IT WASN’T MY FAULT, HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN? I WAS A KID, I WAS A KID, I WAS A KID –

❝ – it ain’t my fault you did what you did, it ain’t my fault you used others and didn’t care about it until over a hundred years later. This reflects poorly on you, not me, not me. ❞

[joocomics]

be nice to your favorite ghostface

day 20 — mask kink w/ gaon ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 ghostface!jiseok x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 4.3k

summary: the roommate of your best friend's boyfriend hears you gushing over Billy Loomis so he decides to turn one of your dirtiest fantasies into reality

contains: sub!reader, hard dom!jiseok, roleplay, mask kink, (consensual) unprotected sex, knife play, voice kink (jiseok uses voice changer device in the beginning), light fear play, degradation kink, begging, oral sex (m/f), face fucking, name calling (slut/whore), pet names, breath play, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation (f!rec), spit kink

[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]

You shut the front door of your apartment complex and head towards the stairs. You just had dinner with friends, a much needed girls night, and now you're eager to get cosy in your bed with a binge worthy show.

This year you want to celebrate Halloween away from crowds, and the idea of entering your quiet home with all the snacks you bought on your way here has never excited you more.

You make out chatter coming from the upper floor. A group of kids are trick-or-treating and you hurry to hide the plastic bag with the goodies, but you quickly realise you only have the pockets of your jacket which are already holding your wallet, your cellphone and a lip balm.

Unfortunately, you'll have to part with some of the candy bars and you just have to accept it.

To your surprise though, the children just run past you without even acknowledging your existence. They almost push you down the stairs, too excited and overwhelmed to comprehend their surroundings or watch where they're going in their colorful costumes. Their earsplitting hollering fades away as they reach the exit and you - the front door of your home. The building turns completly silent again except the sounds of your footsteps.

“Look who’s finally back.” A disturbing voice calls out behind you. “I was waiting for you.”

“Shit!” You yelp, bumping into the wall. “Who the—“

Your startled eyes meet a dark figure in a full Ghostface costume.

He's standing still as he places a finger in front of his hidden face and you obey - you don't utter another word. Instead, you silently observe the slow motions of his one hand holding a small white device.

He’s wearing black gloves just like the real Ghostface, and he changes his voice with the help of that small white device... just like the real Ghostface.

As real as that character can get.

“You’re supposed to scream later on when I rip your chest open, baby.”

The distorted voice sends more chills across your body and you feel yourself shivering in your dress despite the jacket on your shoulders.

“Who… who are you?” You focus your gaze upon the black and white mask in front of you.

Ghostface tilts his head to one side; you can’t tell if he’s picking his next words or if he’s offended that you don’t recognise his true identity.

With no rush in his actions he lifts the device again, asking:

“Who do you want me to be?”

His twisted tone comes out calm, arousing your curiosity with each question.

“Jooyeon, if this is one of your pranks again, I…”

“Jooyeon is not here.” The fearsome figure cuts you off. This time his words echo louder with slight frustration.

His black boots take a step forward, and you make a step back.

“You’re not gonna run away from me, are you Y/N?”

Hearing your name attached to his question brings a certain sense of relief. It’s somebody you know.

Not that it’s impossible for this to be a complete stranger who’s been stalking you for months and has finally decided to play his sick tricks on you. With social media nowadays…

He continues to get closer with the same slow pace and it seems that the fact you stopped moving at all pleases him.

“That’s right, you wouldn’t dare.” At once he stops, keeping the white device close to his face. “Hot and smart, I like it.”

He notices you’re concentrating on his silhouette. Your back is pressed against the wall, your eyes - focused and captivating, keep analysing every one of his moves.

He’s never seen you pay such close attention to anything before. When he heard you thirsting over Billy Loomis during your movie night two weekends ago he thought you were talking mainly about the actor, but looks like his friend Jooyeon was right when he said that more and more girls fantasise about being fucked by Ghostface.

You thought you were being very discreet with the way you were leaning towards your best friend in order to describe how badly you needed the killer, but he didn't miss out on even one perky smile of yours. He caught every word that came out of your lips while his eyes, too busy to stare at your streched bare legs that were softly illuminated from the screen, ignored half of the movie.

The more hours you spent at the apartment, the more parts of his mind you began to occupy - the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you sit on his chair and cross your legs... This dirty little fantasy is just one of the many things that comes from you, and now lives permanently in his head - partly becoming a secret of his own too.

He knew he was damned the day he got introduced to you by his roommate.

“What’s that look on your pretty face?” He leans in a bit. “Want to feel my knife?”

While staying still, you let the sharp blade poke the corner of your mouth.

“Actually…” you speak up as the edge lightly traces your jaw. The thrill that shoots through your chest slows down your train of thought and the change in your voice makes you sound like you’re getting dizzy. “Can I feel your mask?”

Of course that's what has your attention.

He stills remembers the moment you said you'd let Skeet Ulrich fuck you with that freakin' mask on. “Didn't expect you to be that freaky,” he told you quietly, letting you know that he heard your confession. It seemed like you didn't really mind it that out of everyone there he was the one who caught you though.

Instead of blushing, or denying it, you just shifted to sit even closer to him.

“I know who you are.” Your lips turn up for a quick second as you get a little glimpse of his real dark brown eyes; your fingertips feel the outlines of the mask. “Jiseok.”

“Surprise, Y/N.” Jiseok exclaims with the classic Ghostface intonation.

The familiar smug laughter you’ve heard so many times slips through the mask, echoing in the hallway as you stare at him.

The adrenaline rush elevates in your veins now that you know it's him behind the costume. You haven't seen each other in a while and you try to compose yourself from the excitment you feel over the fact this is the first time you find yourself alone with him.

“Why did you sneak behind my back like that?”

“Oh, don’t tell me I scared you, pretty girl?” He coos, this time in his own deep voice that you've gotten very familiar with, but for some reason still gives you butterflies.

The knife appears in the air again, but this time it's guided towards your neck. The sudden movement makes you wince and Jiseok giggles, because he simply wants to flip your hair over your shoulder.

“Aren’t you gonna invite your favorite Ghostface for a drink?” He gestures passionately with knife in hand. “I came all the way here to pray on you.”

“You must be the most chatty Ghostface out there.” You grin as you unlock the door to your apartment. “Come in.”

Without taking off the mask, Jiseok observes around. He’s intrigued, but he’s going to ask for a tour another time.

“Who were you all dolled up in this pretty little dress for?” He asks, looking at your backless dress that’s hugging your ass perfectly. The view causes the excited tilt in his tone to slowly disappear, making his voice sound lower.

“My girlfriends,” you turn around, pleased to hear him being interested in that, “we had dinner together.”

“Where’s your costume? It's Halloween.”

“I’m not really into dressing up.” You reply as you put away your jacket. “Also, it was just a simple dinner to catch up. No partying this year for us.”

“Bummer, I thought you’re gonna be my Sidney tonight.” He gets closer and your ass bumps into the counter. As his eyes eat up the sight of your slightly exposed cleavage, the cold blade in his hand slides up your inner thigh. “Are you a virgin, Y/N?”

“No.”

He taps your skin with the knife a few times before speaking up next.

“Good.” He grins behind the hooded mask. “We can have fun together unless you want me to leave.”

You shake your head not taking your eyes off of him even for a second.

“No,” you say and your heartbeat quickens, “I think I enjoy your company, Mr. Ghostface.”

Your lips open wider when you feel three taps between your legs - each comes with a pause before the next. Right onto your panties beneath which you feel a warm sensation spreading as you breathe in deeply.

“You think? He repeats the word you chose with a certain suspicion in his tone. “I can help you make up your mind. You like being scared?”

“Why would I be scared of you?”

And as to prove that you want him your legs spread apart some more. As a result you sense the knife between them changing its direction; now it grazes the warm skin of your thigh again, gently, but sending strong shockwaves through your body.

“You don’t really know me, baby.”

He’s somewhat right about that.

You’ve never been left alone with him until now. You’ve also never maintained longer conversation than just few messages because one of you shared a relatable meme on your stories or because his roommate shared a funny group picture. But neither of you can deny it - there's something in the air every time you're in the same room. There's a heady presence of passion and it was just a matter of time for both of you to give yourselves wholly to it.

“Let me get to know you then.” You grab a handful of the black fabric of his costume.

It’s almost as if that's a sign Jiseok has been waiting for.

Before you have time to realise what he could be up to, you hear a ripping noise from below.

“No, Jiseok, no!” You protest. “Don't!” But it’s too late.

The blade cuts through your dress and you watch Jiseok’s hands ripping it off all the way to your stomach.

You loved that dress, but damn was this hot…

“You’re crying over this little dress? You’re practically walking around naked, baby.” He says condescendingly as his palm squeezes your butt cheek before going back to your clothed folds. “You’re lucky that wasn’t your skin.”

“You’re really committed to the role, Jiseok.”

He doesn’t respond to that right away.

Remaining silent, he removes one of his black gloves and tosses it on the counter behind you where he left the knife earlier.

You’re already buzzing with delight before he’s even pulled your panties to the side. When his middle finger slips into your entrance with ease your face heats up - from how nice it feels to be touched by him and from the realisation of how wet you are already.

Just from flirting with him, and you can’t even see his face.

“Seems like you’re pretty into it,” he replies at once, inviting his finger deeper; rubbing against your gummy walls and getting familiar with how tight they are. The way you accept his touch so easily floods his veins with satisfaction. “How does a good girl like you end up fantasising about freaky shit like this?”

You shrug shoulders before a small moan slips from your tongue as adrenaline rush swirls inside you in the rhythm of his bare hand.

“It turns me on.”

Before you know it, Jiseok cuts open the rest of your dress, revealing your boobs in a lace bra which he immediately gets the urge to remove next. After spinning you around, he gets rid of your underwear with one swift cut too.

He slaps your ass firmly as his other hand yanks your head back by gripping the roots of your hair. You whimper from the sudden rough touch and the sound shoots pleasure straight into his core.

“You want me all over you like this?” Jiseok hisses at your ear. His hips press against your naked behind, wanting you to feel the effects you have on him.

“Yeah, I do,” you bite your lip as his spare hand, the one still covered by a black glove, gropes one of your breasts. “I want you a lot…” You mewl, trying to imagine the way his eyes shut from the way you rub your ass against him as an invitation.

“You better be nice to your favorite Ghostface, doll,” he threatens and you can hear the twisted grin in his erotic voice, “you know what happens to girls who don’t behave as they should.”

He smacks your ass one more time and tells you to run to the bedroom.

You’re waiting on your bed when he walks in.

The black robe is gone, but the Ghostface mask is still in tact. He’s in a pair of black jeans with no shirt on and you eat up the sight of his abs on display.

One hand is bare while the other - not. The one hidden by the black glove goes around your throat as you stick out your pink tongue to wet two of his naked fingers.

“Fuck, you’ll look so hot with my dick in your mouth.” He groans as you suck all the way to his knuckles. He loves how you’re constantly staring at him as if you worship him; even after he empties your mouth and slides his hand down your figure. “I’m gonna fuck you the way you deserve it, you know that, right, doll?”

You gasp when the same two fingers that you kissed so softly enter you at the same time. Quickly and smoothly, they speed up the pace, causing your head to threaten to fall back, but Jiseok's grip doesn't allow that.

“That means Ghostface is gonna fuck you like a whore.”

Both of you start to notice squelching noises as Jiseok's fingertips continue thrusting as he keeps them deep and curled up at a nice angle. Only until they pull out and lightly slap your thigh.

The sensation arised so quickly and intense that you weren’t aware that you still haven't given an answer. The realisation hits you once the clothed fingers around your neck squeeze for the first time since they got a hold of you.

“Ah, y-yes—“ Your mouth stays open as his grip doesn’t loosen up. “Yes, fuck me however you want,” the corners of your lips curl as you breathe through your mouth, “I'd love to be Ghostface's slut.”

Jiseok chuckles with his usual boyish laughter that always sounds so erotic even behind this mask.

He fills you up again without needing to look down at the way you arch your back, greedy to have him all the way in. He feels you wetting his palm more and more as you start to clench harder around his moving knuckles.

“Desperate, aren’t we?” He smirks as your whines rise higher. In response his fingers aim deeper, - if that's even possible, - rougher to the point your thighs begin to shake soon enough. “Gonna beg for it? Will you fuckin’ beg for my cock?”

Your one hand clasps around his arm, not fighting back any of this, just having the need to hold onto something, as the coming climax makes your mind spiral.

“Yes, yes, y-yes, please, give it to me—�� you chant, feeling the rush finally overflow while also stealing your ability to say anything more.

Your breathing wasn’t as restricted as it could have been, but in addition to the sudden explosion of pleasure, it still made you feel a bit woozy.

You fall on your back, but Jiseok speaks out:

“Let me see you then.” He stands up and takes off his jeans in the meantime.

“Please,” kneeling at the centre of the bed you don't waste any time to obey his wish, “please, give me your cock, I want it so bad.”

Jiseok tilts his head; clearly not approving of that attempt. But he likes the way you move closer though, like you're chasing him.

“Please, Mr. Ghostface.” You stop at once and level your face with his crotch. “I don’t want to get punished,” you blink up innocently, making a pause, “or die.”

Your hand crawls up his thigh. His boner is tempting you, it’s so vivid and appealing. Twitching ever so slightly against your palm once you touch it for the first time. Wanting more, you lower your hand and run your tongue against it, really slowly so he can feel the thrill sneaking through the cotton fabric.

“Maybe I'll spare your life if you take it down your throat.” He groans as his hand pushes your face further into his boner. The way you humm softly as his length grinds against your features makes him almost want to throw away the mask so he can kiss you, but he resists. “How does that sound to you?” He lifts your chin up and feels an instant satisfaction once you open your mouth before he’s even asked.

He tugs down the waistband of his underwear and holds the base of his cock as you attach your tongue under his leaking tip. Not only the thrill from feeling you salivating for him spreads warmth underneath his skin, but also your hazed eyes that won't stop gazing up at his masked face.

“Feels nice, baby,” he utters as you suck half of his length slowly with hollowed cheeks and lips sliding steadily. “But you won't save your life if you keep licking like a kitten.”

You breathe in deeply before pushing yourself further, but Jiseok is already placing hands on the sides of your head to help out both of you.

“There you go”, he chuckles before groaning loudly, glancing down to see you motionless and slobbering around him. “This look fits you better.”

His cock glides back before it invades your tight throat again, then again, causing it to produce muffled mewls which vibrate against him delightfully.

Although his moaning can't be heard exactly the way you want, because of the hooded mask and the way his fingers press onto your ears to keep you steady, you can still tell his deep voice sounds very captivating in such intimate state.

The longer he fucks your mouth, the higher his moans elevate until they turn into one drawned out fuck as he pulls out, leaving you gasping for air.

You sit down while coughing when you notice the swinging string of spit still connecting you to his cock. Jiseok breaks it off by laying on top of you, slowly stroking his slick length to maintain control over the rush.

If it was any other other day, he would probably have you doggy style. But it's not, so he slips into you in a missionary position, but far from a romantic one.

“Fuck, Jiseok—” you whine through hitched breaths. You don't know how every time you moan his name like that his insides swirl from pride and excitement. “God, I'm gonna cum—”

You feel like you're having a fever; like something inside you is about to explode in million pieces. Your thighs are sweating as his strong arms stay locked around your legs that are hanging over his shoulders.

Every time the head of his dick hits the desired spot as you try to keep blinking up at his mask you tense harder; more eagerly as you lose control over your voice that begins to quiver.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Jiseok mumbles under his breath. He does his best to not slow down the merciless pace of his hips so he can hear you crumble below him all over again. “Where's the magic word, huh? Can't even speak properly anymore, is that it...”

“Shit—“ you squeeze eyes, regaining composure as the knot in your tummy is seconds away from bursting. “Please,” your hands wrap around the sheets in desperation as you whisper, “please, let me cum, n-need it...”

“Gonna cum for Ghostface again, huh slut?”

He laughs after he hears your disjointed answer, but just a moment later his own groans mix pleasantly with your overwhelmed cries.

He keeps your shaking legs as still as they can be while his eyes don't want to miss a single flinch of your uncontrollable squirming.

It's such a challenge not to cum too as you hold onto him so strongly, but he endures the bittersweet pain from wanting to have his fun with you for longer. You've gotten so sensitive and by the way you smile at him like you're getting high on all of this he's positive you want to continue too.

“Told you to keep your mouth open for me, doll,” he reminds you with his voice turning more hoarse, more impatient too as he can't wait to fill it up with his arousal.

You part your lips while sensing every second of the way his restless thrusting creates that familiar knot of buzzing pleasure from the start, but way more luxurious and powerful than the previous.

“Let me see that cute tongue.” His hand moves to hug your neck the same moment your wobbly legs drop around his lower body. He wants to apply some force to hear your whimpers break as you cum around him one more time. “Yea, told you to do as I say, baby, didn't I? What if I grab my knife and fuck you with the handle instead? Would you like that?!”

“No,” you manage to respond as your dazed eyes, half-shut, roam around the close view of the unsettling mask, “your dick, p-please—” you were going to say something more than that, but the hand in black restricts more of your oxygen as you reach yet another unbelievable peak.

The moment Jiseok sees your eyes roll back, he lets go of your throat to let you take a needed breath while clenching around him like never before. His hips push into you almost leisurely now with the little amount of force he has left as you come down from the new high.

You’re both panting together; you from several intense orgasms, he - from all the energy he released on you, and from how little he needs in order to cum.

You're still processing it all when out of the blue Jiseok takes off the Ghostface mask and throws it on the floor.

For the first time tonight you see his face and your excited heart skips a beat.

You see his skin glistening from sweat, his black hair falling messily and sticking to his wet forehead. He quickly runs fingers through it to push his bangs away as he settles between your open legs.

Once he locks eyes with you, he doesn’t let go of that contact and neither do you.

His flat tongue licks up your folds slowly, earning a taste of the mixture you created from your own fluids, and you don’t know what was the last straw for your mind to shut off completely - his sparkling gaze lingering on your face or his mouth burying itself further into you. The tip of his tongue sneaks into your stretched entrance that’s still pulsing for him, eager to taste more of your sweet juices.

You moan softly at the gentle motions that toy with your sensitivity seconds before his lips detach.

“Fuck, this pussy just can’t get enough,” he murmurs against your warm flesh before sucking sensually on your swollen clit.

And oh how good his plump lips feel as he tugs on it while humming blissfully from your taste.

Your fingers go into his soft hair and pull harshly than expected which causes Jiseok to groan as he’s guiding his tongue through your slickness; slurping what he can before spitting it out onto your clit.

“Damn, baby girl, you look like you're out of your mind.” His husky whisper shoots a warm thrill through your core before he moves on his knees, watching in awe how you arch your spine at the sudden presence of his fingers.

He listens to the wet noises filling the room, blending with your heavy panting that's turning quicker as he pumps harder. He noticed which angle makes you louder, and he's fully focused on remaining there.

“I am! Fuck—” your body can't help but squrim out of your control as the burning knot starts to pulse dangerously. Jiseok's spare hand presses down your tummy while the one busy with your g-spot maintains its sharp movements. “Jiseok—”

His name follows by a silent gasp and Jiseok glances up, distracted for a second by a light pain - your hand seized his arm, causing your nails to mark his skin with a reddish line from the sudden quick gesture.

The way you cry out at the ceiling makes him instantly get a hold of his twitching cock. His fist twists around it gently as he massages your vulnerable walls until the rush inside you fades down slightly.

Once your eyes meet, Jiseok quickens the hand around his length and crawls on top of you till he reaches your chest.

“I'm so thirsty,” you blink up at his hovering figure while your hands slide up his hips. The sounds of his fist are intense and lewd above you meanwhile your voice comes out delicate and tired. “For your cum, I wanna taste it so bad.”

The innocent ring in your tone is Jiseok's final breaking point.

“Give it to me.”

And as he gazes down at the way you stick out your tongue in anticipation, and at the way you tilt your chin up so his cum can freely go down your throat, he feels like he's out of his mind too.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (completed)

Been a while since I've made one of these! Decided it's time to get into the biggest category I have...

These don't have any shared theme beside having multiple chapters and being completed, and they're both NSFW and SFW.

As always, make sure to look at the CWs and tags before reading, and if a link doesn't work, you're welcome to reach out!

[Some of these might be by authors I already recommended, you can find that list here]

Shotgun Sunsets, Desert Stars by noxmajor - Soap keeps disappearing. Ghost gets curious.

Chasing Ghosts and Dreams by TheEdwardianOne - Soap and Ghost finally do something about their feelings in a safehouse after a mission.

Give Me Hope & Let Me Down by MechanicalBones - Soap saves his idiot Lieutenant & there's a shit tonne of hurt-comfort & smooches.

Love Is Not An Act, It's A Habit by wodnica - Ghost and Soap got separated from their team, lost and alone. Ghost must reconsider how close his relationship with Soap really is.

The Devil You Know by Artaccountant1 - In order for life in the 141 to go on, Ghost had to die. He knew Soap wouldn't take it well, but he never expected him to end up like this. That mask was only supposed to be for special occasions.

It's cracked and it's scarred (but I would give you my heart) by FetteEule - After a mission gone wrong Ghost and Soap find themselves cut off from their team and have to work together to figure out what happened, all while navigating their growing feelings for each other.

when does a man become a monster by wellyesbutactuallyno - One of Makarov's men takes Ghost. Soap gets him back.

Pieces of You by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap slowly collects pieces of Ghost through his clothes or his weapons. Eventually, Simon gets something of Johnny's.

a Moth to a Flame by theidjits - Firefighter John MacTavish was eager to start his career. What he didn't expect when he was assigned to Station 141 was to fall for the elusive Lieutenant. (firefighters 141)

Trace Them Gently by Grangers_apprentice - There are a lot of reasons Ghost wears so many layers. Layers keep you warm. They keep you safe. They keep prying eyes and wandering hands away. Ghost has more reasons than most to want to keep his skin under wraps. [Restricted]

A Steady Beat in an Unsteady Time by Grangers_apprentice - Soap has been having dreams where Ghost dies, and comes up with an unconventional way of reassuring himself that his lieutenant is fine. (part 1 of the Heartbeat Series) [Restricted]

Blossoms by felicitous - Against his better judgement, John "Soap" MacTavish was in love with Simon "Ghost" Riley. And while he knew that Ghost could never, would never, love him back, he was happy to take whatever attention the man would give him, even if it killed him. (Hanahaki AU)

Remember Me (Please) by Darkflamej - Johnny winds up with amnesia and Ghost is struggling to keep them both alive while trying to balance the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t even remember him.

The Truth Comes Out by Darkflamej - Ghost is under the influence of a truth serum and is trying his best to not confess his love for Soap.

Mission: You by TheD - Soap keeps getting distracted recently by Ghost. They do something about it, leading to an entanglement that leads to complications in their relationship.

the human condition by bilbhoebangins - Ghost shows up to an anonymous hookup and finds a naked and blindfolded Johnny waiting for him. His sergeant is completely unaware of just who he's arranged to meet, and Ghost has to make a choice, between what's right, and what he so desperately wants.

Awake At Night by CYBERGUTS - A friends to lovers fic over 4 seasons.

Prank Call by Team_141_property - A prank call goes wrong, personal walls are ripped down, people get hurt, and feelings get confessed. [read the CW on this one especially]

Yes to Heaven by Apollos_Last_Prophet - Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is declared K.I.A during a failed recon mission in 2017. His commanding officer, Captain John Price, takes the loss personally, but has no other choice then to move on. Five years later, Price fights an assassin with a familiar face. [the one and only]

Someday The Dust Will Settle by shadow_in_the_window - Panic was starting to flood Ghost's senses. Johnny had lost a lot of blood. He cleared his mind. There was no way he'd let Johnny die on his watch. Not now. Not ever.

A Sunrise In the Dark by [orphan_account] - “Don’t say that, Johnny.” Ghost spoke, his voice quiet. “Say what?” “That you’d take a bullet.” “I would, though.”

On Begged and Borrowed Time by goforblood - Soap MacTavish is the newest member of Task Force 141. Soap could not have foreseen the enigmatic lieutenant, Ghost, who threatens to turn everything on its head. Can he keep his burgeoning crush on the masked man a secret? Or will someone call his bluff?

Midnight Snacks by MireyaRowan - Ghost is forced to share a room with Soap for a few nights, greatly increasing his anxiety about his night terrors. He hasn't let anyone in the task force know how hard being idle is for him. Soaps makes a whole deal out of it to try and keep Ghost distracted from his past.

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles - Soap, Ghost, Price and Gaz are on a mission to take out Hassan's allies. It goes south when explosives cause the cave system to collapse, injuring and trapping the team.

A Little Death by CaptainMJ - Ghost dragged himself out of Vernon's grave to see that Roba hadn't left. Had waited to see if he'd manage to do it. Ghost never escaped and eventually they were successful in breaking him down and making him someone else. Kinda. Kinda successful.

Spoils of War by CaptainMJ - Ghost defeats Soap's kingdom and after splitting up the spoils, he takes Soap too. Soap expects the worst, but Ghost doesn't seem keen on doing anything to him. How long is that going to last?

Target Locked by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: In a world where having a soulmark is a rare and forgotten phenomenon, finding your other half can be more a curse than a blessing. Soap joined the military intent on escaping the stigma of the mark, adamant he'd never find his soulmate.

Fucking new guy by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Soap joins Task Force 141, ready to prove himself as the best of the best. On his first day, he finds himself choked in the training room by a prick in a skull mask. Now Soap must deal with his growing attraction to his lieutenant, a sarcastic and cold-hearted man named Ghost, while at the same time proving to the 141 he's worthy of being there.

ripe and ruin by ghcst - It's August 1917, the rain doesn't seem like it will ever cease, and Soap starts to wonder if this war will ever end. He also has trouble trying to decide whether or not Lieutenant Simon Riley is really human. [WW1 AU, I recommend it even if you don't like the time period!]

Got your back, you got mine by WhiteBeakedRaven - five times Ghost did Soap a favor and the one time Soap had paid him back.

He Stuck Around For The Moon by escence - He’d been avoiding Ghost, planning on continuing to do so until he could sort out his thoughts and feelings regarding the man, preferably, shifting them into something less intimate. Evidently, he’d run out of time and Ghost had found a way to pin him down, literally and metaphorically.

The fever dream by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are back from a mission when Soap is struck down with a fever. Ghost navigates keeping his sergeant alive while coping with Soap unabashedly hitting on him, riling him up to bursting point.

Worth the Wait by trueheirofslytherin - Soap needs a sign that Ghost is interested in him. Ghost needs a sign that Soap is interested in him. One of them needs to take the initiative.

kiss the skin that crawls from you by congee4lunch - soap gets kidnapped. ghost tears through flesh and blood to get him back. amidst the carnage of a sinner's hands and in the absence of his god, he remembers what it means to love.

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch - when soap invites ghost back home to scotland for a week, ghost hadn't imagined he would wind up in a fake dating scheme to trick soap's family, of all people. it also doesn't help that he's head over heels in love with soap, of all people.

Need You Now by SammyLuka - Alternatively, time in between missions makes Ghost realize that he doesn't know what to do without Soap. Thankfully, Soap understands.

Deep In The Fog by Crispyywheat - Soap is a big ol’ cryptid!! The 141 hunts down monsters/cryptids but Soap being a little idiot but also smart(?) decides to hide amongst the 141 as human. [I believe this one is currently being rewritten, the new work is called "Oh Weary Souls"]

I Didn't Need It, It Needed Me by starryathame - Ghost was wearing his balaclava, but he could feel his true mask slipping. He was becoming more Simon with every day Soap was around, and that knowledge terrified him. He hadn’t seen Simon Riley in the mirror in over a decade; he didn’t even know if he’d recognize himself anymore.

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany - A mission goes wrong and both Soap and Ghost are left wounded. Back home, on his sick-leave, Soap's apartment gets broken into by the very men they were supposed to capture that day.

Wrap Your Arms Around My Cortex, Dig You In, and Let You Drain by [orphan_account] - Ghost returns to home base for the first time in four months and is unequipped to handle the growing emotions he feels toward a certain sergeant.

Say Yes To Me by [orphan_account] - Ghost gets held hostage and Soap saves him + the aftermath.

Pattern Breaker by mothbeast - A canon-compliant rework and extension of MW2: Reboot.

your finger on my hairpin trigger by lostReality - after Soap makes a few comments, about the mask, about sex, Ghost can't think of much else. And when Soap offers to fuck him after calling him pretty, why would he refuse?

earl grey skies by hyacinthwine - Johnny tries not to stare, but it’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the man. Really, there’s nothing that striking, he’s just an average Manchester man starting his day, yet Johnny wants to ogle just a little more. [coffeeshop AU]

Blinking by witchofsparkles - When Soap started seeing a very specific face with a skull mask and a pair of honey-brown eyes on his mirror and some glass, he thought he lost it good. Then it talked to him. [alternate dimension AU]

drag the lake and bring me home again by amongthebooks - During a stakeout mission in a remote area, Ghost is taken by the enemy. He's bound and thrown into a lake, and Soap has to scramble to get to him in time.

leave and liquor by your_wild_simp - Ghost is forced on a mental leave after a harsh mission. He crumbles, loses himself, has panic attacks and nightmares every time he remembers. But Soap is there, always there for him. Either through the phone, or physically rooming with him, Soap is there to help.

Between the Sand and the Stardust by tey_a - The one where soulmates leave marks on each other at their first skin on skin contact but feel drawn to each other before. Soap joins the 141 hoping to find a home in the form of a team. He finds it in the form of a man instead.

Six Feet Under And Quiet by snapple714 - Everyone in Soap's life has told him he's just too much. Not in the 141 though. But that can't last forever. He's bound to mess it up soon. It seems to happen on a particular mission, when Johnny gets trapped in a grave with a corpse. When the team realizes where they've made him wait for so long, they feel nothing but regret. Particularly Ghost, who is all too familiar with spending time underground…

Stubborn born by DepressoEspresso1000 - Soaps a fucking idiot and almost kills himself just to avoid medical leave, and Ghost is just as much of an idiot but he loves Soap and is not gonna watch him not care for himself.

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle - The new guy in the 141, Soap, doesn't have a filter when it comes to flirting. Ghost has no idea how to cope with that. He can't afford to lose face in front of his peers, so he decides to just… play along.

With Colours Over All The Wasted Years by kilikinnie - everyone owns a necklace that displays your soulmate's emotions through colours and their proximity through temperature. Ghost never expected to meet his, and Soap thought his was long gone.

(every scar will build my) Throne by Sillililli - Soap, the new leader of the MacTavish family mafia, is owed a debt by a family rivel. To repay him, Soap is given Ghost.

Keep The Change by hertzdonut - Soap's been shipped out to a safehouse in the Canadian Wilderness alone, except then Ghost shows up, but maybe Soap wasn't supposed to be shipped out in the first place? And Soap's been running on zero sleep and pure angst since they left Chicago. 'Tis the season.

real people by ghost_throat - ghost is struggling with his recent discharge from military service and doesn't hold much hope for his future. his former captain secured him a job at a coffee shop with a stupid name and annoying colleages and customers. [Restricted]

The ghost lingering in your shadow by arkinh - It took only a few weeks before objects seemed to move around without Soap remembering moving them. Lights were switched on or off by themselves, or flickering as he passed by them. For the first time in his life, he doubted his beliefs. Perhaps he should have left room for the possibility that it was all real?

What's The Name? by AvaLoren - John MacTavish is late to the coffee shop he works at after a late night argument with his girlfriend the previous night. He can't shake the memory playing on a loop in his head until a voice snaps him out of it. The customer before him has him fumbling for words and smiling like crazy. [another coffeeshop AU]

The Wind Will Howl Your Name by Minimelo - After a hunt goes wrong, John finds himself in the care of Ghost. [medieval AU, so so so good]

Cave In by glaciers (Hayfever_Street) - Ghost and Soap are forced to abandon a mission after the rain washes them out. They take shelter in a cave while they wait for the storm to pass, except this storm is sitting over them and won't budge. As night falls, the cave cracks, and they find themselves trapped. It wouldn't be a problem, except Soap is panicking, and Ghost is struggling to calm him down.

Burbon Soaked Letters by FreeToWriteForMe - Soap began finding letters full of threats and extremely personal information about his family and loved ones. He desperately hides it from his team while trying to find out the identity of his stalker. [the MCD tag on this one doesn't apply to the 141]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane - Soap is the adoptive son of President Price, but he’s hard to contain and a security risk. He’s never had a secret service agent last more than a few weeks. So, when Special Agent Ghost and his team are brought in to babysit, he thinks it’ll be another few weeks of fun. But a traitor is lurking in the Whitehouse and while Ghost protects Soap from himself, Simon will need to protect Johnny from something far more insidious.

[ghostf1ux]

"Who the Fuck are you Calling a Twig?"

Day 1: Broken Bones

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CWs: Broken bones, drug talk/usage, Venom, guns, graphic violence, graphic injuries, general DCU-ness

-------------------------------------------------------

“Wow, boys, you really know how to make a guy feel welcomed.”

Jason's dry words echo mechanically through the warehouse, making it impossible for the men below to figure out its origin. He counts fourteen masked heads crowded around a large moving truck that whip around at the disturbance. Nine of them brandish some kind of automatic rifles– the others seem to just have handguns. Nothing he isn't used to.

“Who's there?” One of them calls out hesitantly, nerves clear by the way their voice wavers with the question. He smirks.

Much to Jason's amusement (and maybe disappointment) they never just look up. Despite years of Batman and his flock swinging around Gotham, its population, home to some grade A dumbasses, have never learned to just look up.

“Damn, guess I'm gonna have to get some more heads,” Jason sighs, shifting from his crouched position in the rafters to one knee. He continues without answering the question. “So, here's the deal: you take yourselves, sans your drugs as well as your dignity, and skedaddle. In return, you retain use of all your limbs for the foreseeable future.”

Personally, Jason thinks this is a good deal. He understands that these guys are probably just trying to get by, so he'd rather not have this turn into something more than it needs to be.

Plus, he was looking forward to an easy night.

The goons all look between each other, conversing quietly. Jason notes the way some of them shift uncertainly, glancing around despite the weapons in their hands trained on the surrounding shadows. It's a little pathetic.

Finally, one speaks up.

“How about you try saying that to our faces, or are you too chicken?” The goon near the driver's seat of the truck tightens his grip on his rifle, before motioning to the others to start searching the warehouse. Jason decides to call him the leader of this little ragtag group of thieves, though he isn't sure exactly who they're stealing for. His intel only pointed to there being a pretty big load of Venom that was missing from a drug bust he had orchestrated weeks ago. 

“You aren't from around here, are you?” Jason drawls curiously, tilting his head in consideration. Of course, the voice modulator makes it come out a whole lot more menacing, the effect made worse by the fact that they still haven't found him, despite how some of them have spread out. The immediate effect it has on them almost makes Jason laugh. Almost.

“What's it to ya? We ain't stayin’ for long,” a different voice answers. Jason stands, silently prowling the length of the beam he's on until he finds a group of four guys loosely tucked behind a stack of crates. 

“No, you aren't.”

He grins, and drops.

The first two guys are on the ground before they even notice he's there. He rips the rifle out of one of their hands to use as a bat to strike the third, putting him out instantly with a resounding crack. He uses the momentum to launch a high back hook kick at the fourth, who slams into the stack of crates and then crumples to the ground.

He manages to clip three more in the shoulders before gunfire is raining down on the crates between Jason and the truck. He thinks he hears shouting somewhere behind it, but it's unclear.

What he definitely hears is the start of a truck engine– listen, with how many god damn trucks he hears in this line of work, he can practically tell you the specs just based off the starting sound of the engine– and the squealing of tires against cement floors.

Swearing under his breath, Jason turns to dive through another barrage of bullets, racing through the maze of bullshit strewn about. He doesn't have time to worry about the hired guns getting away, what's important is getting that Venom before it can end up on the streets. His streets.

He fires a few shots blindly behind him– a twisted bit of satisfaction making him smile at the sound of bodies dropping on the floor with pained yells and swears– before whipping out his modified grapple gun, aiming for the ceiling above a hole in the upper wall– looks vaguely like it was exploded– above the exit the truck is taking off towards.

He grins when the line pulls taut and he's yanked past the truck– tracking his speed– tracking his trajectory– flying upupup–

And releases at just the right moment to fling himself through the hole and into the moist Gotham air. The truck pulls out far below him, gaining speed, but it isn't enough. He's too good at sending himself flying for anything else.

It's a hobby he takes great joy in.

Jason unsheathes one of his many knives mid-air, turning his body to dive and land in a roll on top of the hood of the moving truck. His speed and momentum was accounted for– he supposes he should thank Bruce's numerous lectures about thinking before pulling stunts like this– even if the rain wasn't as he tumbles over the roof of the storage and onto the hood over the driver and passenger seats themselves. Slamming the blade of his knife through the roof, he scrambles for purchase despite the way his weight wants to send him barreling past the windshield. 

Fortunately, he recovers before they can start trying to shoot what little of him they can see (he has the ruined edge of his bowie to thank for that) and he swings around to kick the passenger through the window– wait, wasn't this guy on the driver's side? Why is he in the passenger seat instead of driving–

But the goon doesn't knock the driver off course with the force of his kick that should've sent both out the driver's door.

The truck barely swerves. It only registers several seconds later why, when his ankle is grabbed and nearly fucking crushed.

See, a funny thing about hindsight is that it doesn't fucking help you. Ever.

That's what Jason thinks as he's ripped from his handhold into the tight front seat. The minimal skin of the leader goon he can see bulges with muscles that weren't there before, a yellow tinge to his veins just barely visible in the low light. His eyes are wild and bloodshot, pupils blown with the drug coursing through his system.

This is why Jason hates Venom. All it does is make his life– well, second life– harder.

Hm. Maybe he should call for some backup.

Jason considers this a moment before he grits his teeth as he's forcefully curled up and pushed against the windshield, the slowly cracking glass under his hands bracing against it like gunshots in his ear. It's taking nearly all of the strength in his legs to push back against the force and he's still losing, slowly, painfully folding up despite his joints grinding together.

A flash of metal (a gun, his mind supplies oh-so helpfully) in his peripheral catches his attention. Reflex and a burst of adrenaline makes him twist over the center console– fuck that stick did not feel good digging into his lower back– to wrestle the gun out of the driver's hands.

This time, the truck swerves. The gun goes flying– Jason thinks it ends up on the ground on the passenger side– before a sharp explosion of pain in his head nearly makes his vision go blurry. In reality, his head was just slammed into the steering wheel.

Maybe that shouldn't be said as nonchalant as it is, but… well. He's had worse.

He scrabbles against the body under him in the tight space, reaching for his thigh holster blindly. He manages to find it and draw the weapon in the tight space, but the leader– the guy high on Venom– snaps his arm like a twig before he can fire.

Jason hears himself scream and drops the gun– unable to do anything but scramble for something to stop the blinding pain– vaguely hearing unintelligible yelling that doesn't quite resonate in his mind– he feels himself get jostled around in his desperate movements–

And suddenly he hears shattering glass.

And suddenly he's in the air, all sense of direction lost.

And suddenly everything goes white when his body decides it's a good idea to shoulder check the ground– leading with his snapped arm. 

He tries to curl up in a ball out of reflex– protect his vital organs– but the street (when did they turn on to a street?) has different plans for him, apparently.

His vision still hasn't returned when creaking metal bends– groans– breaks–

He can only let out a hoarse, breathless shriek when cold, wet, sharp weight falls on his chest and legs– nearly cracking the asphalt below him. Something in him– several somethings, he thinks– grinds and pops and snaps–

His breath is ripped out of his chest again as he gasps for air, this ever-present weight crushing him until his bones grind into dust and all that's left is squished, soupy remains.

Despite this, the first thing Jason can actually register when his ears stop ringing and his vision fades back in from the white it was before is his heartbeat and the blood roaring in his ears. It's like he can feel the rapid pulse of his life force in his whole body, desperately trying to do something– keep him alive, probably. Though he can't quite say for sure from what.

Then he feels the cold spatter of raindrops on his face. Distantly his mind tells him that his helmet is broken from when he got his face bashed into a steering wheel. Yeah, that sounds about right to him. But his face shouldn't be as warm as it is. Something warm is on his face. Steadily dripping down his cheeks, his chin, his neck– maybe it's starting to gather underneath him? That would explain why his neck and back feel wet.

Burning rubber assaults his senses, something more toxic hidden beneath it. There's smoke, and coppery tang of something he's intimately familiar with that would normally make the acidic green flames in him sing–

Blurry shapes begin to take form next. Lights, blinding lights– but not many of them close. Tall walls flanking the road he's on, panes of glass between them. Distantly recognizable, to the part of his brain that's still muddled. Trash. Trickles of rain in the street flowing into gutters along the sides. The far away lights reflect on the dirty water, keeping his attention on them. Distracting him. 

Focus, Jason, a woman's voice cuts through the fog, silky-smooth but commanding all the same.

Assess, find an exit, another voice follows, this one gruff and deep. Masculine. It makes the fog clear rapidly in a way nothing else can.

Fuck, okay.

Jason's vision sharpens, fully registering the vehicle he's looking up at. He doesn't dare move his head, that deep voice vaguely rattling off possible head and neck injury procedures somewhere in the back of his mind.

Assess. He's on his back, trapped under a large vehicle. He's on the street, probably still in Crime Alley. No one is around, as far as he can tell.

The truck is on its side, the only saving grace for Jason's life. The side mirror is crushed directly to his left, between his chest and his arm, but it adds at least a little bit of leverage that keeps the full weight of the vehicle off of him. On top of that, his left arm– mostly uninjured, from what he can tell– is free.

Experimentally, he tries to move his hand.

He sucks in a sharp, white hot painful breath at the lightning bolt of pain shooting up his arm– it hurts like a bitch, but it isn't broken. His wrist might be fractured. Moving his arm fully doesn't hurt nearly as much as his wrist. 

His chest protests though, loudly. He has to bite back a whimper when the truck seems to sink into him– that had to be his imagination, right? Surely this can't be how he goes; crushed to death under a fucking truck full of–

Something.

Something important.

Focus, Jason. What's the situation?

Right.

The roof of the truck is digging into his chest, but his stomach has a lighter weight on it. At least, comparatively.

But then the lower edge of the window– broken, shattered window– digs into his right hip and the upper area of his left thigh. He manages to wiggle his toes, but the motion sends sparks of pain flaring up and down both legs, all the way up his ribs.

He can't even feel his right arm where it's trapped under the edge of the roof and the side edge of the window. 

Something tells him he really doesn't want to.

Glancing around, he sees his gun has fallen conveniently about arms length away on his left side. He doesn't try to reach for it. He wonders if he'd actually be able to get it if he tried. It's an expensive gun, he had it custom made as part of a set and it'd be really annoying to have to get another one–

Focus, Jason.

Shit, this is a bad situation, even by Jason's standards.

From what he can gather, there is no way to get out of this. Not by himself. He knows he's forgetting something. Something important. Something that can help him. But the thoughts slip through his fingers like smoke.

Fuck, he could really use a smoke right now.

Smoke.

Crushing weight.

Bones shattering under metal–

Waiting–

Pleading–

Alone–

No. Wait.

That's not right.

Someone was coming for him, then.

He's not alone. Not anymore.

Focus, Jason. What can you use to increase your chances of survival?

He slowly raises his free hand to a small switch on the unbroken side of his helmet. It's awkward and god does it hurt but–

“Need– need hel– help,” Jason manages to croak out, arm falling helplessly back onto asphalt. Copper drips into his mouth. He forces himself not to gag.

“What the fuck?”

“Hood?”

“Where are you?”

“What happened?”

“Hood are you okay?”

Voices clamber loudly over each other, but Jason is just focused on his rattling, forcefully shallow breaths. They all blur together into a cacophony of noise. That is, until one much deeper than the rest speaks over them.

“Hood, what happened?” the voice growls. Distantly, he recognizes it. The same one in his mind that echoed lessons from years past. Batman. Bruce. 

Dad.

“I– I can't–”

Jason's words are starting to stutter and slur, becoming harder to form. The dots of his thoughts struggling to connect into lines.

“Robin, report,” the same voice barks, sharper this time. It pulls him back to a time before he had all the issues he has now. The words come tumbling out without him even thinking about them.

“Trapped– Venom bust– was chasing, got– got pulled in close– truck flipped– ‘m trapped– can't– breathing is–” the words get stuck in his throat, shallow breaths speeding up. The movement forces pained whines from his throat.

He doesn't have the breath for those right now.

“Oracle, send the coordinates. Nightwing and Red Robin, get to Hood. Robin and I will stop by the cave to get the materials needed to stabilize him,” Batman finishes. His voice is clipped. Controlled. Some part of Jason wonders why.

“Affirmative. ETA four minutes,” A younger voice– Tim, Jason's mind reminds him– answers immediately.

“Make it two,” Batman snaps.

“We're coming, little wing. Just gotta hold on for us, okay? We're gonna get you out.” Dick's voice is assuring, gentle. It's the one used for victims. Usually Jason would snap at him for using it on him, but at the moment, he can't really find it in himself to care.

All he can care about is the slowly increasing pressure pushing down on his–

Well. His everything.

“T's like– like the world– world's worse f– fuckin’– weighted blanket,” Jason finds himself saying out loud. A sardonic chuckle escapes him, which is a huge mistake because now he wants to sob.

He blinks back the burning tears before they can escape. He thinks, at least.

There's a small, sharp intake of breath before someone talks again. A woman, this time.

“I can't find him on cameras live, since Crime Alley is pretty spotty, but I found the footage of the crash. Hood, you need to be on the lookout for whoever was in the passenger seat. It looks like he got thrown from the truck, but if he was on Venom then he might get back up. You need to focus until Nightwing and Red can get there.”

Focus, Jason. Who can still hurt you?

“T– tall order there, Barbie,” he manages, glancing around. It takes him far too long to clock a peculiar lump on the ground about fifteen yards away. 

A moving peculiar lump on the ground.

Jason blinks rapidly up at the sky, cursing every god that may or may not exist.

“Do you see him, Hood?”

“Yeah,” Jason breathes out, barely more than a whisper. His eyes trail down to his gun laying on the pavement. He almost whines with how far away it seems.

“Is he moving?”

Jason can only manage a vaguely affirmative hum as he begins dragging his arm towards the gun. Every muscle, nerve, and bone in his body screams at him to stop. To rest.

He chokes down a sob when only his fingertips brush the cool metal of the barrel. He reaches further and nearly screams, but manages to drag it close enough to get a good grip on it. 

“Almost there, little wing,” Dick whispers, his voice taut with pain and worry.

Jason turns his gaze up to the man now hobbling towards him, sporting a bloody grin.

“Caged birdie all alone… shouldn't have bitten off more than you could chew,” the man chides menacingly. The zombie stumble he's got going on also isn't really helping.

Suddenly he's closer. Too close for comfort. 

Jason raises the gun, putting all his effort into maintaining his steady aim. Only a small tremor betrays the agony his wrist is in.

“Twenty seconds–”

The man steps closer, picking up something off the ground with a pained grunt.

“Maybe this'll finally teach you a lesson about sticking your nose where it don't belong.”

There's a glint of metal.

A gunshot.

And then nothing.

---------------------

“--onna need the plane–”

“--wing, you with me?”

Gentle words coax Jason back to consciousness. Chatter continues in the background, but Jason is only aware of the pinched face of his brother above him. Despite the domino mask, he can see tear tracks on his cheeks.

Or maybe it's just the rain.

It's always raining in Gotham.

“Jay, come on, you gotta focus. We're gonna get you out you just gotta stay awake for a little bit longer,” Dick reassures despite the pained look on his face. He's trying not to worry Jason. He doesn't know if it's working or not.

“H– hurts,” Jason whines.

“I know, I know. I'm gonna take your helmet off, alright?”

Moments later there's a hiss of air before Dick gently works the broken helmet off Jason's head, setting it aside. He moves Jason's head into his lap, gently carding through the sweat-soaked curls. 

It's comforting. Distracting.

It almost makes Jason forget how much pain he's really in.

“Ho– how–?”

“B's gonna bring the plane around, and we'll hook the truck onto it so he can lift it off you,” Dick explains. The waver in his voice is there, betraying his anxiety at the situation despite his calm demeanor, but only the people close to him would ever be able to make it out.

Dick turns away to talk to Tim. Jason isn't paying attention. There's something else. There's a flaw in the plan. One only he knows about, because they can't see inside the truck. Not without putting more weight on him.

Focus, Jason. 

Weight.

A smaller weight.

Blood pooling.

But not his.

“Bod– body–” Jason rasps, quickly getting both boys’ attention.

“It’s fine, it was life or death. B won't be mad,” Tim offers him a reassuring smile. Jason grimaces, nearly shaking his head before thinking better of it.

“T– two. Stom– stomach.”

Dick furrows his brow, before his eyes widen. Tim seems to come to the same conclusion.

“Fuck, okay.” Dick rakes a hand through his damp hair, turning his gaze up to the sky as he takes a deep breath.

“B? Addition to the plan: Robin will need to repel into the car. There's another body in it, on Hood. We won't be able to get him out until it's gone…”

Jason lets the noise fade into the background, content to focus on Dick's fingers brushing through his hair rather than literally anything else. It's nice. The only nice thing in the cacophony of terrible no good awful things that make up his life right now.

But eventually, all good things must come to an end.

Distantly, he hears more talking. Organizing. Directing.

A weight gets lifted off his stomach.

Something hooks under his left arm. Someone else's arm, probably.

And then–

Well, being unaware of anything around you, thrown into a pool of evil magic battery acid mixed with mountain dew, and then subsequently ripped apart before being put back together was a really shit experience overall.

Being beaten nearly to death with a crowbar, then blown up and suffocating on smoke had been pretty terrible too.

This–

He won't remember being awake for this. It'll be a hole in his memory, one his brain will refuse to fill in… probably for the rest of his life. He'll think he passed out just before Bruce and Damien got there, and woke up safe and sound back at the Manor.

But his brothers won't be so lucky.

They'll never forget the piercing shriek that made all of them lock up as soon as the truck began to be lifted.

They'll never forget the wailing sobs that wracked the mangled body as pressure continued to be lifted. 

They'll never forget the screams that echoed off the surrounding buildings when he was dragged off the asphalt and onto a stretcher.

They'll never forget how his teal, bright teal eyes finally rolled back and they had to see how both legs were nearly crushed and torn to shreds, chest still never fully expanding to get oxygen that was so desperately needed, how a piece of bone stuck so far out of his forearm that bent in a ninety degree angle right near the middle, on top of a shoulder that was so clearly out of its socket it probably shouldn't even still be attached.

But Jason wouldn't remember.

He'd remember knowing that whenever he woke up, he'd be out. He'd be safe.

And for now, that was all he needed.

[the-faceless-bride]

In need of 'Correction'...

Summary -> You were working for the other side, and while trying to plant bugs to gather information you end up getting caught, and while you thought you would end up dead... It somehow leads to something else... It seems the ones who caught you deem you in need of correction... A sweet doe-eyed thing like you wouldn't have done something like this on your own, you've clearly been manipulated... Don't worry, they'll help you.

⚠️warnings: porn w/ little to no plot, Non-con/Dub-con, forced orgasms, squirting, double penetration, anal (reader receiving), manipulation, mind break (?), yandere behavior (if you squint), ooc task force 141, I tried my best to keep reader GN! Read is called Pretty and has a vigina, reader is smaller than tf 141, readers codename is "Bandit", smut, slapping, being held against will, forced kissing, forced touching, forced oral (giving and receiving), interrogation, threats, dark content, violence against reader, might make a part 2 if you really like it, let me know if I missed anything!!!⚠️

Characters include: John Price, Johnny Soap, Simon Ghost, Kyle Gaz, Alejandro

A/n: I'm not the best at writing in Spanish, correct me if I write something wrong or incorrect, also I've been gone for a while so I'm a little rusty, please forgive me if it's shitty, ESPECIALLY the smut. If you have any tips I appreciate it, likes and reblogs are welcome!

You woke up with a throbbing in your head, your vision slightly blurred and your skin felt gross with the amount of dried blood that had been caked onto your face under your mask. You looked around, you were tied to a wooden chair and pushed into a small table, a single bright light illuminating the small room. an investigation room?.where were you? You don't remember much but you do remember being sent to plant bugs where the information is sent and getting information on some files...

You held onto the rafters crawling across as quickly and quietly as you could. Trying to reach the vents to crawl through and get right into the main office, you needed to plant a few bugs to get important information about some files and documents.

When you got into the vents you crawled around for a while trying to remember the layout you saw on the map. But you stopped when you heard voices. "-not sure, but whoever they are, they're smart. We gotta find them. They could be useful." another voice. "Maybe they can be persuaded to join our side? Money?" another voice. "tsk- shouldn't give money to a waste of air. How the hell sells out for money?! A disgrace if you ask me." they were talking about you. they wanted to get you on their side? Why? What for? Information? Skill? Or- oh shit.

The vent creaked.

All hell broke loose. Everyone in that room from what you heard got up and scattered to block off your only exits. You had to move fast.

You thought for a moment and chose to take the long way. You kicked open the grate beneath you and drop to the floor below. You ran out of the room. Taking turns. Trying to remember the way out.

Left.

Right.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Then your luck ran out and you slammed into someone's chest. You might know all their names, but you would be an idiot to not know him.

Ghost.

Then after a moment, he held you tightly the mask over your face becoming suffocating. And your vision began to blur.

He let you go and your head hit the wall, and you finally blacked out.

You didn't have more time to think before the door slammed open and a group of men walked through. They were all eyeing you. A dark hunger in their eyes.

One takes a step forward. You assume he is Captain Price. You try not to flinch as he rips the mask from your head. You still flinched. Some parts of your hair stick to your face. You fight the urge to try and wipe it off. Not wanting to risk taking your eyes off of the group of men that stood in front of you.

"hm-" a man huffed looking at you "When I pictured you, I didn't think you'd be so... Pretty?" a man with a Scottish accent thought out loud, the man next to him chuckled. "Soap, Gaz. Please. Keep it in your pants... For now." Ghost sighed.

Soap. And Gaz. That was their names...

You looked back to Price, he pouts in mock sympathy. Before pulling over a chai and sitting across from you.

"what's your name." he wasn't asking. He was giving you a command. His voice was deep and dripped with authority. In other circumstances, you would've felt flustered. But at this moment you were just scared. You weren't an idiot. These men were all bigger than you. You were a good fighter. But you knew if you tried to fight you would lose. And you didn't want to die here.

You looked up, making eye contact with Price. "I... I'm Bandit." you tried to hold eye contact but it was difficult. It felt like he was looking into the depths of your soul. You looked at your feet. Only to jump when his hand slammed on the table.

A faint, "aw" could be heard. You felt pathetic. "well. Bandit. You don't seem cut out for this kind of work. Too soft. Too jumpy. I don't wanna have to hurt that pretty face. So why don't you just tell me what you know? Confirm who you work for, and why you are on their side. And I might think about letting you go without a scare on you."

You look from him to the men behind him, back to your feet. You couldn't tell them anything. Even if they let you go after this you'll be tracked down. From where you sit. Both end in death. You didn't know these men well. But you knew the men you worked with. They were cruel, and unforgiving, and would skin you alive and leave you for the rats to pick at. You chose to take your chances with these men.

"oh? No longer interested in talking? Fine. But you asked for it. Alejandro. If you wouldn't mind?" Price stood from his chair. And the man Alejandro walked towards you. Your heart rate picked up.

You didn't get a moment to think as a hard smack was sent to the side of your face, fuck did it hurt. You tried to hold in the tears as a whimper escaped you. Blow after blow to your ribs, cheek, legs, and hands. All dealt with the same amount of unforgiving force. Ten minutes in you were a whimpering tear-stained mess. Small gasps of "stop." and "please." you were never cut out for this pain. You had always stayed in the shadows away from the fire. Now you curse yourself for not training your body and pain tolerance.

The strikes stopped and the man named Gaz took a step forward, his hand coming up to your face and you flinch away. He coos at you. Mocking you.

"you poor thing. You just want this to stop." you lightly nod your head as he takes a rag that he dipped in a bucket of freezing water - was that bucket always there? - he softly runs the rag over your face cleaning you of the blood and sweat. Using a hand to move hair from your face. The softness makes you mean into his touch. No longer wanting the painful touch.

"If you want this to stop, all you have to do is tell us what you know. What they know and why. Okay?" your lip trembles, "I can't." you whisper. "It was just meant to be a quick cash grab. I needed to help pay off a debt and this money was meant to help. If I tell you I either end up dead or tracked down and beaten to death later." Gaz looks into your eyes for a moment before they shift to the other men. They all seem to nod their heads, having a secret conversation with themselves. "we can protect you. As long as you work for us instead."

"b-but I don't know anything important about the people who hired me. I-" he and the rest of the men let out low chuckles, "no, we don't mean that kind of work. Just, allow us to show you how you've been wrong and do some... Physical work for us."

"physical work? But I'm not as strong as you guys and I don't have that much pain tolerance when it comes to this stuff and-" you were cut off, "don't worry, you'll get more of a tolerance and you being weaker is just how we like it." you were so focused on trying to put the pieces together to notice the rest of the men closing in on you, "I can see in your pretty eyes that your confused, allow as to make it nice and easy for you to understand."

The ropes around your hands and legs were snapped and you were lifted onto the table. Soap and Alejandro held down your legs, as Ghost and Price help your arms, Gaz worked on unbuckling your belt. After a moment of shock, the pieces finally fell into their place.

You began to struggle. "wait! I- you can't! Let go! Let me go!" Alejandro laughs at your cries, "More vocal now, aren't you pequeña? Just enjoy it. It's better than the pain before isn't it?"

Your pants are now around your knees, you wish you could close your legs or cover them but you can't. "don't worry love, I'll be nice. I'll prepare you a little." Gaz smiles at you as he lowers his head. Pressing a kiss to your clit before taking a long and slow lick up your cunt. "no please!" you struggle to keep yourself composed.

He kisses and sucks lightly on your clit, coaxing more sweet slick to drip from you. You don't wanna like it. You've never felt such pleasure in this way before. You didn't have sex a lot with your job but when you did it was rushed and didn't focus solely on you. But at this moment that was the only thing happening.

You felt him push a finger in, searching for that sweet spot that would make you cry out. And after a moment a gasp from you told Gaz that he had found it. He then pushed in another finger, both pushing against that spongy spot within you, sucking your clit at the same time. Your back arches. Stop it! You don't want this. You don't want to like this. This was wrong. Gross. So why did your body respond so willingly to him?

"she's fighting it." Ghost groans out. Clearly enjoying your sounds of struggle and strangled whimpers.

"awe, com'on hen. Let go. Enjoy it."

You gasp as you feel the knot start to tighten more and more. Don't. Don't you dare. If you do they'll win! You can't! Don't!-

You gasp. you feel a gush of liquid as the knot pulls tight and snaps. You look up, your vision around you blurring as you look into the one light above you. After a beat, you look down between your legs. Gaz's lips, chin, and even his nose were covered in your slick. You felt your face go warm with embarrassment, you had never done that before.

"oh fuck yeah-" Soap groans out and the others make a sound of agreement, all of them now all over you. Your body feels numb and you don't know if you have it in you to struggle. Soap kissed his way up to your chest playing with your chest, Alejandro kissed and left marks on your hips, Price and Ghost kissed your neck and collarbone.

You heard the sound of a belt buckle before feeling something warm, soft, and round rubbing against your entrance. You whimper knowing what's coming.

"oh lovie don't whine like that, you'll almost make me feel bad." Gaz teased slowly pushing in with a soft sigh as you clench around him. He leans over careful of the others and kisses you. The kiss is sickeningly sweet and soft. The soft whine he makes also does no favors in helping you keep your composer.

Soap pulls away with a light, "fuck it" as he makes his way over to the other side undoing his belt, "Hen, mind given me a hand?" you don't really get to respond as he takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, using your hand as a fucktoy the precum oozing and making your hand slick and sticky. "oh, yeah hen~ such a good little pet~" he sighs Alejandro soon joining his making you use both hands, both men grinning as they chase their pleasure.

Gaz thrusts a few times testing to see if you've relaxed a bit more so he could slide in and out easier. Once he was satisfied he pulled away making a motion towards the other men, they all move to the side. Soap and Alejandro stroking their girths, Price and Ghost finally undoing their belts.

You were now laid onto of Gaz as he pushed himself back into your dripping pussy, Soap and Alejandro taking your hands to stroke their cocks again, Price and Ghost finally picking their spots.

Ghost pushes his angry red tip against your plush lips, his eyes giving you a warning to dare and disobey the Silent order. And Price made his way behind you with Gaz, he wasn't as kind as Gaz was he simply spreads your ass apart before spitting and letting his tip do the work of spreading the makeshift lube.

You lick your lips nervously as you slowly open your mouth for the man looming over you. He wastes no time pushing his way into your mouth and thrusting his hips making sure to touch the back of your throat each time. And Price simply pushed in, no warning, no stretch, the burn was painful. It made you whine and sputter around Ghost who was starting up an unforgiving rhythm that would surely leave your throat raw.

The mix of Pain from Price, the pleasure from Gaz and his perfectly arched cock hitting the most sensitive part inside of you, and the lack of oxygen due to Ghost's unforgiving thrusts and the dirty words in your ears from Alejandro and Soap was overwhelming. But fuck was it good.

All these feelings, the fear inside of you, the lust. You just couldn't take it anymore. Fighting would be useless at this point.

You start pumping Soap and Alejandro faster, they both let out a surprised sigh but quickly allow themselves to be taken care of.

"that's it hen, be a good little toy for us~ fuck your so hot hen~"

"Sí, así como así mi amor. Esa es una buena chica, sigue acariciándome así."

Ghost groans with a smirk, you can't see it behind his mask but if you could you'd melt.

"That's it dear, focus on sucking that cock. You like taking my cock, don't you? You'll swallow it all right baby?"

Gaz and Price fucking into you.

"Fucking Slut, you like taking cock huh? you like the way I fuck you? Fuck your tight, never taking it in the ass before huh? Well, you're gonna have to get used to it my little slut."

"Fuck lovie, you're so good for us. You'll be good, right? You'll stay and be our little cock slut? You'll play nice right? Can't wait for the others to see you like this. Such a perfect little pet for us~"

You whimper and moan, Fuck you're gonna cum again. And from the sounds around you, so are they.

In a few moments, Soap lets out a sweet moan and paints the left side of your face white with his cum. The sight made Alejandro groan, you looked so pretty, covering the right side of your face with His cum too. They pull away admiring their work.

Ghost's hips pick up in spread before he slams down holding your head in place, your nose against the ash-blonde happy trail. Cum flowed down your throat, swallowing all you could. He pulls back as you cough and suck in as much air as you could.

Your hands shoot down to hold onto Gaz's shoulders, your moans now free for all to hear. You moan as you feel yourself squirt again all over Gaz's thighs, a moment later feeling both men fill you with their cum. Price was the first to pull out with a low chuckle.

"so what do you say Lovie? Wanna stay with us? I promise we'll give you lots of orgasms~"

Part 2 ->

[ghcstao3]

more mi6 ghost and sas soap i beg!!! it itches something in my brain so hard!!!! i love ur writing sm ur sosososo talented <333

(original post since it’s been so long i am so so sorry. also apologies if it's paced weirdly i never had much of an idea where to take the original prompt. thank you though, for supporting my writing :) <3)

-

Soap would never be so naive as to expect a warm welcome from a team of elite agents, but the cold shoulder he's thus far received from one of said agents hardly seems necessary in its place.

He's barely even said a word.

The haughty bastard keeps staring at Soap, too, like Soap can't tell there are eyes on him behind sunglasses, and a frown behind a medical mask. He refused to shake Soap's hand, hadn't even been introduced by name like the others—Ghost, is all that was offered—and now he was scrutinizing Soap in some indecipherable way that Soap would put up to a cause of him being military, if it weren't for the fact that no one else of similar status was getting the same treatment.

It's bizarre. It couldn't even be the mohawk, for once, because he'd actually grown that out in anticipation of this high-honour, high-stakes mission.

Of course, the treatment doesn't ebb as days, weeks stretch on. But Soap learns to live with it, throws himself into the mission like he has something to prove, acquaints himself with everyone else.

Ghost becomes a background nuisance. He and his perfectly tailored suits hardly hold any weight to Soap by the time they're forced together and everything becomes a whole lot clearer.

Two months into the operation is when the team finally encounters the kind of action Soap is used to; bouts of gunfire, ducking for cover, barking out commands, incapacitating enemies with force before stealth. Begrudgingly, Soap and Ghost are left to cover one another's sixes.

Admittedly, Ghost is a damn good shot and has a rather keen eye for enemies. Soap would never utter this statement aloud, but they work terribly well as a team.

When everything goes silent for several minutes and they've received confirmation that the area's been cleared, that they're free to proceed with the mission, Ghost and Soap cautiously move from where they'd been taking cover.

Then Ghost is shot in the chest.

Another few gunshots ring out following, as Soap drags the agent back into their hiding place. Thankfully his bulletproof vest had taken the brunt of the blow, but it's obvious the wind had been knocked out of Ghost, evidenced by the sharp, wheezing gasps that try to pull air into his lungs.

Soap offers nothing more than a clipped sorry before ripping off the mask that's clearly hindering Ghost's ability to draw a proper breath.

His heart drops. Soap knows that face.

For good measure, he removes Ghost's sunglasses as well, and—fuck. Yes, Soap knows that face. Intimately.

"Simon? You bastard, what the hell?"

Simon winces. He's still breathless when he replies, "Johnny, don't—later. Fuck."

Later. Soap huffs. He only agrees because there are more pressing things, of course, but also because he's not happy to imagine the nasty bruise that was surely going to blossom across his partner's chest in the coming days.

They're not as useful the second time around, but they get what they need done. Soap operates purely on confusion and a mild frustration until later finally arrives, because he'd just like to know... anything, really.

Unfortunately, later doesn't even come when the mission is completed. Later doesn't even come until about a month following Soap's discovery. Suspense nearly kills him.

They're both home again. The operation had been of enough importance that it had, thankfully, warranted everyone at least a short break. Simon is only home because of the bruise that has yet to fade.

Things are tense, initially. Words are terse yet not unkind; they give each other space yet they go to sleep in the same bed each night. Their mutual stubbornness keeps them both from acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Until Soap grows too impatient, nearing the end of his own leave.

Over an otherwise silent dinner, Soap finally asks, "Will I ever get to know what was going on during that mission, then? Why you were being such a prick?"

Simon pauses, setting his fork down with a sigh. His shoulders slump as he sits back in his chair and drags a tired hand over his face, and Soap almost scoffs. Like the issue hasn't been bothering Soap as well.

"I didn't want you to worry about me over the course of everything. In case something happened," Simon confesses.

Soap snorts. "What, like you wouldn't be worried about me? Like you aren't worried about me, already knowing what I do for work?"

"No, Johnny, that's not what—" Simon sighs again. Soap catches the way he almost moves his hand to rub his chest in habit, before rethinking the choice in remembering the bruise. "Of course I worry about you. I just... didn't want to create any unnecessary risks. I trust you, more than anyone, but I've also been in this line of work for a while. I know my own limits."

Soap hangs his head. He... understands. He does. His own career requires the same kinds of limitations, but he's still upset that Simon felt he couldn't manage.

"I'm sorry," Simon eventually murmurs. He reaches a hand across the table and covers Soap's balled fist with a warm, callused hand. "I was wrong. You're a good soldier. Should've known that seein' you were chosen for the task force."

A blush burns at the tips of Soap's ears, and gradually he unclenches his hand. "I forgive you," he says. Soap doesn't think he could fault Simon forever, anyway. "But you'd better make it up to me."

"Of course." A smile tugs at Simon's lips, something almost mischievous. "Anything you like."

(This, of course, meant that Soap would be taking great pleasure in beating Simon's records at the gun range. And perhaps a few other things as well.)

[mehidktbh]

I've Got My Eye On You

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: After one incident of fainting while training. Your Lieutenant takes the role of keeping you fed and hydrated.

Warning: Swearing, war/military stuff, ED-related symptoms (??), fainting and passing out, guns, Ghost flirts with you... which includes pet names 👀 and training (punching/fighting)

A/N: Finally got my mac book working and fixed after waiting a whole 5 months, istg it's always Apple...

Taglist: @fatedeniedhope

You stand there watching the brutal nasty fight happen in front of your eyes, watching as two men go up against each other. The grunting can be heard amongst the cheering of other soldiers. Studying their tactics and every move as they attempt to knock the other person down, hands flying with forceful punches and hard kicks as one man finally gets pinned. Someone shouting next to you as he tries to motivate the fallen soldier to get up, his voice falls deaf to his ears as he taps out.

"Alright!" The two men head back to the line of soldiers who stand up proud and tall, listening to the yelling drill Sargent. "I want Y/N and Jet up front!" You snap out of your thoughts when someone pats your back, indicating for you to step up. Your vision is unsettled and you can feel the whole world spinning, you take your stand, knuckles clenched and legs tensed.

Staring directly at the man in front as he holds the same starting position. Through the split second, you hear the whistle blow as he begins to circle you slowly, his mind set on only beating you as he starts to wonder why you stand so weak. You continue to stumble around, trying to copy his feet as they overlap each other moving around you.

Your ears block out the yelling and the screams which your team urges you on. It all becomes too much when your drill Sargent spits his voice at you, forcing you to get in there more. But it falls deaf to your ears, the underwhelming pressure and heat are all too much, you watch in confusion as the guy across you looks at you with concern. But there's nothing to say as you stumble over, tripping over your godman leg before you plough straight into the ground. There's not much to see or hear as the sun is blocked from your eyes, you're met with the blurry vision of Price as he mouths something off to the drill Sargent.

But that was months ago and now you feel stupid for letting yourself get that low. There's that worry that hangs over the rest of your task force as they still ask you questions about that day. But never your Lieutenant as he instead worries in his own (special) way...

♡ ♡ ♡

There's a little knock on your door, harsh but not too hard you jump out of your skin, soft enough to know it's your Lieutenant. "Come in," You say not looking up from your desk as you continue to work, the endless paperwork won't do itself. "How are you doing...?" He seems a bit awkward when asking that question like he normally doesn't ask people how they're doing.

"I'm alright, need something?" You question turning around in your seat to find him sitting next to you on your cot, surprised at how he moved so fast. "I know you haven't eaten so I brought something." He roughly said, your eyes glistening with the urge to instantly rip open the grey plastic bag. You can nearly see a box of some sort sitting perfectly there, a neat knot tied together on top to keep the surprise inside.

You drop the pen and your mind from doing the paperwork, turning away from the pile of mess and instead facing Ghost as he begins to open the plastic bag. "You didn't have to." You say shyly, seeming appreciative as he shakes his head in return, "No. You need to eat, Y/N." You don't say anything and instead, just nod your head in appreciation and also agreeing with him in some way. Stalking his movements as he carefully takes the food out of the bag. His eyes catch your hungry craved eyes, a smirk hidden behind his mask.

♡ ♡ ♡

Looking down at the cards you sigh again, "Got nothing." "Ha! Ace and ten," Soap said cheerfully after beating you for the tenth time tonight. But you would never say that you were never in the game from the start, despite Soap explaining the game you had no fucking idea how to play.

"Give it'ere." Price said, catching the cards as Soap threw the pack to him, his hands instantly got to shuffling the deck. Gaz sat next to you on the floor as Price sat in front of him, Soap sitting in front of you. A perfect circular Arrangement with everyone's attention on Price as he shuffled the cards in the same movement and technique as he's been doing for years.

Through your eyes averted to Ghost in the corner of the room, his body leaning on the wall as he guards the window, his eyes scanning the premier. So you decide to walk over, let your Lieutenant take a break and play some cards. After such a rough day with Gaz nearly getting shot in his shpulder the team decided to camp out fpor the night.

Letting all the adrenaline you guys felt before melting into the floor and walls of this small dingy 'safe house'. "I got it, sir." Ghost looks over at you, your smile is reassuring but after a day like today, he seemed like the only one who still wasn't relaxed. He nods after a second of staring at you, picking his gun up from leaning on the wall but he stops right before his elbow touches yours.

"Had any water today?" You hum quietly, not looking back before you take over his leaning position on the wall but he still stood there. After a bunch of shuffling in which you thought was Price with his cards a cold water bottle touched your arm. Ghost stood there arm reached out as he nudged you on, signalling for you to take the bottle.

"I'm alright-" "Take it." Your eyes flicked between the bottle and his piercing eyes, fuck you could feel how much he was persuading you. "That's an order, Y/N." You sigh, rolling your eyes slightly as you take the bottle from his hand, he continues to watch you gulp the cold refreshing liquid down. His hand pushing up in a motion as he signalled for you to continue drinking when your lips were about to leave.

But after a while, he was satisfied, nodding his head when you could finally pull away. You were about to hum back thanks before he spoke slowly, the last word came out deathly quietly as you couldn't understand what he had just said.

"Good, girl..."

[kelppsstuff]

So like what if Adam didn't die and lute managed to come out of the battle WITH an arm?

I want both of them to suffer a little so hear me out

What if our dear reader is an exorcist? So of course she's an angel!

What'll their reaction be if the two witnessed their dear close friend, the sweetest angel and friend they had the fortune to meet in their long lives, sacrifice herself so that the two of them would go back safely? (Forcing herself to go beyond her limits, healing all of their wounds and even opening a portal back to heaven just for the two of them.)

+ the fact that they're both horrible people and the only person who cared for both of them, tended their wounds, always there to back them both up, is now gone?

Angst is calling for me to make the two of them suffer a lil

Omg yes! This is such a good idea! I love making characters suffer! ALSO I do every request so don’t be afraid to send them! And it may take me some time to get to them, but I shall get to them. Sorry it took so long hope you enjoy! By far the favorite thing I’ve ever wrote. Like legit made me cry.

“I’m so fucking sorry!”

Part One| Part Two

Masterlist

Warning: death, angst, cursing

Summery: Adam and Lute watch you die, the only person they loved

—

“Are you guys sure about this? I mean what if her father shows up?” You spoke to the two exterminator angels.

They both looked to you simultaneously and there eyes softened on your worried form. Lute was the first to speak up to ease your worries. “It’s gonna be okay. Lucifer was the one who let us do this yearly anyways.” You nodded your head. She was right but you still worried.

“Don’t worry about it, hot stuff. If he shows up I can handle him.” Adam spoke ever so confidently. “Promise?” You were so afraid for them. Adam walked over and gave you a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Promise.” You reached out for Lute, wanting her to join the hug as well.

As she joined the hug you spoke from between their chest. “After the battle let’s all go and have a beach day.” The two angels laughed and agreed.

—

You hurried to Lute as you so saw her rip her arm off. You never flew so fast in your life. When you got to her you stopped her from flying after Vaggie. “We have to help Adam!” She spoke frantically.

“And I will. You need to sit down and let me help you first.” You sat her on the ground and placed your hands over where her arm should be.

A white glowing light came from your hands as you focused on rebuilding her arm. You started to feel dizzy as blood pooled in your moth. You could see black spots but when you were down Lutes arm had been good as new. You would t even know it’s been severed if not for her uniform sleeve. You two went to stand but the ground rumbled. You looked up and saw a golden light. Adams golden light came down in the middle of the hotel.

You quickly threw Lute away from the beam and got hit instead. A cut was in your shoulder. In went clean through. Your arm was fucking toasted from the severed nerves. You finally blacked out.

—

“Welcome to heaven.” Saint Peter spoke as you arrived at the golden gates. Though you weren’t interested in him, more so the man beside him talking to another female. “Then when the concert was over a BUNCH of girl came to the back to meet me. It was awesome.” The man spoke. You quickly intruded the conversation. “You play in a band?”

The man is what seemed like a mask turned to look at you, while sipping his drink loudly. “Sure am babe! Your looking at the first man!” Your eyes widened, but not because he was first man. “What part in the band do you play.”

You showed no interest in him being the first man. Normally that would piss him off but this time he didn’t care. “Guitarist.” Your smile widened.

You looked to the girl, clearly wanting her to joking the conversation as well. “Are you apart of the band?!” You were so excited and nice. It felt refreshing for Lute. “No.” Her voice sounded cold, though talking to you sparked a warmth inside her. “I’m Y/N.”

Lute smiled and extended her hand. “Lute.” You started to excitedly shake her hand. Happy to make a new friend.

Adam wrapped his arm around you both. “I’m Adam.” Well two new friends.

—

“You guys what?!” You asked, eyes wide at what just came out of Adams mouth. It was a slip up on Adams part. They had just gotten done with the extermination and Adam was use to telling you everything. So he may have slipped up and started talking about the extermination.

“Listen babe. It has to be done.” Adam was worried. Worried that you would get kicked out of heaven if Sera found out you knew.

Lute was the one who explained the whole situation. How the sinners were up-rising. How it needed to be done to protect heaven.

To both Adam and Lutes surprise you understood. It made them happy that you were accepting of it. For the first time they truly felt like someone wouldn’t leave. Sure they had each other before this but there friendly relationship really started from you being there glue.

“Okay babe but now that you know you have to become an exterminator like us.”

That made you nervous but Adam and Lute always stayed with you during it. They also didn’t expect you to kill anyone. All you needed to do was wear the uniform one day a year.

—

You stared at the papers that needed to be done. Since you didn’t kill the demons you demanded to do Adams paperwork.

You slowly blinked. You were tired but you had an hour to finish this and give it to Sera.

A coffee was placed right in front of you. You looked up and saw Lute. You smiled at her and grabbed the coffee. You also grabbed her hand and gave her a friendly kiss on the lips.

It was something you two had started doing recently. A way to give each-other the attention you craved.

Just as that had happened Adam walked through the door. His eyes widened. You were quick to explain it was platonic before he could assume anything. One he understood what happened he demanded you start doing that with him. He demanded the same thing from Lute as well.

As time went on many people believed you were in a poly relationship. But y’all were platonic friends who did romantic things sometimes.

Sure y’all all had sex together quite a bit, but no one ever felt any romantic feelings. It was all friendly and it felt natural.

—

You groaned awake at the sound of Adam shouting. “All of man-kind came from these nuts!” You opened your eyes to see Lute staring down at you, panic in her eyes. You smiled at her. Though your moment was cut short at the sound of Adam gasping. You looked over to him and saw a little maid stabbing him. You and Lute shouted Adams name as your hurried to fly to him. Fuck.

“Adam look at me your going to be fine.” You spoke your tone in confidence despite the tears running down your face. He smiled at his two girls looking over him.

He may have lost two wives, but he gained two best friends he would never replace for a damn thing.

You started to heal his wound with your hand like you did Lutes arm. You could feel pain all throughout your body as you pushed your limits. Your eyes started bleeding as did your nose.

Lute was conflicted as she watched you. She knew you needed rest but she didn’t want Adam to die. All you had to do was save Adam she would get you to a hospital.

But you weren’t making it back.

As Adam eyes opened he felt better than the first day he was made. He looked to Y/N and she smiled at him. Happy he was okay. He went to talk but she fell to his side. Her breath shallow. He hurriedly got up and looked her up and down. At that moment the portal closed and all the angels were gone beside him, you and Lute.

“Fuck babe look at me.” Your eyes were distant but you focused back in on him. Your Adam. Your apple.

“I love you, Apple. I love you too, wild girl.” You said to them both. Making them cry harder. “I love you too. More than anything.” They both said to her simultaneously. You closed your eyes and a portal opened.

“Fuck!” Lute shouted. She knew you weren’t going to make it.

“I’m so fucking sorry!” He spoke loudly as your eyes started to flutter closed. “It’s okay. Be happy. And go have that beach day.” Lute sobbed in her hand as she fell to the ground.

Adam gripped to you harder his tears falling to your chest as he cried silently. He couldn’t shout anymore. “Come back to us.” He whispered. You didn’t complete his wish. The one time you didn’t give him what he wished for.

Your breathing stopped and your halo fell. “I’m sorry baby.” Adam cooed in your ear, as he started to rock the two of you. Begging for god to give him back the one of the two woman he ever loved. You and Lute.

He looked to the sky. “You cruel manipulative bastard! Was a good person. I thought god was supposed to be merciful.” Lucifer watched as the first man shared the same rage he once had with god. “I have never asked for anything! I didn’t ask for Lilith. I didn’t ask for Eve! All I ask is to bring Y/N back to us.” But god did not respond. Leaving Adam to turn his rage to the group watch.

“I will kill you all!” He shouted, the tears coming from his eyes seeming endless. “I will have my vengeance.”

He picked you up as Lute grabbed your halo. The two walked through the portal.

They did have that beach day, but it was your funeral. Where your body was buried where no one could find. Only him and Lute. The two hugged each other as they both lost the person they loved most.

—

OMG I HAVE NEVER CRIED WHILE WRITING SOMETHING UNTIL THIS DAY! But I hoped you enjoyed! And I do take requests so please send away!

- kelp 💛 (someone help I’m dying from heartache)

Taglist

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Past and Present

A very big thank you to @poetnix29 for providing me with a source of inspiration in the form of one of their poems (linked below). Do go check it out, especially if you're a transformers/megop fan all the poems are rly good I promise you.

I did make Megs a little crazy in this fic but I'm pretty sure eons of war will drive anyone a little crazy yea?

Megatron can't help it, his spark thrums every time the familiar flash of red and blue appears in his vision. Even though he's covered in Energon, both his and his enemies', the Prime is still a sight to behold. The Autobot leader's Energon axe swings gracefully through the air, slicing a blaster in half before tearing through metal and wires alike before coming down to deflect a blade aimed at his legs.

Beautiful, is all the Decepticon leader can think, even as Autobots hound him from all sides. They are nothing but pests, blocking his view of the only one who truly matters. He hungers to know the emotions the stoic Prime hides behind his battle mask, to taste the anger he knows for certain is lurking behind the calm facade. He loves pushing Optimus to his limits, testing the boundaries for that sweet satisfaction of knowing he is the only one who can bring the Prime to life.

"Megatron!" Ah, there it is, the oh so familiar battle cry. The Prime has finally made his way over, blue optics blazing with a fury reserved only for him and Megatron feels special. The Decepticon warlord smirks, swatting away the annoying Autobot who tries to attack him and focuses on the mech in front of him.

"Optimus," he very nearly purrs. Megatron shoves away the thought of how similar Orion and Optimus' optics look when angry and deletes it, Megatronus and Orion are dead now, replaced by leaders of opposing factions who are determined to kill one another to win this wretched war. Still, Megatron can't stop thinking of how the light reflects off the red and blue armour at just the perfect angle, giving the Prime a sense of divinity.

Said divine figure had a deep gash in his shoulder he could have well avoided had he not pushed one of his precious Autobots out of the way of the explosion, and he now places himself between Megatron and the annoying Autobot, urging the pest to run.

That damned selfless nature of his, Megatron muses, once he had thought it endearing, but now he found it irritating. He unsheathes his blade, licking his fangs in anticipation for the fight to come. The only opponent to ever get him this fired up is Optimus, and he's almost afraid to find out what happens when he kills the Prime, but it's not as though he's not going to try anyways. He knows they're both difficult to kill, they've survived time and time again where most could not, and that eases his spark just enough for him to bring his flail down with all the might he can muster.

He relishes in the way it punches through armour, smashing apart metal and ripping through wires, eliciting a grunt of pain and for a moment, he sees the bright blue optics wince in pain, but the mask quickly slips back on and Megatron has to dodge a swipe from the Energon axe. He laughs, closing the gap so that his fists can continue the work his flail has started and feels the rush of air as a fist nearly clocks him in the cheek. He retaliates with a punch of his own which also misses, and he can feel the thrill of battle coursing through his veins.

This is how it's meant to be, a deadly dance of death, a clash of weapons, an exchange of fists, nothing else can satiate him, and judging from his opponent's gaze, the same goes for the Prime. He sidesteps yet another blow, laughing at the growl of irritation from the usually calm Prime and rams into him, tackling the red and blue figure to the ground.

Optimus throws him off with a grunt, but Megatron lands on his feet, fusion cannon already charging up. Optimus quickly fires a shot of his own from his blaster, catching the Decepticon warlord in the shoulder. The Prime doesn't give him a moment to rest and charges forward, slashing open a cut on his cheek. Megatron simply grins, the sting of the wound only serving as fuel to strengthen his attacks and licks the Energon that drips into his mouth, sending Optimus reeling with a punch to the stomach area.

How does Optimus taste, he wonders, watching as more Energon oozes from the Prime's injuries. He's never been one to obsess over anything, but his arch nemesis is slowly starting to change that. He hates how all he can think about now is Optimus, from the way his hands curl into fists to the way he shifts into a defensive stance. He can see the scratches on the red and blue armour amidst the wounds that litter the Prime's frame, the little twitches of his audial finials as he tries to formulate a strategy to take his enemy down.

He grins, but it's quickly wiped away when Optimus staggers slightly. His spark aches and his lips curl into a frown, but the worry is quickly replaced by white hot hate when the Autobot symbol on Optimus' shoulder flashes into view.

Orion is no more, he reminds himself, all that remains is the traitor Optimus Prime. Still, a part of him wants to linger on the past and leave this war behind, but he knows that future has long been buried in the ashes of war. He moves to close the gap so that he can rip the damn symbol into pieces but then a blade swipes at him and he leaps backwards, avoiding the blow.

Typical Optimus, still able to fight back despite the numerous injuries that would have rendered a normal bot unable to move.

His lips curl when he sees the fire in the light blue optics that once looked upon him with nothing but pure adoration and he swings his own blade, wanting nothing more than to split the orbs apart but another figure jumps into the fray, blocking the blow. Other Autobots scramble to get their precious leader to safety and Megatron watches them go, knowing this will not be the last time he and Optimus cross blades.

This war will go on until one of them inevitably falls, even if it means they are the last ones remaining on the battlefield. Destiny has carved this path out for them, star-crossed lovers to enemies, kindred souls ripped apart by the hand of fate, and Megatron regrets nothing. He would do this all over again, given the chance, to see the look of seething fury upon the usually impassive face of Optimus Prime, to devour the look of devastation upon the Prime's face as he rips apart the innocent, to know that he would be the only one Optimus would ever think about.

He laughs, tearing open the healing injury on his cheek as it dawns on him. They are bound indeed, by the red string of fate, whether as lovers or enemies, and neither can run from the other. He will forever chase Optimus, and Optimus will forever chase him. They will obsess over each other for all eternity, never able to wipe the other's past self from their memory, but never able to stop trying to kill one another because they both know the war will not end otherwise.

Megatron laughs and laughs at this new revelation, but Megatronus weeps for the past that can never be reclaimed.

[prettyboykatsuki]

are you awake yet

is it time to talk about boot humping bakugo

safe with you | k. bakugou

✮ cw ; afab + gn!reader, boot-humping but loving akjdkjd, mutual masturbation, facials, the title sir, sub!reader, soft dom!bkg , praise and adoration bc its bkg <3 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k (??)

✮ a/n ; i am awake sorry this came at 3am though ajhjdjk. also they have a very established switch for switch dynamic. writing my yearly dom bkg content lmao

also this is not the most original concept but its my iteration so i hope thats alright

It's not even that he's being particularly demeaning to you. You'd have to initiate it, because Bakugou always has been a simple person during sex. He's always busy but he's home today after early dismissal. Has on those thick, black boots with hefty rugged soles.

He's cleaned them off after coming from his job. So clean the light of your living room is bouncing off the bronzey metal.

And you're sitting on the floor of your living room. You come crawling towards him mostly to rest your head on his lap or just give him a nudge. You notice he looks good. He always does. Has the most handsome face even when it's twisted into a scowl - at home it's relaxed. The soft curve of his jaw, the pull of his lips - all flat nose bridge and pretty, straight lashes.

Clean, shiny boots. His costume is still on. Mask is pulled up and pushing his hair back. He hasn't even taken off his gloves today, not yet. His arms are muscular stretched over his head in exhaustion. enough to see his midriff coming through. Wispy blonde hairs in a trail above the low hand of his pants.

You rest your chin on his knee and he looks at you fondly. Lovingly. even though he usually looks so mean there's a warm, watery look to his eyes as he reaches his hands out towards you. He rubs your cheek with his gloves on. Pets your head so tenderly it makes you feel like you'll melt into the floor.

"Hey," He hums, a small smile on his lips. so full of mirth you can't breathe "Miss me so much?"

"Stupid question."

"I'm rubbin' off on you more and more everyday," He says. You laugh because it's true.

"You look really good right now," You offer bluntly. His face splits into a grin. A smirk, really - the kind where it barely flashes his teeth. In another life he has canines, fangs sharp enough to rip through you.

"That right?"

This part of him, so riddled with confidence, always makes your stomach feel like it's burning. So often Bakugou is rational and relative. A little irritable, a little ridiculous. It's been a long road, and he's finally at that place where the confidence is well-earned. No longer misshapen inferiority tacked together with anger.

But real, unshakeable confidence. He believes you when you tell him that he looks good. He gets a little cocky about it, and it only ever makes him sexier. Only he could ever pull it off. A wave of desire washes over you, a heat. You nod absently, and it's like something switches in him. A tenderness that's sharpened with love, with want.

"You wanna do something about it?" He gathers, maybe from the look in your eyes. You nod and he smiles again, a little fiercer this time around.

"And what's that? Gotta tell me or i won't know for shit."

"On your boots. Wanna—"

"Wanna hump my fucking boots?" And he laughs, breathless, a tent pitching that you can see from where you sit "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Can I?"

"I'd never say no to you, sweetheart." he says, clicking his teeth like it's the most obvious thing in the world "Go ahead. Do it like you fucking mean it."

"Yes, Sir."

A switch flips off in him. You can see it on his face, the realization washing over him. He laughs a little to himself. So it's like that, written all over his face. You rest yourself on his leg, a feeling welling up inside of you that you can't describe.

You scoot a little. Line yourself up along the edge of his boot, your clit touching the roundest part. You're glad you're wearing shorts, even though you're so certain that they're going to be soaked through because the direct contact might too much. You're worked up and wet and aching.

Bakugou is gentle. He's kind, a sort of pride rolling off him in waves as he guides your head to his leg. You press your cheek against his thigh.

"Want somethin' to watch, baby?"

"Yes. Please." You answer back. Small and simple. He laughs a little but abides your request. You watch carefully with your head tilted, as he pulls his cock out from his pants.

Half-hard, thicker than it's long with the tip and aching red that leaves heat crawling up your neck. He reaches forward to you, cupping his palm and giving you a tilted smile. The removal of his gloves is so painfully deliberate. Calloused hands, but beautifully thick fingers. You spit in his palm obediently, staring as it drips down his shaft. He goes slow, palms fisted around the base of his cock as he strokes it.

"Go on," He encourages, tender but teasing "Make yourself feel good."

So you do. It takes a little effort to work up to the right rhythm. You have to hold onto his leg - feel the hardness of as you anchor yourself up enough to roll your hips. It doesn't feel good until it does. Until there's enough pressure on you that you moan out. Your eyes are fluttery as you stare Bakugou.

And he's watching you so intently, fixed on the sight of you underneath him. There's something that always borders on obsessive when you get like this. Makes his chest swell up with pride that you want this, want him enough to hump against the steel toes of his work boots. You look damn good doing it, eyes hazy and shorts slowly riding up - curve of your ass and the bend of your knee making it hard for him to breathe.

The room is so thick with lust you can taste it in the back of your mouth. Bakugou strokes his cock, melting into the couch - head thrown back but always looking at you. He reaches a free hand out to touch you, using his thumb to wipe drool from the corner of your lips.

"So damn messy," He say, tucking his thumb into your mouth "You're gonna ruin my work pants, baby."

"Sorry." You hum. He chuckles.

"Making a mess of my boots too, probably." He hums, low as you suck his thumb "Gonna 'em all shiny, huh?"

A whine escapes your throat, a garbled and desperate sound as something gets all knotted up inside of you. The descent is slow and impatient. Makes your breath hitch hard with such utter need. You can feel it, how good you're feeling. How wet your getting, how even through the material there's more of a slip than it would be. And every time you open your eyes up - Bakugou is staring at you.

Peering at your needy expression with red eyes, thumb over slit and shivering from his sensitivity. It's the sight of you that he's using to get off. He's excited watching you be desperate, watching your expression change into one of utter devastation.

You're his favorite, messy angel. The sweetest thing in the whole world when you're like this. It makes Bakugou want to take care of you. Guide you gently, patiently towards the edge. Pushes all of his pride down and replaces it with devotion hard enough to swallow you - to make the glassy look in your eyes feel so fucking earned.

He does earn it. Earns his titles, always. Like Sir is just as important as Mr. Dynamight. Always earns that sweet fucking face you make when he fucks you into a stupid mess. You're beautiful like that, really. Beautiful when you're ruined, when you give him the wheel to take you where you need to go.

He softens his voice for you, just enough timbre to make your insides hot and sticky. "You wanna cum, don't you? Wanna cum humping my fucking boot."

"Yes, Sir."

"So well-mannered when you want something." He praises, though it sounds a little mean "Look at you. Didn't even get to take my work clothes off."

You want to say sorry. You're too close to think of the fact he's teasing you and that part of you makes him wrought with affection.

You feel hot as you whimper.

"C-can I cum, Sir? P-please, oh, pleaseplease."

"Close your eyes, sweetheart." He says, a tremor in his voice "Let's cum together."

You close your eyes and listen well as you let yourself go. It takes you a minute to get there, but the minute you pulse the first time - you feel something hot spill out against your cheek. You think it gets on your clothes too but you can't really tell. You're too busy cumming with him, all of you unravelling as you pulse and thrash and hold on so tight to Bakugou like your life depends on it.

You cum hard - eyes still closed. You hear Bakugou mumble something above you as you catch your breath. Some plastic crinkling and the feeling of something wet wiping off your cheeks. You wait until he's done to peel your eyes back open.

"Still with me? Feeling okay?" He checks in. You yawn but don't move.

"Yeah. Wanna say here for a bit though."

He laughs, petting your head.

"You look real comfortable."

You laugh with him.

"I am. I kinda see why you do this so much."

A flush spread on his face.

"Shut up."

[threepandas]

Bird4Bird Part 5: Yandere Hawks

You know, people should be real glad he's such a nice guy. A Hero. Cause it was WAY too easy to get Her files. Tsk, tsk. Such poor security! He's kinda disappointed, honestly. He was sorta expecting a bit of a challenge.

It IS a Goverment building after all.

But maybe it's 'cause she's not a Hero herself. She's a civilian. So they don't care as much. You'd think you'd just get universal security and then lock down the Heroic files, but no. Glorified safes and lock boxes. Clear and traceable holes in all SORTS of bloodlines.

Gee, wonder why Mr. and Mrs. So-n-So have a redacted kid! Bet THEY'RE not related to any Heros! Sure won't be easy to just go to their HOUSE an find their kid's name THERE along with a few hostages!

It's theater. A joke, really. He's kinda GLAD he basically has no family, if THIS is the security they'd get.

Good thing he's removing Her files. They'll be MUCH safer with him~. A few dummy files left in their plaaaace, aaaand... back out through the blind spots in the camera coverage! Honestly, he's done harder exercises with his feathers literally concussed.

Ooooh~☆ Like that one. And that one~!

He keeps flipping through his social feeds. Might as WELL multi-task. Selfie with the skyline~♡! Aaaand upload. There we go, that's his #Aesthetic post of the day. Now PR will have nothing to complain about. Hmmmm, should like a few memes. Don't comment on THAT scandal. Joke about THAT one. Post a thirst trap modeling pic... aaaand...

He feels his feathers escape the building. Finally! It was his last hit of the night. File finally in hand, he lazily rolls to his feet, stretchs. Tucks the file away but not his phone. Then let's himself drop forward into open air. Let's his wings CATCH.

The magnificent slide of cool air against his feathers, the resistance of wind against his wings. He soars and for a moment... let's himself feeling nothing else. It is perfect.

It always is.

First things first, dropping of the files. Gotta keep them safe after all. Then... then he SHOULD be going to bed. Heck, if he doesn't feel like going alone, it's not like he doesn't have OPTIONS. He honestly has too many. But even then, the thought of it's exhausting...

They want The Mask. And yeah, sometimes it's FUN being the mask. Good for PR. Adds to his good reputation when they inevitably talk.

And they always DO talk.

They spread the word exactly as he expects them too. Dispite swearing, to the last, not to breathe a word. The picture of discretion, they PROMISE, Hawks~♡! Ha. 'Course they are. Pretty, chatty, birds. Picked for their scandal free backgrounds, photo ready faces, and hero positive attitudes.

He gets a LIST for every event he goes too. Has several, ranging from "approved in general" to "by region". Really... the height of romance, his meet-cutes. Picture perfect down to the last detail.

You'd almost thing a team of handlers PLANNED them for him.

Not to say the sex isn't great. Sex is always nice! Just... not when you're not in the mood for something REAL, ya know? When you want to get... get MESSY.

Hunt someone. See those eyes dilate, utterly AWARE and focused completely on HIM. That moment of indecision. Stay and fight? Run? Watching the scales tip and clatter in ruin to the floor. Run. Let um get a head start. RUN. Want to see those Big BEAUTIFUL Wings snap out to their full width, massive and powerful, and RIP through the air as they fling her into the sky. RUN!!!

Run away, lil predator. He's coming to CATCH you~

God, she'd be so POWERFUL in the air. So DANGEROUS. Eating up the distance like she actually stood a CHANCE. Those wings, so far from fragile its laughable. But... oh. Oh, he's FASTER. So, so much faster. Agile in a way her raw power robs her off.

She would never be able to fight him off. Would have NO chance to truely escape.

And then?

Then it's a matter of stamina. Training. And only ONE of them's a Hero~

He'd harry her. Feathers flying from ever angle, deadly sharp and far too close. Better dodge! Use your quirk! Oh DEAR, uses stamina as a fuel source does it? Hope you have ENOUGH~!

Little cuts. Kicks here and there. Pushing her lower~ Pushing her lower~ Watch out for that building! Uh oh! Powerlines! Large wingspan is a benefit in open air~ but it works against you heeeeereeeee~! Better LAND, lil harpy!

Before he knocks you from the SKY.

And he WOULD. God, it would be AMAZING. If he got her at just the right angle? He could kick her into a building, a tree, SOMETHING. Or maybe as she goes to flap? He could trap a wing. She'd DROP.

Wrap her torso in enough feathers to pin it. Slow her fall juuuust enough to really hurt, but keep her from hitting wrong. Ah~ bet she'd SCREECH. Struggle and lash like a cornered animal. Wing slamming the dirt helplessly, flapping uselessly, as she tries SO hard to get free... heart pounding, legs kicking, adrenaline surging through her veins~

He Wins, lil fighter~ now he gets his prize~♡

Ah, he bets you'd BITE. If the HPSC wouldn't kill him for it, he'd probably LET you. Let you scar him up in your rage. Leave your mark. You'd be so PISSED at losing. So nervous. And he can get that, vulnerability is a lot. Big, strong, walls all crumbling down? It'd feel like raw nerves. Being SEEN.

And he'd SEE her alright.

Even if she managed to avoid it. Managed to land, run, get herself nice and lost. He'd chase her down. Wear her down. Til the anger has no more fuel to burn. The threats have no more strength. Make her run and fight and run and climb and RUN... until her body just? Can't any more.

All struggled out~

Nothing but muscles shaking and bruises, feather cuts and the sweat that burns them. Gasping for air that can't seem to come fast enough. She never stood a chance~ But he let her try anyway.

And god. All his senses would be ON FIRE. Practically high on it. He'd be everything he's NOT supposed to be. Every instinct he's supposed to shove down on full glorious display.

He'd feed her till she CHOKES. She wouldn't get a choice. Watch the grease run down her pretty face and neck. Run his fingers through those pretty feathers and feel HIS against her skin. Preening and so, so pretty. All clean~ All those pretty little cuts and poor lil scrapes.

He put his merch on Each And Every One~

Little red feather band-aids all pretty on her skin~♡

His~ Won fair an square. Gotta take care of it. Blood and grease and sweat. Find all the places that make his Harpy bird squirm. But she can't escape. Not ever escape. He won. His, his, his. He'd make those place feel NICE. Watch her as she feels good.

She'd be so tired. So sore. She'd WANT to feel good. Be so tired of fighting and pretending. Hungry. And he'd be so good about how he takes care of her. Cause he's a HERO. Massaging hands and feathers that hold her nice and still. Careful kisses and playful teasing. Then? He'd hold those powerful, exhausted, thighs open and show her what worship feels like.

She'd make SUCH cute noises. He bets he could make her beg. Could probably make her cry.

He's fantasized, before, about not holding back. When some hero chaser is in his bed, with the "real" Hawks. Performing once again, a different facet of the Mask, all the better to pretend he is a Real Boy. Ha! What would be like? To do nothing but feel GOOD? To concentrate on pleasure? The feeling of his body moving?

To GRAB and put his back into it? Knowing damn well he'd leave bruises. Because he's stronger then them. Because his body is a weapon. Because wires in his brain were mixed up long, long ago and nothing can possibly undo it now. Wanting to snarl and shred everything around him as he rams home, deep and good like he's melting.

Wants feathers EVERYWHERE. Under him, against his skin, attached to whomever he's fucking. A God damned NEST. With blankets and feathers and tatami.

Wants to be BONELESS for how hard he fucked. How much effort it took. A marathon and a national EVENT. Wants to put on a parade and have a feast and then RUIN all of it. It's like screaming in his head, sometimes. All the instincts he is forced to repress and ignore. They blend together. Violence and hunger and horny and NEEDY AND ANGER AND-!

He lands. Outside her apartment. He's seen rats live in better places. It's an unkind assessment. But he's abruptly feeling kind of... agitated. He really should push her towards a better job. Like working for him. Or living with him. Or being HIS. Maybe both. And he'll need to hunt down a few insurance agents. Have some TALKS.

He slips a few feathers into the building. Her neighbor sleeps with the window cracked. From there? The vents. Gotcha~

The steady sound of breathing. Asleep. The rhythmic pattern... knowing it's from HER... it's...

It's soothing.

He settles back into a watchful crouch. He's still on edge. Hard. But nothing he can't fix. He has a pretty good angle from where he's perched. You forgot to fully close your blinds. And his eye sight is EXCELLENT. You look so relaxed~♡

He feels you breathe. Gently, ever so gently, let's one of his feathers drift forward to land carefully against a cheek. Warm. He can feel your pulse.

He strokes himself franticly. The cold air of night time just adding to the thrill as it teases everywhere his hand is not. His handlers would HATE this. The HPSC would NEVER allow it. He presses his other had to his face, to muffle his voice, as he desperately tries to both buck his hips AND keep his balance. So good. God she looks so VULNERABLE~

He milks the tip. Finally giving in to the urge to BITE his hand, glove leather filling his mouth. The only think keeping him upright on the phone poll he landed on, is the feathers he's grabbed himself with. And even THAT reminds him of his earlier fantasies. He spills, jerking, and raining down on the unsuspecting street below.

Good thing it's so late at night.

His entire body is riding the aftershocks. Sensitive and good. Euphoric. He laughs, wild eyed as he stares down at his hand. How depraved~ His lil hunter is certainly bringing out the worst of him, isn't she? Or maybe it's the best? It's certainly SOMETHING. And god, is it HUNGRY.

He looks back at her sleeping face as he licks his hands clean...

He should do this again~

[mikuni14]

4 Minutes - Ep 3

OMG what an episode ✨

This series is really high level and it doesn't fuck around lol

I follow the mystery with interest, I'm invested in the criminal and social, time travel, supernatural, whatever themes, all of it, but who am I kidding: I'm here for Great and Tyme.

I watched all their scenes either with a big smile on my face or with my jaw dropped. What I really like is how normal they are with each other, so.. ordinary and human. They are interested in each other but they're not weird about it, they are not artificial, one-dimensional and fake, they have well-written scenes and dialogues that feel real, they are like ordinary people. They are funny and awkward with each other. This normality, the charisma of the actors practically spilling out of the screen and the insane chemistry made them completely dominate and outshine everything in this series. Bible never ceases to surprise me how much this role of, hmm, for lack of a better term, princess suits him. Because I really can't call it otherwise. Gorgeous, captivating, alluring. I am completely under his spell. He makes me feel things 💖

I like that Tyme doesn't waste time, that they are already started dating and that Tyme ripped off his mask at the end so Great could see him. We don't waste time in this series on nonsense and prolonged drama, I like that.

I like the humorous moments, Dr. Dan turning away from Tyme 😆 their friendly banter. Jes and Job have a comedic talent. They are funny but also act like real colleagues. I also like that Dan calls Tyme out. Combined with the failed action at the end of the episode, it shows Tyme as not a perfect guy, and I was a little worried that he might be presented like that (because Tyme had everything, to be a super alpha male dude, thankfully he's too pathetic for that 💖💖💖💖).

I don't know what to think about Tonkla and Win yet. I'm waiting for more information and material about them, because for now it's… weird. (the mustache is ok now 👍)

Only one scene with Mio ☹

So far this series is great.

Everyone will probably write about Bible's ass and his curves, so I'll focus on that:

😋

I love their big smiles

When we finally watch it all, this scene will be the death of me

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Tragedy of Love, Death and Maggots

I wanted to wait until it had a name before posting this, and I finally came up with something sort of worthy. So here it is: Part 1 of TTLDM!

********

The corpse dangled limply, swinging in the wind. Chains attached to its wrists jangled like chimes, creating a melody more off-tune than haunting.

The corpse was beautiful, once, with long eyelashes and a gleaming smile, gorgeous enough to charm sirens. But no amount of smiling could hide the stick-thin limbs, encrusted with bodily fluids, or the gaping sockets where a pair of eyeballs once rested.

The corpse died of starvation, that much was obvious. It had struggled long and hard to be free, judging from the livid marks along its wrists. Every bone was prominent under its bruised and raw skin. Dried blood stained the rags it wore, barely enough to cover what little dignity it had.

Its ribs were opened up like a butterfly, baring shrivelled organs and guts. I could only hope that it had been post-mortem. Maggots haf infested themselves in its cavities, worming and squirming with glee, a veritable mass of white amidst the red. The sight was enough to make any man heave.

“What's the verdict, doc?” Athena was cheerful as ever, either not caring or pretending not to care about the gore before us. “Who dunnit to this poor fella?”

I shook my head. My guts curdled at the way she prodded a chunk of squirming flesh fearlessly. “Someone starved him to death, then chopped him up like that. He must have been left in a cell until he died, or else he wouldn't be stained all over. This entire scene's at least a day old, too, or else maggots wouldn't have shown up like that,” I explained. “Damn, but I just can't think of a monster that would've done this.”

“It wasn't a monster,” Mrin replied, her voice harsh. “No monster would be that wasteful. A human had to have locked him up, guarded the cell so no monster would eat him, then maimed him afterwards.” Her one good eye narrowed.

Athena grimaced. “Cultists,” she concluded. 

“Yep.” I folded my arms. “They're back at it. I could have sworn we'd driven them away the first four times.”

She shrugged. “They're worse than maggots. Let one live, and soon you'll have twenty swarming your home and setting you on fire for their rituals.” She broke into a grin. “Guess we've got to break out the weapons and go cultist-hunting again, eh?”

“No,” Mrin said suddenly. She had been examining the corpse's wrists. “This isn't a cultist issue. Come here and see.”

“How'd you figure?” I came closer and took a good long look at where she pointed. “I don't see anything.”

“Doc, Who the hell cares?” Athena stood behind me, crowding us in. “The cultists are probably back by now. Let's go kill them some more.”

"Hunting, killing, hunting. Is that all you ever think of doing?” I rounded on her. Call me immature, but that flippancy of hers was wearing on me. “There's a dead man there. Whether or not it is the cultists, we need to investigate and avenge him. And that means properly working out what's going on. Isn't that what you'd want someone to do for you?”

“If I'm dead, I wouldn't care what you did. Eat me, string me up by the innards, fuck my dead corpse, it's all the same to me.” She paused, and a shimmer of old anger, so unlike her, passed her features. “But cultist hunting is always a good idea.”

“You're like an animal, you know that? Oh, so the cultists hurt you. Boo-fucking-hoo. You can't spend the rest of your life mindlessly chasing vengeance. You're right. The cultists will always be there. So stop worrying about them, and start worrying about this new threat, because we can get rid of that. Or are you too desperate to meet your old friends again?”

Athena froze, and I saw rage flash across her features. It was dangerous to provoke her, to rip her mask off and reveal the ugly wounds that festered within. I did it anyway, because it was the only way to get her to listen. “Shut up, Doc,” she hissed, earlier cheer evaporated. “You're no angel of empathy yourself. Or do you think mocking-” Her voice hitched at the memory of things too bad to mention. "-what happened to me was an empathetic thing to do?"

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @tragedycoded, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[cheesycatz]

INSTAGRAM ASKS BELOW WOOHOO I CAN NOT SHUT UP ABOUT THIS FREAK

(I updated the lore posts on here in like May because there was outdated stuff I completely missed and finally updated it on instagram too woopsies🧍‍♂️)

He draws. In used school notebooks, across old books, over discarded mail. Broken pencils, dried up markers, dull crayons, chewed pens. He draws the trees he will never climb, fields and fields of flowers, discolored leaves and vines. Sometimes he adds himself.

He keeps a faded journal in one of the jacket's many hidden pockets. A way to pass the time while waiting for prey to… sell to. He only draws “Spamton” in it, not himself. Nothing incriminating.

…never drawn an addison before.

In all seriousness, I've dedicated a lot of thought to Wormton's art style and what he draws. It's relevant to the fic; as foreshadowing, as angst, as fluff, as a plot device. It's meant to appear childish—as in, made by someone who just wanted to make something without caring about what it looks like. The lines are jagged and dig into the page, often ripping through. I held the pencil with three fingers, and used my right (nondominant) hand to write the text and color. His face is drawn in an abstract way where it doesn't resemble his mask, but anyone who hasn't seen his real face would assume it is the mask. He draws himself bigger than he really is, draws his three fingers in place of his mittens, and colors his eyes in the wrong order because he uses his mirrored reflection as reference. He draws Blue's face nearly the exact same as his because he doesn't know how to draw anyone but himself, and forgets their fourth fingers and scribbles them on after the fact. His spelling and handwriting is incomprehensible half the time.

Other than drawing, he also spends a lot of time hunting for food. He explores the Trash Zone, looking for things to sell or keep. He spends time performing maintenance on his disguise, either attempting to clean it or do repairs. He takes time to groom his fur, genuinely hating how filthy his costume and having to look in dumpsters makes him. He likes to inspect and rearrange all the trinkets in his nest before he burrows into his vast pile of shredded blankets, stuffing, and old pillows for the night (or morning? He's not quite nocturnal but he goes to sleep at like 3 am).

Blue's fear definitely does not go away. They might not be as grossed out by certain things (like if they saw an insect or centipede rubbing its legs against its antennae, they'd now understand that it’s simply grooming itself in the same way Wormton cleans his nose). But, I think that the majority of their fear for “creepy crawlies” (and Wormton initially) come from how unpredictable and fast they can be. They're hard to keep track of, you can't tell if they're crawling on your face or if your brain is being paranoid, spiders and centipedes specifically come out when the lights are off, Wasps will sting you for doing absolutely nothing, it goes on. They invade your safe space, you can't tell which can kill you and which are harmless, and nothing you do will convince them to leave your home.

Fortunately for Blue, Wormton's pheromones scare away pretty much any animal with a sense of smell, and he eats whatever is left. There's no birdsong around their home. He's the only one they have to worry about raiding the pantry, building nests in the walls, and crawling on the ceiling.

Yeah, I imagine that Ralsei and/or Queen would have to announce to the general public that Spamton is under protection so that he can finally exist without his disguise. Out of the volunteer researchers who weren't killed and didn't leave Cyber City before Deltarune takes place, I don't think they would dare enter his presence. Personally I would not try to speak to the last surviving member of a genocide if I had previously experimented on and killed thousands of their people's children

There's a lot of hatred for invasive species, especially ones that cause severe damage to both property and people, like malworms do. Some take joy in killing as many as possible. But, I think it's important to remember that species don't choose to be invasive. This is especially apparent with malworms, since they're sapient (though that information isn't really known by darkners). They've been taken out of their natural cave-like environment in the Deep Web and thrown onto the Surface Web with no hope of returning. The bright lights, loud sounds, and open areas of the city are disorienting and terrifying. But, without natural predators or competition, malworms multiply quickly. They destroy buildings, chew power lines, and kill anything they come across. But, the malworms can't stay, can't be reasoned with, and eradicating them was the only option Cyber City had. I suppose it's a miserable fight on both ends. Nobody really wins.

Technically, the only plastic required in a malworm's diet is polyethylene, and gift cards are usually made of polyvinyl chloride acetate. But, malworms like chewing and eating inedible things in general, so it wouldn't be surprising if one did eat a gift card. They like stealing/eating physical money because it annoys people and because Cyber World's dark dollars happen to be made out of the plastic they need.

[ardienothesieno]

SPECULATING ABOUT THE WATCHER

Wanted to make my own analysis post, as I've seen some comments on other sites pointing out things but nothing here so far... AND I AM TOO DEEP IN THE BRAINROT TO NOT ANALYZE THIS EVEN JUST A LITTLE BIT. SO.

I would like to mention that I have not played any modded regions! So if there are certain details that I make note of in the screenshots that have explanation in their original mods, please feel free to correct me!!

STARTING OFF WITH THE TRAILER:

Rot tendrils. Rot tendrils on the ceiling... just casually... that's totally not concerning...

The blue lizard only has two toes on each foot!

The background of this first shot looks like it might be on an iterator structure? There are some support beams but other then that it's just clouds.

The spears that the scavenger is carrying are kind of weird... for one, they're white. And one of them has a large, almost pinecone-shaped tip.

Also they have a crack in their face/mask.

what the pole plant doin

The Watcher doesn't seem to have a nose? That's probably just an art style thing, but I thought I'd mention it. Also their eyes are glowing.

Even the title font has implications. whoa.

For one, more rot. The rot has now made a double appearance and that probably guarantees its significance here...

And plants... Leaves and some vines.

The way that the black screen transitions to a white one is very rot-esce to me. Rot triple appearance...

There seems to be some graffiti on the right side of the final shot? It's obstructed by the visual effects in the foreground, however.

Once again Watcher is depicted without a nose BUT THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT BECAUSE THIS SCREEN HAS IMPLICATIONS

Watcher is floating. Normally I'd mark this off as "cool title screen choice" but they're also surrounded by ECHO PARTICLES.

And the warping around the Watcher and the title? THE OUTMOST RIPPLES HAVE GOLD VEINS RUNNING THROUGH THEM. THE VOID IMPLICATIONS...

And this might be a stretch but the palette of this final image is black and gold... void colors...

OKAY THATS MOST OF THE TRAILER

ONTO THE STEAM DESCRIPTION:

Rain World: The Watcher is a DLC expansion of Rain World. Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown? The wilds that await will be unlike all that's come before. Unknown creatures stalk and climb and dive and hunt. New breeds rip and pluck and burrow and hide. Predator and prey redefined. And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world.

Do... do I even have to say anything?

THE VOID IMPLICATIONS!! HOLY MOTHER OF SCUGS THE *VOID IMPLICATIONS!!!!*

"Journey beyond to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed. When the world beneath your feet cracks and crumbles, will you hold on to all you once knew? Or dive into the unknown?" YOU READ THIS AND TELL ME THIS DOESN'T HAVE VOID SEA VIBES. Journey BEYOND to something, somewhere only ever glimpsed... it feels very void-y to me. And the talk about the world beneath you crumbling-- holding on to what you once knew or diving into the unknown?? If this somehow ISN'T related to ascension I would be shocked

"And through the middle of it all, a lonely lost slugcat trying their best to outlast the ravages of a warped world." This line about the world being warped, as well... I'm thinking this DLC might either have to do with Rubicon, or have to do with the encroach of the void sea consuming the world from below.

Other then the void implications, it sounds like we'll be seeing some new creatures that could completely redefine the game. I'm excited to see where that goes.

OKAY. SCREENSHOTS. LETS GO.

I know these are from pre-existing mods, but I'm completely unfamiliar with said mods and don't know if any of this means anything. Just wild speculation, pretty much.

Gonna start with these two because they're kinda visually similar. On the left we have desert!!!! Cacti!! Cactuses!!!!! I've seen lots of people calling the image on the right snow, but that doesnt feel right to me. We saw snow in Saint and I do not remember it looking like... that. The first thing that comes to mind for me is Kingdom's Edge from Hollow Knight, and the drifts of ash that pile up there? If this is the case then it confirms several of my lore theories and I would so love that to be the case. There's also a collapsed structure in the back of the "snowy" image, which looks to me a bit like a train car?

Also I've now seen several people calling these milk... and I can't unsee it now...

I've been told by several sources that these screens are from preexisting mods! I think these are from Stormy Coast, Coral Caves, and Aether Ridge? At least that's what I've picked up from searching through other discussions. I don't have too much to comment on here! I think these rooms are cool, and I really like the fans in the Aether Ridge room!

...oh no... acid region..? I don't know why, but this room gives me Shoreline vibes. Also I do not think bubble fruit are supposed to grow that perfectly--

And finally... what I think has the possibility of either being a huge lore thing, or a complete false alarm. Well for starters it's purple

But there are no iterator cans in the background. We're above the clouds here; in every above-the-clouds show from the base game and Downpour, you can see iterators and communication towers off in the distance. There's nothing here. And I don't think this takes place near or after Saint, because there's no confirmed snow. And I think a lot of these structures would be far worse for wear if this were so far in the future that the planet has warmed again. So. Uh. That's pretty odd.

Again, these all might be from mods that I am unfamiliar with, so please correct me if I'm misinterpreting anything!!

AND THAT CONCLUDES MY ANALYSIS FOR NOW!

tl,dr-- This DLC is gonna be crazy. Also void

[fictionalslvr]

SYNOPSIS:Colonel König is slowly becoming crazy over you, he couldn't even keep his hands to himself in a mundane situation your side.

PAIRING: Colonel¡König x GN¡Reader

WORD COUNT:2.537k

WARNINGS: SMUT/NSFW¡ Mentions of body. Mentions of jerking off. Pure smut. Cumming in pants. Somnophilia. Not p in v

NOTES:I wanted to write about König for a long while now. And i finally did and i think i improved a lot since the last written smut. So enjoy, and tell me if there's any error, english is not my first language.

König is a compelling man. He's self assured of his job, always with his chin lifted up when looking at others, like they're mere sargeants. It doesn't matter the ranks, he thinks that no one is capable of matching against him. And honestly, he is AT LEAST a pain in the ass for the enemies, after all, a man described as a mountain it's not easy to deal with. 6 '10 feet of pure arrogance, he is self assured of his height, and his weight as well. Tall, massive, huge, big…all those words could describe him. And everything gets worse with the mask he uses, with only holes for his eyes, his piercing eyes gazing at your soul from above, his figure would tower over you, like you're the smallest person in the world, and you felt small on his side, very small.

He thinks a lot of himself, after all what he passed through, he's arrogant with pleasure. Showing off to those kids that we weren't just the 'giraffe' of the class, he could break your bones with one hand. He could bend you over and crunch your body easily if he wants. And oh, how he wishes that the kids that bullied him come back into his eyes, they would face this man and start trembling all over, the little boy that would cry everything they put a mocking nickname on him, now could rip you apart. Besides that, he has social anxiety, but doesn't show off. He just doesn't like crowded places, but in the field, he is ordering and yelling a lot. But on casual occasions, he's socially awkward, just that. He's not shy.

When you first saw him, you almost pissed in your pants. You had to turn all your neck up to look into his eyes, and somehow, he liked eye contact a little too much with you. His voice is husky, he's spitting orders to everyone and if you dare not to do so…consider you're dead, out of team, simply that. Entering the KORTAC was not easy, you had a lot of trainments, a lot of challenges against your body that made you forget who you are. But in exchange, you have a good team to count on. Horangi was the first one to welcome you. Besides that cold face in the mask, he is very gentle. Not the type to keep smiling all time, but he's gentle in his own way. Always giving you 'good morning' with a nod of his head, waving his hands softly or just hearing you speak nonchalantly. And when he brought you to König the first time…you were scared, a lot.

—"This is our colonel, König." —His Korean accent was cute, you thought to yourself. Horangi says briefly, welcoming you to the team.

—"Willkommen"

—"What…did you say?"

—"Welcome."

His words are brief as well. Horangi just presses his shoulders with his hands, both masked men looking at you. König's voice is smoky, penetrating your mind and quickly, your memory. You would recognize his voice everywhere, it's very unique. A bit different in field, his voice cracks sometimes, the adrenaline running on his blood making him speak like that. When he's not on the field, his voice is gruff, rough and low at the perfect tone for you.

And since he became a colonel, everything is way too easy for him. He just wants it? He have it. Easy like that. And with this power, he became even more arrogant, like he has the power to rule the world if he wants too. The colonel has a separate room for him, not sleeping in the tents with the others, or on the bunk beds in higher levels, no. He has a whole king size bed, his own room. And honestly, he couldn't sleep in a tent or a bunk bed, his body is way too big, he would sleep uncomfortably, and the colonel needs a great sleep to command his team. He has a weird way of sleeping as well, he's not estatic like a rock, he moves a lot, like the bed in the morning has the blankets on the floor because he moved while sleeping. He's a bit of a sleep talker as well, when he had a tiring day, he would murmur some words, it's not very understandable, but he does talk while sleeps sometimes.

When it's the night, he would clap his hands, his gloved palms making a great sound against each other.

—"Everyone, it's time to sleep!" —He says loudly so everyone would hear. And in minutes, they're all tucked in bed, even you. You wouldn't dare to disobey that man anyways.

Ever since you're in KORTAC, you've had good friends to talk to, good teammates and a good life, besides all the rough parts of being a soldier. And you're very happy to be here, all the effort was worth it. With the time here passing you, you start to get to know König better. He used to say "They are no match for me", with that thick Austrian accent. And he uses some words you don't know the meaning of, or even speaks German thinking you will understand.

—"Markieren Sie ihre Position" (Mark their position) —You will be staring at him with a frown, like 'what is that?', and he doesn't notice he spoke in German until you say so.

Besides all of that, he's a great colonel, always keeping his team good and never leaving no one behind. He has his own way to show love. One time, he took the whole team to a bar, and paid for everyone's drink. Sometimes you wonder how much a colonel gets paid for, because König seems to have a lot of money. As you know, he's been in this rank for a long while now, this would only make his wage higher.

He's not the type to talk, it's rare when he talks to you, and it's mostly about job. But you sometimes catch him staring at you, almost all the time. You're training? He's staring. You're in one meeting? He's staring. You're literally not doing nothing? He's staring. And when you caught him doing that, he would just clear his throat and move his body weight to the other leg. Or if he's sitting, he would bounce his legs up and down. And obviously, he will look away. Just to stare once more when you're not looking — At least when he thinks you're not — But you can notice from the side eye, his blue eyes gazing up and down.

After almost a year on KORTAC, he seems to be more open with you. You are gaining his trust slowly, creeping into his heart and staying there. He notices how sunshiney you are, always giving everyone 'good morning' and smiling at all. He kinda doesn't like this, you're always so happy and talkative, it makes him tighten his jaw behind his hood. You always wondered how he is behind that mask, and even the closest person to him, never saw his face.

—"I dunno, I never saw his face." —Says Horangi, scratching his neck while looking away. Seems like it's not something he thought about often. It's something that doesn't matter, he should have his reasons to hide his face. Just as Horangi does to keep his identity.

The curiosity is eating you up alive. You're biting your own nails, looking everywhere for any sign of König. Maybe asking won't hurt, after all, he's more open to you these days.

—"Nein." —König crosses his arms on his big chest, staring down at you.

—"But—"

—"I told you, nein." —You can feel your shoulders going down in regret. Your lips turn into a sad pout as you snort and walk away. At least, you don't want to make him angry with you or something.

He never eats or drinks with the team, he always observes everyone eating, then he goes to his room to finally eat. It's a weird habit that he has to keep his privacy, but you respect that after all. Days to days, and König is getting even closer to you, maybe one day, he will show you his face.

It's a matter of fact that the colonel grows a soft spot for you with the time, always protecting you from the others who dare to say something inappropriate. Always hearing as you speak with his eyes staring at you. He would stay quiet and listen to everything you wanted to say. The arrogant colonel is a soft man with you, sometimes he would even chuckle softly and briefly with your words. And when he laughs, he would laugh for a brief moment, a warm laugh that makes you proud. You make him laugh with some dad jokes, is one type of joke he likes, and his laughs fill the hallways of the HQ. You would make a proud face and rest for the rest of the day, knowing that you made him laugh.

With that, he is learning to deal with you as well. You're a pretty one in the team, and the other would stare that's for sure. There's ones who would even say dirty things, and you would feel disgusted. Saying this to König, he would easily finish your problem, one word and the person would never look in your direction again. You felt safe around him, knowing that he does his best to show how much he cared about you after all those years in KORTAC. One day, he would be feeling sorrow for you, you're saying how much your back hurts from sleeping in the bunks, and how your teammate would snore too loud for you to sleep properly. Immediately, his eyes light up and you can see his eyes squinting behind the hood, he's smiling.

—"Sleep in my bed."

—"Are you serious?"

—"Ja, mein liebling. I won't touch you"—And he would only nod with his head. The first night was hard, you were embarrassed but he kept his promise and didn't touch you. Your backs were turned to each other, and he's such a gentleman for not even daring to touch such an angel like you. When he fully sleeps, you can hear him babble something incoherent, that is not even in english, so you really can't understand. Even while sleeping, he doesn't take the mask off.

From this day on, people kept talking about how the colonel treats you differently, how he would treat you like an angel, like a kid. And you love it, of course. All his attention, all his protection. Having this big man around? You can do whatever you want to.

Little did you know that each time he's growing more and more crazy about you. He just can't handle himself anymore. It's a phase where he feels like a puberty teen. He would stare at your body all the time, and you would catch him, but he doesn't stop doing it. When you're not looking, he continues to do so. His mask gives him the opportunity to bite his lower lips at the sight, and you wouldn't even know. His hands 'resting' on his thighs, maybe squeezing them a little, and they're too big, even for his hands.

König can't handle anymore, when you slept in the same bed as him, he went crazy totally. He would look at your sleeping figure and watch you, seeing as your chest would go up and down at a slow pace. "How adorable", he thought. He would restrain his hands at the max he could, after all, he promised not to touch you, to make you feel comfortable around him to sleep in the same bed. But he didn't keep his hands to himself, that's for sure. His hands slowly make their way down his legs, he would caress his inner thigh, already feeling his throbbing dick. The erect member hurts a lot. König hisses under his breath, leaving a muffled breath as he starts to touch his clothed dick. Just stroking them at this sight would be enough, he bites his lip while trying to suppress his moans and doesn't wake you up. You're so peaceful in your sleep, like a little doll he wants to protect it, keep to himself and never letting you go anymore. He notices how the military uniform is a bit large for you, the shirt on your thighs as you sleep. Seeing your curves and thighs would make him crazy, he's already a thigh man, but seeing YOURS thighs? Damn, he can't control himself. Your creamy legs look so delicious that he wants to bite them, lick them and move his hands through all your body.

He flickers his eyes for a moment, feeling his body heated up with what he's doing. It's wrong, but he can do it, he's the colonel, after all. His eyes couldn't handle the pleasure and roll up his head, before shutting close with difficulty. His big hands around his clothed crotch, so close to already cumming in his pants without even touching properly. That's the power you had upon him, and he felt fragile for being this desperate for someone. Couldn't even hold his hands to himself and is humping on his hands like a dog in heat.

—"Fuck. Fuck. Shit!" —König mumbles in a silent whisper, his voice becoming more and more breathy as he feels like he's in heaven. You're such a great sight to his eyes, just by existing, you're perfect to him. He just wants to move his hands all over your body.

He's rocking himself on his hands erratic, panting like a dog and even spasming with pleasure. The feeling washes over all his self proud, all his self conscience. He can feel the wanting orgasm coming after so long wanting that he starts to shiver on his hands. It's too much to take, he will cum on his pants like a school boy seeing some cleavage. He starts to chase his high, his tongue popping out of his mouth, still hidden by his hood as he's groaning softly, watching his tone to not wake you up.

—"Haah…fuuuuck!" —He babbles like crazy, feeling the climax closer than before. That's when he feels like he's going insane completely. He cums in large amounts, the thick liquid dripping in his thighs. His chest shivers when he feels this sensation on his body, the wanted clímax just from seeing you sleep.

He rolls his eyes to the back once more and feels as his pants get wet. A wet stain on his pants as he's panting heavily, trying to recover from the last release. He looks down to see his terrible state, it's deplorable, miserable. He doesn't even look like the arrogant colonel König. He grunts softly and sees the strain in his cargo pants, remembering what he did just now. He has to clean this up. And his throbbing cock is now all red, the veins around his length making it hard to focus on something else, the cum slowly dripping and going to make his pants dirty. He feels dirty.

But he can do it, he's the colonel, after all.